I don’t like that he doesn’t have a bigger bump. I make a note to Google it and also to bring him an ice pack for it. And alcohol.
“Here, can you take this ibuprofen?” I hold out my hand up to his mouth to drop them in.
He doesn’t move.
“Open,” I order.
He still doesn’t move.
“It’s just ibuprofen, see?” I open my palm to show him the three pills. “I have Tylenol if you prefer that.”
He opens his lips a tiny bit. Not enough for me to be able to drop the pills in.
“Open more, Oleg.”
His jaw opens a bit wider and shock flashes through my body like a lightning strike. I suddenly understand why he didn’t want to open his mouth, and I want to bawl like a baby.
Oleg is missing his tongue.
Oh God.
Part of his tongue. It looks like someone cut it in half. That’s why he can’t talk.
It’s all I can do to not show my shock. To not drop to my knees and weep for him. But I hold back my sob and drop the pills in his mouth then hand him the juice glass. He drips water on the floor when he lifts his hand to take the glass and swallows down the entire contents of the glass.
“Do you want more? Or something to eat?”
He shakes his head. His eyes are already closed.
“Hey, let me get you out of there before you pass out again. I don’t like the idea of you lying in cold water.”
His eyes crack, but he doesn’t move. I push up my sleeve and dip my hand in the water, reaching for the plug.
His butt’s in the way. I slide my palm around the curve. “Move over.”
He groans as he moves, and I pull the drain.
“Okay, now I’m really worried about getting you out of there. Please say you can stand up?”
He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.
“Oleg. Can you get out of the tub?”
He nods without opening his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I just want to get you into my bed before you pass out again. Okay?”
Another nod.
Still no cracked lids.
“Please?”
Water splashes as he moves abruptly. It’s like he was marshalling his strength for the move. He lumbers to stand, catching the wall with his hand again.
I slide the bath rug to meet the place his foot is going to land when he steps out then jump beside him, so he can lean on me if he needs to.
He makes it out without toppling, thank God. I grab a towel from the rack. “Hang on just a second.” I hurriedly dry him off, taking care not to knock him off balance. He holds the wall, his expression a stoic mask. I do a half-assed job, but it’s better than him getting the bed wet. I wrap the towel around his waist and then wrap my arm firmly behind his back. “Okay, let’s get you to my room.”
I get him in there and fall down on the bed with him, trying to get him in it. He rolls onto his side and groans. I curl up, facing him, staring at his pained expression, unwilling to leave him.
He watches me watching him. Time lengthens. Stands still. I don’t know how long I stay there. Long after his eyes close, and he passes out. I curl my hand into his, holding his fingers, wishing I knew what to do.
Chapter 3
Oleg
I wake not sure how long I’ve been out. I shove the covers off and attempt to sit up. I wait until the room stops spinning and my stomach stops lurching before I focus and look around. I’m naked, but there’s a gauze bandage taped to my leg, covering the bullet wound, and my clothes are folded neatly on a chair. Story must’ve dressed my wound and washed the clothes for me at some point. I pull on my t-shirt, almost falling to the floor in agony when the neckhole passes over the bruise on my head. I take my time putting on my boxer briefs, not trusting myself to stand yet.
I’m guessing I’ve been out of it for at least twenty-four hours, considering I woke during the night, and now it’s light again. And it was morning when Story found me. I think.
Story. She’s been in and out of the room, bringing me more ibuprofen and juice. I have a vague recollection of her lying beside me during the night, but that could’ve just been a fantasy. Every time I woke, the usual adrenaline pumped through my veins, my normal agitation of existence revved up, but then I remembered where I was—not in prison, not in my own room, but in Story’s apartment, and the noisiest place inside me quieted.
Being near my little lastochka—my swallow—soothes a lifetime of struggle.
I know it won’t last. I know I can’t remain here forever. I need to figure out who’s after me and what they want. Eliminate them.