Two weeks later
M
It’s almost the end of December, and Sarajevo is coated in snow. The winter season is my favorite because it gets darker sooner. That’s the reason I would give anybody, but deep down, it’s because of my mom. She always took me out to get fresh uštipci and kajmak1, a staple Bosnian breakfast food.
My mom died seven years ago, and I miss her every day.
I think she would have been proud of what I have become, and that is not becoming like my father.
That piece of shit doesn’t deserve my grace, and when I find him, I will kill him.
But now isn’t the time to think about Daddy dearest. I actually need to unpack and wash my clothes.
“I packed way too much shit.” I curse myself as I put my clothes into the washing machine. While I don’t particularly liketo dress to the nines myself, I had to for this occasion. Istanbul was beautiful, but not as magnificent as Lejla and Arsen’s wedding. While he kept up appearances because of his tight-ass family, he couldn’t fool us.
His friends.
He tried, emphasis ontried, to convince us that his wedding to Lejla was only so he could get his inheritance.
Inheritance, my fucking ass.
The facade that they are keeping will crumble eventually, and I can’t wait to see that. Not because I want to see my friends fall; on the contrary, they deserve to be happy.
See, I havesomemorals.
Movement detected,the automated voice says through my computer.
I move toward the screen, and there she is.
My hummingbird.
Well, with that, all of my morals are gone, seeing I’m watching her like a hawk.
I decide to wash my clothes tomorrow and watch Lana tonight. I make my way to my computer and have a seat in my comfy-as-fuck chair. The moment I sit down, Lana is taking off her clothes in her bedroom.
Yes, I have cameras installed in every single fucking room of her shitty apartment.
The nerve-racking, pulsating rhythm of my heart is making my fingers itch in anticipation of touching her. I can feel my own blood coursing through my entire body with every move she makes. Lana tosses the pullover on her bed and goes to her closet to grab a T-shirt and put it on.
Why the fuck is she doing that? Her apartment is fucking cold, and the heating is all off.
I make a mental note to wire her a million euros so she can move out of that garbage can.
To regain focus, I shake my head and look at her again.
“Yeah, girl, he was so fucking rude today. Again!” Lana recounts her story to the person she is on the phone with. I was so focused on myself that I didn’t even notice she is talking to someone. And that makes me sit up straight.
Who was rude to her? It should be common fucking sense that being disrespectful to waitstaff is a sign of poor character and not fucking cool. Even though I’m not religious at all, I’m praying that she gives up a name.
“He asked for eggs with some sausage, and when I told him we were out of sausages, he grabbed my hand and slapped my ass.”
I’m. Seeing. Red.
My knuckles turn an alarming shade of white as I’m gripping my chair so hard. Even Lana’s soothing voice can’t quieten down the ringing in my ears. Breathing through my nose is getting harder by the second, and after a full minute I open my mouth and exhale. Now I finally have the feeling that I can breathe again.
The only question I’m dying to have the answer to is—
“Nenad Semic. Girl, it’s the asshole with the receding hairline, the one missing a tooth.”
