"Yes, sure," I huff.
When she struggles to walk a straight line, I lift her in my arms and carry her to bed.
I'm determined not to be nice, despite wanting to help her. I really can't have her seeing me as weak. If she even remembers any of this. But just in case she does, I have to treat her with coldness even though I'm literally busy tucking her into her bed.
She makes sweet little moans as she snuggles her face against the pillow and closes her eyes.
"The rain sounds so pretty," she whispers when I pull the blanket up over her shoulders.
"I know, it's one of my favorite sounds in the world."
"And the ocean," she adds, sleepily.
For a while, I stand next to her bed staring at her. She's breathing softly, already asleep.
I can't figure this girl out.
She's not like anyone I've met before.
I'm not sure how to explain it, but there's something about her that draws me to her.
Sighing, I shove my hand through my hair and shake my head. The whisky must have gone to my head too.
Chapter 8 - Nikita
"Day seven thousand eight hundred and ninety million," I groan as I lie on the sofa with my feet in the air above my head, my toes pointing like a ballerina toward the ceiling. I'm bored out of my mind. All I've been doing today is wiggling around the sofa. I can't read. I can't explore this damn cabin for another second. I can't eat again, even though cooking is the most entertaining thing to do around here.
I've had three cups of tea already, and if I have another I'll burst.
I can't take it anymore.
After the whole bear incident, I tried to keep a low profile and be grateful because he saved my life. And then he still treated me with kindness by getting me a drink, letting me act silly, and never once making me feel like I was being too much. Even though that whisky went straight to my head for some reason, and I couldn't stop giggling.
He was sweet to me.
And it didn't feel right to complain about being cooped up in here, but it's been days since the bear thing, and I am literally going insane with boredom.
"What did you say?" he asks from the other sofa where he's reading a book.
"I said I'm about to lose my mind and turn into a raging psychopath born of isolation and boredom," I grumble, rolling over to look at him.
"You're bored?" he asks, frowning.
"Aren't you? How can you not be?" I huff, sitting up and glaring at him. "You have to take me out, Bardil. Please. I swearI will behave. I will listen to everything you say. I won't try to run away. Literally, everything can be on your terms, but I really, really, really need to get out of this cabin."
I'm whining. Whining has never gotten me anywhere in life, but that is how desperate I am in this moment. If I didn't think it would look pathetic, I'd drop to my knees in front of him and beg.
Bardil scowls at me with disapproval.
But he doesn't say a damn word in response. Instead, he drops his eyes back to his book and carries on reading as though I haven't just thrown my dignity on the floor and pleaded with him for this one small mercy.
Frustration floods me, and I scrunch my nose and bite my teeth together.
I want to shout at him and tell him he's mean. But it's pointless.
What does he care if I'm bored? He's not here to entertain me. He's my captor.
Standing up, I storm off to my bedroom, sulking heavily and not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he's upset me.
