Destruction - The Oasis Project Book 2 (Complete)

Forty-Seven - Linkin

I saw everything in a different light now that I was myself again. I don't think I ever slept so well, even if Thierry woke me up every few hours asking if I was okay. My sleep was filled with nightmares and pain, but it wasn't my reality anymore so it made it all worth it. Even with my sleep interrupted, it was refreshing waking up knowing my mind was my own.

Sunlight had just begun to peer through the windows when my latest nightmare woke me up, this time I didn't toss and turn enough to wake up Thierry. He was still sound asleep, something he definitely deserved after everything I had put him through. I smiled as I watched him sleep peacefully and decided to let him be. Just because my heart was racing and I couldn't imagine going back to sleep, didn't mean I had to wake up.

Wrapping my sweater around me as I walked downstairs, I was shocked to see that I wasn't the first person awake. The Russian sat in the dining room, his head jerking up when he saw me, but he sighed when I wasn't the person he wanted to see. "Sorry, Ira's probably still sleeping," I said to him as I finished coming down the stairs the rest of the way and walked through the open-concept dining room and into the kitchen. "Want some coffee?" I paused and waited for an answer. When he stayed quiet, I shrugged. "Food?" I offered instead, glancing over my shoulder.

I didn't even know his name, it was something the Oasis Project me didn't care about. Still, he didn't even react to me speaking to him. "I'm Linkin," I added in, getting the coffee maker started. I paused and shrugged, "Well, I go by Linkin." I frowned and laughed, "Well, I usually go by Linkin. I swear my parents hated me when they gave me five names, they were just asking to make people confused as to what to call me." He didn't even smile at my rambling and stutters, just watched me confused as I danced around the kitchen trying to get things ready for breakfast.

The truth was, I didn't even know where the plates were in this kitchen. It was huge and top of the line. Part of me questioned if one of the appliances was actually a robot butler. "Yulian." I froze hearing the boy speak up, he had a thick Russian accent and I was starting to understand why he didn't laugh.

"It's nice to meet you," I said in Russian. It was broken, choppy, but it got the message across and caused the boy to grin from ear to ear.

I was then assaulted by Russian words, evidently, Yulian was only shy in English. He continued to speak and I watched him now with the same confused stare he had given me moments ago. He raised his brow and I knew he had asked me a question, but I had no idea what he said. I held up a finger, "Here, one second," I replied in English as I started to pull open drawer after drawer until I found what I was looking for.

Good old fashion pen and paper. I could read and write Russian, I could barely speak it and that was the first thing I jotted down to him on paper and pushed the pad of paper over to him. He frowned and wrote a reply back and shoved it across the white-veined quartz countertop.

How does that even make sense? I quickly translated from Russian and laughed.

It was a long story, one I took the time to explain to him as I wrote it down. Yulian eventually came over and read over my shoulder, pointing out different things and laughing. It took minutes before we each had a different colour pen on the yellow paper, scribbling down notes like school kids, joking and laughing. We took a break to have coffee and he mentioned he was hungry. That led to an entirely new conversation of the potential hazards of my cooking.

By the time we heard noises upstairs, Yulian had bonded over the course of two hours. It was a little after nine in the morning when Stuart and Ira came downstairs, his arm wrapped around her.

Stuart looked terrible. He was still pale and seemed a little weak, or potentially just tired from a poor night's sleep. It seemed like everyone was struggling to get a full night's rest here. Seeing Yulian and me side-by-side and leaning over each other to write on the pad of paper, Ira snapped something in Russian and Yulian jumped back as if I was on fire. I only needed to understand the one word to know what the meaning was - danger.