Chapter 2
It feels like hours pass before I finally gather up the strength to stand and cross over to that crumpled envelope. I lift it carefully from the floor and wipe away the dust and grime newly coating that mocking white. Then I shove it beneath the bed’s lumpy mattress and turn away, pushing it from my mind altogether.
Maybe I just don’t have the heart to rip it into pieces like I should.
Or perhaps I just need it to serve one pathetic purpose: proof. Unlike Marnie Winthorp, I refuse to be used as a pawn, shuffled between players on the gameboard. From now on, I can only act on what I know. What I feel in my bones.
My past must stay dead.
I can’t be manipulated again.
And it feels so damn good to leave that room, knowing that the only person driving my actions is me. Even as I sway unsteadily on trembling legs—at least I’m no longer Marnie’s naïve mistake or Mischa’s unwilling victim.
But as I wander the rickety hall beyond the staircase, I’m forced to admit one reality: I’m still a mouse trapped in a maze.
At least I’m not the only creature forced to jump through the hoops of this new world. Not far from the other room, I come across the one the little girl’s lying in. My fellow Mouse, in the literal sense. Despite the late hour, she’s sitting upright in bed, staring intently as a hulking figure attempts to spread jam on a piece of toast.
“Too much or not enough?” he gruffly inquires, holding his slathered slice up for input.
Unsatisfied, Mouse wrinkles her nose and shakes her head in a silent command.More.
“Fine.” Sighing, Mischa applies another layer of jam. “Do you know how much sugar is in this shit? You’re going to be bouncing off the walls—”
I must have made a sound, because he turns, breaking off. Oddly enough, my presence is acknowledged with only a grunt before he returns his attention to the girl.
“The old man says you can start walking around tomorrow,” he continues, presumably referring to Vanya. “But I don’t know… All this sugary shit and you might be able tofly.”
He relinquishes the slice of bread, which the girl promptly shoves into her mouth.
Looking at him, she cuts her eyes in my direction and Mischa copies her. Then he laughs.
“You watch your mouth,” he scolds, running his palm over her scalp. “It’s rude to call people names.”
“And what is that?” I ask, stepping over the threshold.
Both figures turn to me and share another mischievous look.
“That’s it,” Mischa declares. My cheeks prickle with heat as he throws his head back and laughs more genuinely than I think I’ve ever heard. “Bedtime.” He snatches the tray of bread and jam and places it on a table beyond her reach. “No more sweet stuff for you. You get too mouthy.” He looks at me, still smirking, and my heart lurches.
Strip him of anger and he can appear human.
But like this?
He’s a different man, glimpsed through the window of a rare second when he has no guard to maintain or façade to uphold.
But just as quickly, the hardened criminal returns and his smile transforms into a seething glare.
“I’ll be back,” he barks to Mouse before advancing on my position. “But first, Little Rose and I need to have a chat—”
I turn before he can finish and lead the way back to the room I came from while he follows. Rage lashes from him like a weapon. It slices at my skin, fighting to leave a mark—but my new armor is impenetrable, it seems: I’ve just stopped caring.
“What did he say to you?” Mischa demands as he barrels into the room, slamming the door. The violent thud echoes like a gunshot—and all I can do is laugh in its terrifying wake. “Something funny, I’m guessing?” He grabs my arm, wrenching me around to face him. “Did you two come up with some hilarious little scheme to—”
“Kiss me.”
“What?” He blinks, his words ending in a shocked grunt.
I’ve startled him so greatly that he loosened his grip, but I don’t capitalize on my new freedom. I endure him. Desperate, my nostrils flare for his scent and I choke it down with every breath—it’s the only way to keep the dark memories Sergei unearthed at bay.