Page 34 of Dimitri
My anger shifts to confusion when he replies, “Then we’ll get you newthings.” He slants his head to the side and arches a brow. “Betterthings.”
I thought begging for my life was embarrassing, but this is ten times worse. “I can’t afford newthings. That’s why I have thesethings.”
“Sorry. Let me rephrase.” Think of the most arrogant man you’ve ever seen in your life. His attitude wouldn’t be one-third of Dimitri’s right now. “Iwill get you newthings.”
“Fine.” He’s shocked by how quickly I cave, but I’m done arguing for today. I’m cold, hungry, and hormonal. If anyone should be in fear of their life, it shouldn’t be me. “But I’m taking this.”
I snag the most hideous-looking dressing gown you could imagine in your life off the end of my bed. It’s a replica of the one Fran Drescher wore onThe Nanny, one of my all-time favorite sitcoms.
“And them.”
I snatch a pair of panties out of Dimitri’s hand that I only ever wear when I’m worried about exploding tampons.
“And this.”
My voice is nowhere near as punchy as it was when I snag my nanna’s photograph off my nightstand. Even with her death still not feeling real to me, I miss her so much.
“Is that it?” My brashness isn’t the only thing taking a back seat, so is Dimitri’s bossy demeanor. He doesn’t know who the lady in the frame is, but the wetness filling my eyes makes it obvious that she was important to me.
My head bobs up and down two times before it switches to a shake. “One last thing.”
After blowing out the candle, so we don’t start a fire, Dimitri follows my walk to an ancient tape recorder on the entryway table, taking a wide birth to ensure his crotch doesn’t once again become friendly with its poky edges.
Once I’ve exhaled to clear my voice of nerves, I push record on the device before lifting it to my mouth. Dimitri almost jumps out of his skin when I scream at the top of my lungs. “I got the job! Thirty-five smoking big ones an hour for the next four weeks minimum.” I have to be over-the-top dramatic, or Estelle will never believe my ruse. “The thing is, the ridiculous amount is because it’s a live-in position. Mr. Petretti is graveyard ready.” I drift my eyes to Dimitri when I feel the heat of his rising blood pressure. “He’s old, like hideously archaic. He has wrinkles and gray hair. I doubt even Viagra can help him now.” After hitting Dimitri with a frisky wink, hopeful it won’t see me murdered where I stand, I get back to the task at hand. “Anyhoo, I just wanted to let you know why I’m AWOL… because I’m wiping an old dude’s ass like we always knew I would. Ciao, chica. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
With a hard swallow, I hit the stop button before placing the recorder back into its rightful place. Even with me seemingly exuding a ton of confidence, my hands shake when I tie a red ribbon around the recorder’s overused exterior. It’s our equivalent of a blinking red light on the answering machine we can’t afford.
I want to believe Dimitri will uphold his side of our agreement once his daughter is returned, but a part of me is worried he’s never been taught the principle of honesty. He said it himself, he cheated on his wife multiple times, so why would he be honorable to a woman he hardly knows?
I’m snapped from my dreary mood by Dimitri’s curt tone. “Let’s go.” He nudges his head to my partially cracked open door as he’s over the depressing environment I call home as much as me.
After a final glance at the dim and dreary space, I shadow his walk to the elevator cart, my steps slow and lethargic. This place might be a dump, but it’s the only true home I’ve ever had.
We ride the elevator in silence. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s uncomfortable, it’s more foreign than anything. Silence isn’t something I often crave. I did it many times before my parents dropped me off to live with my grandparents. Even something as simple as breathing too loudly got me in trouble when Mother woke up angry. That was more often than not when I was a child.
I safeguard my grandmother’s picture under my dressing gown when our trek through the foyer of my building reveals the heavens have opened up. It isn’t pouring rain like it was the night I first crossed paths with Dimitri, but it has the possibility of wrecking the only photograph I have of her.
I’m just about to dart through two parked cars when my arm is jerked out of its socket. I’m about to give Dimitri an ear full, but the brutal roar of an SUV whizzing past my face stuffs my words into the back of my throat.
“Jesus Christ, Roxanne! You almost got yourself killed.” My eyes bounce between Dimitri’s when he pins me to the back of an outdated minivan with shaky, splayed hands. “You need to start paying attention to your surroundings, or one day, it won’t be a close call.” My dress is soaked through, but I don’t feel the cold. There’s too much fury radiating out of Dimitri for me to feel the slightest chill. “Did your near-miss at the hospital teach you nothing?”
“That was you?” Shock highlights my tone. The eyes peering at me through the crack in the window all those months ago were undeniably dangerous, but they didn’t have the risqué edge Dimitri’s have, so I was confident it wasn’t him. “You were outside the hospital when I was discharged?”
My confusion augments when Dimitri shakes his head. “It wasn’t me.”
He sounds honest, but I’m done acting as if I have air for brains. “Then how do you know what happened? I didn’t tell anyone, and I doubt Estelle shares her friend’s stupidity with the customers at her work.”
Before he can answer me, I spot some truth in his eyes.
“You had someone following me?” Another flare darts through his eyes before the cut line of his jaw turns fascinating. “I told Estelle I wasn’t making things up. She thought I was going crazy, that I needed my head examined.” I laugh like I’m in desperate need of a psych workup. “But that wasn’t it at all. I was being followed… by you.”
Dimitri’s anger picks up right along with his clutch on my arm. “It wasn’t me.”
The way he speaks down to me doesn’t deter me in the slightest. “But it was someoneyouordered to watch me. Why were you watching me?”
“I don’t know.”
My eye roll matches my maturity level. “You know why, you just don’t want to tell me.”
