Page 17 of The One Who Won’t Get Away
The next time I saw her, I’d find better ice cream.But for now, I just sat and watched the lights flicker, trying to ignore the echo of my own heart pounding behind my ribs.
Chapter 8
Nadya
THE APARTMENT LOOKEDlike it had been hit by a tornado that specialized in salt and sugar.Takeout boxes sat on the coffee table, crowding out a landfill’s worth of candy wrappers, paper napkins, and two empty bottles of wine.Wedged among them, a neat pyramid of Tupperware, the kind you only see in Instagram fridge organization reels.Artichoke, salmon, and my favorite—crushed nuts mixed with dry fruit and a dash of honey.That last one was Vera’s idea of a healthy dessert, and it was actually pretty good.Ljuba must've given her the recipe.
The place was quieter than I’d ever heard it, which was saying something, considering the TV was on full blast with a looping YouTube playlist of cats falling off tables at Ljuba’s request.
I understood the need to have the TV on.I drowned everything out with alcohol and sugar, but Ljuba wasn’t me, and my methods wouldn’t work for her.Funny cat videos, on the other hand, worked just fine.That and alien smut, judging by the books she had stacked in her room.
She was curled up in the corner of the futon, knees to chin, hoodie zipped up to her nose, eyes glassy but laser-fixed on the screen as if feline domestic failures held the secret to recovery.
It's only been a few hours since she got discharged.Physically, she was mostly okay.Scrapes, bruises, and a mild concussion.Mentally, a little brain rot might do her some good.
Vera floated around the kitchen, cleaning up my messes.Since she’d moved in with her boyfriend, Sean, and Ljuba was spending fewer and fewer nights at home, I was the one responsible for all the empty candy wrappers and takeout boxes.
“The sodium in this is off the charts,” she barked, tossing a soy sauce packet into the trash from ten feet.It bounced out and landed next to the recycling bin.She made a sound of disgust but didn’t pick it up.
I dropped onto the armrest of the futon with my takeout container—chicken fried rice.
“Tell me you’re not actually going to eat that,” Vera said, voice thick with judgment.
“It’s called comfort food.You should try it sometime,” I replied, shoveling rice into my mouth, then licking the sauce from my thumb.“Oh wait, you can’t.Because it might have touched sugar.”
She rolled her eyes.“I get more joy from real food than you will ever get from that junk.That stuff is like ninety percent MSG.”
“MSG is a vegetable,” I said.“I read that somewhere.”
Vera rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.Score one for MSG.
Ljuba giggled, which made me want to die with happiness.She was covered in scrapes from when she had jumped out of the car, but in a way, it was a win for her.
The biggest reason she kept having nightmares was this helpless feeling we all had back then.Growing up, we’d known deep in our bones that someone could take everything from us, and there was nothing we could do about it.Except this time, Ljuba had done something about it.
She’d jumped.She’d gotten away long enough for Dan and Nick to find her.
