Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

"Life's under no obligation to give us what we expect."

- Margaret Mitchell

Sofiya

A light breeze tickled my nose like a soft feather, gently disturbing my well-deserved restful sleep.

I lazily scratched my face and tried to drift back into the world of wonderland.

I groaned as a bright light flashed across my eyes, and I futilely tried to shield my peace with my free arm.

With a sigh, I surrendered to the light and opened my eyes.

I lay barefoot on a light blue blanket in a white summery dress, surrounded by a lavender field, holding a book. My red nail polish sparkled in the sun, and beside me, a small basket was half-opened, revealing an egg sandwich, lemonade, and a blueberry lemon-glazed muffin—my favorite. I must've taken a nap, but thankfully, I rested next to a tree that shielded me from most of the sunlight. I reached for the muffin, took a big bite, and savored its sweet, zesty flavor.

Closing my eyes, I hummed softly in satisfaction.

After finishing the muffin, I licked my lips, picked up the book, and continued reading.

The sad tale was about a young boy who lost his parents to the Black Death and found solace in the starry sky and the lonely moon. The boy waited each night for the moon to appear, as it became his only friend.

"My dearest friend," he would weep, on his knees, tears dripping down his rosy cheeks. His small, dirty hands rested gently on his knees. "Like the rest of the world, you left me to fend for myself," he'd sniffle, a small smile forming on his face. "Yet, unlike any others before, you consistently reach out to me in my darkest moments, to look after me and light up the path to follow."

He would embrace his frail frame as the moonlight illuminated his face and sparkled in his dark eyes.

"And for that, I am grateful to you."

After spending a few moments in silence, contemplating the beauty of nature and the quietness of the night, the boy would return to the barn where his modest bed—a haystack covered by a small grayish duvet—awaited him. He would fall asleep lulled by the sound of crickets, with a heart full of hope and gratitude in times of true despair.

A butterfly landed on the pages of my book as I wiped tears from my face.

Loneliness is a universal feeling endured by everyone at least once in their lives. As this little friend appeared out of nowhere, its beautiful and mesmerizing wings reminded me of the moon for the boy. It showed me that, in times of great darkness, there will always be someone or something reaching out to us if we open our eyes and hearts to endless possibilities.

Suddenly, the wind picked up speed.

The sky darkened, the leaves of the trees fell harshly, and in an instant, heavy rain began to pour. Hundreds of crows swirled around the tree I was sheltering under, and a scream escaped my mouth as some of them targeted and tried to attack me.

As I scrambled to gather my belongings, something bit the side of my neck, and everything went black.

I remained in this position until dizziness made my head spin.

When I regained my senses, I realized the ground beneath me was too soft to be soil or rocks.

I was fairly certain I was lying on a bed.

I grimaced as I shifted positions, ending up on my right side with my hands under my head, a bit of drool at the corner of my mouth. The heaviest and warmest cover I had ever experienced enveloped me like a heated, silky cloud. This was the most comfortable bed ever. I never wanted to leave this place or get up.

I hummed softly as my legs brushed against the silky fabric.

I must have drifted back to sleep because the warmth of a hand gently caressing my left cheek slowly woke me and compelled me to open my eyes.

Dizziness first overtook me, making me blink several times until my vision cleared and I saw the most malevolent gaze in history.

Our eyes locked in an unbearable tension .

I quickly stood up, threw off the white covers, and got out of bed.

Fear and hatred gripped me like ice-cold water. I looked down and was somewhat relieved to see that I was still in the same clothes and had no visible signs of physical harm.

I checked my wrists and hands, brushed my hair from my face, and patted my jeans pockets in search of my phone.

"Are you looking for this?" The man asked, holding up my precious phone in his right hand and then slipping it back into the pocket of his dark blazer as I tried to reach for it.

"How did you sleep? Good, I assume. I didn't expect the drugs to keep you out for that long," he said, thoughtfully scratching his chin. "You were out for eight hours! I'll be more careful next time."

I stared at him in shock, trying to process what was happening.

This man seemed insane—like he had just escaped from a mental hospital.

A sudden buzz in my ears and the movement of the floor beneath my bare feet snapped me out of my thoughts. Confused and disoriented, I looked around, taking in my surroundings.

I saw an unmade queen-sized bed with white silky covers and two small wooden nightstands on either side. Two medium-sized portholes were partially open, letting golden rays of sunshine into the room. Another shift of the floor made me realize we were in an airplane.

Oh my god! We are in a freaking plane!

If I was afraid when I first woke up, now I am petrified.

The realization hit me: I was probably being abducted by a shady organization involved in human trafficking, where I'd be drugged, stripped, beaten, and sold to deranged people.

My breath faltered, and I feared a heart attack. The movie Taken had never felt more real. Sweat dripped down my forehead and back, my hands and legs shivering uncontrollably. I hugged myself, seeking some sense of security and hoping Liam Neeson would rescue me—after his daughter, of course.

"W-Who are you?"

The man's footsteps made me lift my head, and I stumbled backward until my back hit the cabin wall. His expression darkened as he stood inches from me, his hands pressed against the wall on either side of my head.

He smirked. "It didn't matter who I was yesterday when you were grinding on my dick like a greedy virgin, so why should it matter now, huh?"

If my hands had been free, I would have slapped that smile off his face.

A deep sense of shame and heaviness filled my lungs as his words sank in, and tears began to fall silently down my cheeks.

"Maybe we should do that again. I think that's the best way to shut you up." He closed the distance between us, gripping my hips with both of his rough hands.

What a jerk!

"You don't understand personal space, do you?" I snapped as I tried to slip out of his tight grip. I struggled to push him away but quickly gave up. Fighting was useless—his hold was too strong, barely allowing me to breathe.

He raised an eyebrow, bringing his face closer to mine, his dark eyes locked onto me, and his lips inches from mine. When his minty breath touched my lips, I had no choice but to turn my head away .

He chuckled, nudging my cheek with his nose before burying his face in the crook of my neck and trailing kisses down my skin. He kissed, licked, and sucked the sensitive area behind my ear.

Tears fell from my eyes as I stayed frozen, staring at the white ceiling, trying to mentally escape and pretend his touch didn't affect me.

A demonic laugh echoed in the air, fueling a blaze of hatred in my heart.

The bastard was playing with me.

I clenched my fists, burning with a desire to hurt him, crush his ego as he had crushed mine, and make him suffer. But I knew I wasn't capable of that.

I was too scared.

Cowardly, I stood there as he kissed the crook of my neck, a low moan escaping my lips, which I quickly silenced with my hand.

"I know, baby, I know," he whispered in my ear.

I silently cried while he gently caressed and massaged my hair.

His hands gripped my hips as he kissed up my neck, nipped at my earlobe, then pulled back slightly and released me.

"See," he chuckled. "Now you're silent."

I cupped my head in my hands and let myself slide down the wall, pulling my knees to my stomach. I felt a profound sense of humiliation. I wasn't myself; I was just a spectator in my own body, unable to control any of it.

I heard him move back to the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight.

I didn't dare meet his eyes.

I had to do something. I had to save myself, because only God knows what awaited me once this plane landed .

I got up, dusted off my clothes.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, hoping I'd wake up soon from this horrible nightmare.

I looked up and saw him seated on the bed, arms crossed on his lap, eyes closed. He looked as though he was praying or meditating, but I knew he must be plotting his next move. The contrast between his dark attire and the room's stark whiteness made him seem both out of place and powerful.

Despite the odd feeling his presence created, his face looked peaceful, calm, and in control. I almost didn't want to disturb him, fearing the consequences.

But I deserved to know what was going on in this human trafficking mess.

The more I knew, the more options I had to save myself.

After a long moment, his eyes shot open.

I braced myself for a blow or an insult, but he simply got up, walked to the door, and before opening it, turned around and offered me a crooked, devilish smile.

"Russia, Sofiya. Someone wants to see you," he said, and then, like a ghost, he was gone.

Acid coursed through my veins, my heart pounding. I must be dreaming. This had to be the worst kind of nightmare.

Russia? I haven't been to Russia since I was maybe five years old.

I didn't know anyone there.

Confusion settled in my chest.

I was still a child when my papa died in a car crash on his way to work in Moscow. He was a truck driver, delivering food stock across the country, which meant he was rarely home with us.

After his death, Mama decided to move to the United States, seeking a fresh start away from the sadness and pain that her homeland had inflicted upon her. She described losing her soulmate as experiencing the first death—having a body that still functions but lacks the warmth of a soul.

As these memories swirled in my mind, I whispered to myself, gazing absently out the cabin window at the clouds and the endless horizon, "I think you have the wrong person. Nobody is waiting for me in Russia."