"𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔. 𝙸 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔. 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜" - 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊
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"This is your home?" I asked as I took in the surroundings. We were following a stone walkway, surrounded by trees of various types. A large fountain was off to the side, with birds obviously bathing in it.
Further down the path was a large house. It wasnt big enough to be a manion, but it could easily fit a family of five. It was made mostly of stone, but you couldn't miss all of the glass either from the various large windows.
We walked inside, and the living room was the first area i encountered. I was pleasantly surprised by its decorative design. It was far better than I wouldve expected from one of the most wanted criminals. I noted that he seemed to like glass a whole lot, because the coffee table was made of it too. There was a staircase against the back wall, and delicate white furniture contrasted against a black rug in the center. Bookshelves were built into the perfectly spotless eggshell walls. A large TV was held in place on the wall between the bookshelves off to the left.
I took my shoes off at the front door, obviously not wanting to add any filth to his spotless floors. A man with long silver hair approached, holding out his arms. I couldn't miss the bandages around his head, practically begging me to ask what happened. He wore a grey vest with matching dress pants, with a white dress shirt underneath. He took Fyodors coat for him, hanging it up on a rack nearby. "Welcome home, sir. Is there anything I may get for you?"
"Thank you Ivan. I would very much like some fresh green tea, if you wouldnt mind," he nodded towards the man with acknowledgment.
I took my own coat off, but simply wrapped it around my forearm. This was Fyodor's home, after all. Not mine. It would be rude of me to welcome myself to the same accommodations as him. I adjusted my shirt, and got hit with a scent of my own body odor. I cringed and instinctively backed away from Fyodor. Three days of not showering was coming back to bite me in the ass.
"I will lead you to the guest room. You may welcome yourself to it, as it is now your living quarters," he held his hand out, gesturing towards the stairs. I followed him up, careful to not touch the railing. Everything in this home was sparkling clean, and i didnt want to so much as add a fingerprint to it.
He lead me down a hall and stopped at a large wooden door. "You may roam the property as you see fit. The only thing I ask is that you do not break anything"
I felt obligated to bow. He was my enemy, sure, but there was no denying his generosity. It unsettled me in a way. He was being very kind and hospitable, but for what? What game was he trying to play?
"Thank you, Mr. Dostoyevsky. I appreciate it very much" I said. He gave a gentle smile before leaving me on my own. I took a deep breath, and turned the knob.
There was a pleasant bed with white dressings, and a beautiful patio that overlooked the nearby ocean. The doors were slightly open, and I could smell the salt water and sea breeze as it drafted through the room. This was what he considered a guest room? Last I checked, guest rooms didn't have chandeliers.
I shook my head at the notion. This mans entire home screamed 'luxury', and I was beginning to wonder what the catch was, and when it would strike. I brushed it off, and took off towards a bathroom that i noticed. It was attached to the right side of the room, and i was desperate to clean myself of the dirt and dust from my containment.
I nearly scoffed when I entered. Just like everything else in this home, it screamed wealth. Black marble floors, a large bathtub that was separate from the shower, and a huge vanity mirror that hung above the spacious white marble counter.
I closed the door behind me, and quickly realized that i had no idea how to operate the shower. There were two different heads, each with their own handles. The last thing i wanted to do was screw something up, so i concluded that I should probably go find Fyodor and ask him.
I closed the door to my room and went back down the hall from which we came. There was another door next to mine, but i wasnt bold enough to try and explore. Dismissing it, I descended down the staircase with soft and quiet steps. I could see the living room as I went down. Fyodor wasnt in it, but i could hear a conversation being held somewhere off to the right of the stairs.
I followed the sound, and yet again, I was left speechless. Fyodor was sitting on a stool next to a long white marble island, and Ivan was wiping down a glass with a dish rag.
They didnt notice my arrival yet, and simply continued on with their conversation as If i were just a ghost. I took the opportunity to take a closer look at the kitchen. Light oak cabinets hung all the way across the walls, hitting a corner and still spreading beyond it. Matching cabinets were placed beneath them, perfectly aligned. There was a dishwasher, naturally, and a sink with multiple handles. There was a window that overlooked the back yard, placed just above one of the cabinets. A double door fridge was nestled into a seamlessly molded grove between the cabinets.
"How do I look?" Ivan said, pointing to fyodors ushanka on his head.
"terrible," Fyodor muttered with his thick Russian accent.
Ivan puckered his lip out with a small pout. "Ah, fine. Have it back then," he said, tossing it onto the island.
Fyodor frowned as he picked it up, tapping it a few times as he held it in his hands. Clearly, the hat was important to him, even if i didnt understand why.
"Mr. Dostoevsky?" I called out quietly, tapping my knuckles against the door frame. It felt like it had literally burned my throat to address him so formally, but I was in no position to be disrespectful.
Fyodor straightened his back and turned on his stool. "Anastasia," he acknowledged. "Please, Fyodor is fine. Id much rather you didnt refer to me as if I am a school teacher"
"Right. Sorry. I just.. uh," i struggled to find the words. It was embarrassing enough to ask for help, let alone with a shower. I know its a silly thing to be anxious about, but showers always seemed to be a private thing.
Fyodor raised a brow. "What could possibly have an assassin stumbling?" he teased. It wasnt in a rude way. It seemed like he was trying to lighten the mood, and i was grateful.
"I dont understand the shower," I spoke rather quickly, averting my gaze. I rubbed my arm, trying to ease my own discomfort.
"How hard can it be? Its just a shower," he looked at me curiously as he got off the stool.
I followed him back up the stairs, and all the way to my bathroom. I didnt want to seem like a lost puppy or anything, but.. honestly.. I kind of was. I also wanted to see how he operated the shower though, so that I wouldnt have to ask him again in the future.
"I see," he said with his bandaged finger in his mouth. He nibbled on it, staring at the handle as if it were his sworn enemy.
"Sir?" I questioned. Why wasnt he doing anything?
"I understand your dilemma now," he nodded.
We both just stared at the brass contraption in stupefaction, until he spoke back up. "I guess we will just have to figure it out. Here, you try that one, and i will try this one," he said, pointing to one of the handles.
"Wont we get wet?" I inquired, but proceeded anyways.
"Ah. A little water never hurt anybody," he nodded to me and i placed my hand on the handle.
In perfect sync, we both turned the knobs. water came pouring from both shower heads, immediately drenching us. The water was ice cold, and it was almost painful as it bared down on me.
The Russian just stood there, letting himself get drenched. I couldnt tell if it was because he enjoyed it, or because he was still trying to figure something out. He took his hat off, at least tossing that to the side, but continued to stand there. His white shirt became translucent against his skin, revealing his thin figure with much finer detail.
He wasnt particularly muscular, but he had some definition to him. He had a prominent v-line, and his chest was mildly toned. He had strong collarbones that led to dense shoulders, and his hips made visible lines just above the waistband of his pants. His sleeves clung to the small amount of muscle around his arms, and his hair clung to his face in a way that made him close his eyes to avoid water getting in them.
I guess you could say he was pretty attractive, outside of his god complex and intentions of genocide. "Fyodor?" I said his name through the trails of water that streamed down my face. At least the water was warming up.
He opened his eyes, only to explore me with them. I watched his line of sight travel from my face to my chest. I was wearing my red, long sleeve shirt still. Which thankfully meant that my clothes were not see-through like his were, but they still clung to my body nonetheless. His eyes followed down to my black joggers with many straps, and they were beginning to slide down my hips with the extra weight of the water.
"How does the water feel on your skin?" he asked.
"Pardon?" I widened my eyes just a little bit. What an odd question.
"I believe the difference between the two is the water pressure. So, how does yours feel?" He asked again, with more detail this time. He wore a blank expression, clearly not being as startled as I was by his strange use of vocabulary.
I shrugged. "I dont know, like water?" I didnt really know. I never spent much time in showers, and when i did, i was too focused on rushing through the emotions. I hated being without clothes. It forced me to see my scars, which there was an abundance of.
Fyodor frowned as he placed his hands on my shoulders. His grip was forceful but gentle as he moved us around. We had switched places, and I was now under the faucet that he had turned on.
"Ah. yes. This one is a softer stream," he pointed out with a convincing smile.
Now that he mentioned it, this shower was a bit more harsh. It was warmer, but it felt like the water was hammering into me. It was probably meant to resemble a massage, but I couldnt stand it. Without thinking, I jumped away from the stream.
My shoulder hit something and I turned my head to look at the thing that blocked my path. Of course, it just had to be Fyodor. Would anything else like to add to my shameful interactions today?
"Sorry," I mumbled, stepping away from him. well, tried to. I was in socks, and the ground was slippery to say the least. My foot slid out, and I could feel myself falling backwards.
Fyodor caught my hand just before I fell into the glass, pulling me back to my balance. "Perhaps you should rest instead, no? You seem quite impaired," he let go of my hand as soon as I was standing back up.
"Good idea," I sighed. We both turned the nozzles off, and he followed me out of the shower. Water pooled onto the floor, creating a makeshift pond over the marble tiles. I leaned my head over the bathtub, and began to wring my hair.
"Here," he said. I saw him handing me a towel through my peripheral, and i graciously accepted it.
"Thanks. Sorry about the mess. Ill clean it later," I promised. I didnt wrap the towel around me, but instead placed it on my bed. My wet socks left footprints on the white shag rug, but they would dry.
"What are you doing?" He looked mortified. He began unbuttoning his shirt, but still looked at me as if i had just stepped on a kitten.
"I want to keep the bed as dry as possible," I stated matter-of-factly. I tried not to watch as he pulled his arms out of his sleeves.
He tossed his shirt over the glass of the shower, and started ruffling his hair with a towel. "Why not just change your clothes?"
I shrugged. "I dont have any. They were all left at the hotel"
"Ivan!" I jumped as he yelled out for his servant. I stepped off the rug, and waited for whatever it is that Fyodor was going to do.
Ivan came rushing into my room with a worried look. "What is it Master?"
"Fetch me two sets of clean clothes, please," He politely requested.
The man bowed. He didn't even look phased by the predicament we were in, and I wondered if things like this were a common occurrence. "On it," he said, and boy, was he ever.
I barely had time to blink before he came rushing back with a stack of clothes. He handed them to Fyodor, and bowed once more before leaving again.
"Here," Fyodor said, setting some of the clothes on the bathroom sink. "These should work for now"
I walked over to the sink and unfolded the first piece. It was a white dress shirt, exactly like the one Fyodor was wearing earlier. The other piece was a set of white dress pants. These would not work, but do I dare tell him?
"I will give you your privacy," He said, taking his pile with him as he exited the bathroom.
I quickly took off my soaked clothes, hanging them over the shower like he did. The mirror wasnt foggy, and I cursed it for that. It made all of myself visible in its reflection. I didn't exactly hate myself, or my body, I just hated the reminders of Christopher's abuse from the years of training.
The scars stemmed all across my back, wrists, and some even on my stomach. They were slash marks from the whip Christopher would use whenever my performance wasn't up to par, along with other various methods of 'teaching'. My ankles still had circular scars around them, reminding me of when he used to chain me to the wall at night. He hated my rebellion as a teen, and that was his way of making sure i didnt sneak out.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I slid my arms through the sleeves of the dress shirt, and buttoned it up with haste. It was big on me, with about 4 inches hanging past my hands. The bottom of it reached just above my knees. It was more like a dress than a shirt, but I wouldnt complain. It meant that I didnt have to try and find a way for the pants to fit. The waist band would probably sit well, but that didn't mean I could get them up past my thighs.
I opened the bathroom door and saw the Russian waiting, sitting on my bed. He was dressed in the same clothing, and he seemed relaxed as he stared out onto the patio.
"Is there something you needed?" I asked, standing behind him next to the bed.
He turned around with a gentle smile. "Not at all. I just wanted to ask if youll be accompanying us for dinner"
Okay. Seriously. What is it with him? First, he offers me a way out of the cell without immediate death. Then, he gives me this insane room in his luxurious home. He gave me clothes to wear, and now hes offering me food? When is the other shoe going to drop?
"You have been a prisoner before," he commented, looking at my feet.
"I would love to join you for dinner," I said, changing the subject. It wasnt a topic i ever wanted to discuss, especially with him. I didnt need to give him any more leverage.
"I look forward to it," he said, taking his leave from the bedroom. He was courteous enough to close the door behind him, too.
I walked out onto the balcony and rested my hands against the railing. The sound of the waves crashing over themselves was serene, and it helped to soothe my anxiety.
Staying here was going to be a very big adjustment.