After being around Raul’s guard dogs that were trained to kill if they thought you were escaping, this creature is a breath of fresh air, and breathtaking. I never expected to witness something so beautiful here. The snow falls and melts in its fur, and my hair, too.
I can’t help myself. I bend down and touch the dog’s soft fur, and when it dips its head for me to continue stroking, I do, savoring the feel of the softness and gentleness of the animal.
It comforts me somewhat.
When it moves to pick up a twig from the side with its mouth and hands it to me, I realize it must want to play.
I throw the twig not far down the path, and the dog takes off to retrieve it.
It does the same thing again, and I find myself playing in the snow as it falls a little heavier.
The dog starts barking at something behind me, and when I turn around to see Mikhail standing on the terrace, everything inside me freezes like the icy snow falling around us. I was able to stave off the cold before, but now I’m freezing from deep within, like the coldness is resonating from inside my body.
Mikhail is dressed in black again, and as he walks toward me in the brightness of the day, it feels like I’m in a surreal dream. Everything in my head is telling me to run away, but I know I can’t run anywhere.
I’m not quick to forget the warning of what he’ll do to me if I try to escape. I’m sure mere running away from him will garner the same shitty result.
So, I stay.
I stay right where I am, steel my spine, and watch him walking toward me like the angel of death.
8
Natalia
Mikhail’s honey-colored eyes and the gold hoop in his ear are the only touch of color on him, along with the red cross on his left hand and the red writing on his other hand. Everything else is like a dark shadow billowing around him.
Every step he takes makes my heart gallop, and I need to take slow breaths to calm myself. The worst thing I can look now is afraid.
Mikhail says something to the dog in Russian, and it bounds over to him. He lowers to tap its head, then straightens up and returns his focus on me.
“Didn’t think I’d find you out here playing with my sister’s dog,” he states, looking from me to the dog.
It’s his sister’s. That explains why it has a gentler presence.
“I was just … well, I came out here when I saw it. And it was snowing. I’ve never seen snow before.”
“Snow,” he says, and the dog barks. “That’s her name.”
“Oh,” I breathe and gaze at the beautiful dog. The name is fitting even now as I watch the snowflakes mingle with the dog’s fur.
I wonder what his sister was like. The only thing about her I know, apart from the way she died, is that she owned this dog and now it’s his.
Another command in Russian has Snow running back down the path where I’d originally seen her. I want to ask if the dog just roams the grounds, but that’s a question for normal people. Clearly, the dog is fine. I am not.
As I gaze into those eyes of his, I wonder what he’s going to do to me now.
Is he going to make good on his word to fuck me?
Will he hurt me when he does?
I don’t know if I could bare it. I don’t think I could go through such violence and make it back with my mind already so fragile.
So, what do I do to make it easier? I can’t think of anything.
“Relax, Malyshka. I don’t plan to fuck you out here in the snow for all to see,” he begins and leans so close to my ear he envelopes me with his aftershave. “Unless you want me to.”
My cheeks heat up at his words, and the images of him taking me right here flicker through my mind, but I manage to gather my composure.
