Chapter 4

"But how long ago?" Miki asked the club manager, nervous because she didn't believe what he was telling her. She knew Elisa well and knew perfectly well that she would never sell herself, especially not with something she cared so much about. "It's been over an hour..." he said, puzzled. Everyone had heard her screams, but no one had intervened because they couldn't. Kirill's colleagues, on the other hand, were laughing. "What are you waiting for? Go! Enough already, go see what's happening," Miki urged. He looked at her for a moment; he had to see what was going on, so he did. He stood frozen in front of the door when he saw the girl sitting beside the sofa, her chest, arms, and hands covered in drying blood, sitting on a bright red puddle, with an inert body lying face down on the sofa. Shit, shit, shit. What had that crazy girl done? They were all screwed because of her. But she didn't react, she didn't even feel a presence there, until Mikaela peeked over the man's shoulder and was horrified, pushing him aside to enter and see how her friend was. "Elisa! Honey..." she approached cautiously. The girl turned her face, covered in streaks of dried blood running from those tears that kept coming. "Miki..." she said in a trembling, weak, raspy voice. "I killed him... it was an accident. I'm sorry..." a spasm caught her throat. "I'm so sorry..." The club manager left. What could he do? He was desperate. He figured he should tell one of Kirill's colleagues; they would know what to do. Maybe they would kill Elisa. "Take it easy..." Miki moved closer to her brunette friend, who lay on the floor crying inconsolably. "I didn't mean to..." "I know, I know you didn't mean to," she crouched beside her, cradling her in her arms to make her feel accompanied, offering her shoulder and chest to cry on. "You were drunk and..." "Shh... Don't say anything. Do you want me to get you something?” "No," she clung to her with fear, wishing and fearing that Kirill would react and slap her. Mikaela stayed with her, thinking that the next thing she would see come through that door would be her boyfriend with a good solution, but he didn't come, and several minutes had passed. Elisa had succumbed to sleep in her friend's arms until screams and gunshots began to fill the air. The girl woke up, immediately looking at her friend and realizing what had happened. "What...?" she didn't finish the question, when the door opened and her friend stood up, taking a few steps toward the door, only to fall instantly when a bullet pierced her head. "Miki!" she screamed, drowning in her own fear and panic. She watched as her friend's eyes widened and became still forever, seeing the blood flowing from her, just like it had flowed from that man whose name she didn't know. But right after her scream, a bullet hit her shoulder, revealing to the world that she had been the killer of that man on the sofa. "Miki!" she screamed again, and another bullet hit her femur. She began to crawl then, not to escape, but to reach her friend. She was dead because of her, everyone in that room was dead because of her... She cried as she crawled, both from the pain of seeing her only friend in this country lying dead just inches away, which seemed endless, and from the physical pain. "Miki..." she kept moving forward, knowing that there were two people around her, amused at having killed that man. Just as she was about to reach her, a pair of shoes stood between them, black and well-polished, with long legs covered in black fabric trousers. She looked up cautiously, revealing her face dirty with blood, dried tears, and new tears... but she couldn't see beyond that because she collapsed onto those shoes and stopped feeling. *** For months, she hadn't slept so deeply, surrounded by a protective bubble that kept her out of reach of any danger. Everything seemed soft and exquisite, embracing her like a baby. Gradually, she saw a white light, reaching the best part of the dream, where she was about to find out her grade on a university exam. It was a dream, she was in another place. When she opened her eyes, they were immediately blinded by the sun, along with feeling the pain of her shoulder wound. She tried to get up, but the bullet was still there, and as she moved, it seemed that the metallic object burrowed further into her flesh. She wanted to get out of there and go see her people, Miki. "Ah..." she groaned, recalling with that pain everything that had happened last night. Waking up from that dream to fall into this reality was cruel; she wished she didn't exist anymore, just like Miki. She brought her hands to her eyes, starting to cry, because she didn't know why she was still alive there, lying in a bed in an unknown place. Where was the people from the club? Was Miki still lying in that room, permeated with the metallic smell of blood? It was despairing. "Don't do that," a firm voice said, almost hitting her with its words. "I don't want you to cry." Elisa raised her gaze to the person giving her those orders, who was standing beside the curtains, and in a second, she remembered the black shoes that prevented her from reaching her friend. Was he the owner of those shoes? She stayed in her place, staring at a nonexistent point on the bed and feeling very cold. If that man wanted her conscious before killing her, then he would have his wish, because she didn't feel capable of staying conscious; remembering all those difficult things. She felt ashamed of her weakness, and she could hear her friend scolding her for it. That man approached her, taking a chair to sit beside her bed. He pulled the covers aside, uncovering her, because he needed to see her bloodied body to convince himself that she was Kirill's killer. As a reflex, the girl covered herself with her hands, remembering the attack of the man she had killed, but it was a bad move; because both wounds hurt terribly. She screamed and she was still dirty and without panties, just as she had been left the night before. "Very well..." he said, bringing a hand to her leg wound, recalling the orders he had given to leave the killer of his friend alive, before arriving at what was now a cemetery named the nightclub. "What can you tell me? You're covered in blood," he began probing the wound with his finger, trying to find the bullet, although he didn't really want to find it; he wanted her to talk, and soon. "Ugh!" she writhed in pain, thinking she might faint. So, that's what it was like to be conscious and in a bed there, as if she deserved it? "Do you want me to take out the bullet?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, seeing that this would only make her cry. She looked at him with watery eyes, biting her lips from within, afraid to say anything because he would surely hurt her more with any response for daring to speak to him. In response, Andrei rolled his finger inside her flesh again, causing her to scream. "Yes!" she screamed, crying sharply. He did it, he removed the bullet and showed it to her, letting it fall onto the sheets beside the girl's body. "Now, tell me what happened last night and I'll take out the other one." Her voice was weak; she began to speak hoarsely, still feeling the burn of the wound. Her life was in the hands of that man, and she didn't know what her future would be, although she didn't care if she had one. Not after everything that had happened; she didn't want to carry that guilt. She just wanted it all to end already. "I killed him..." she paused, interrupted by a spasm of her crying. "I didn't want to do it, I just wanted him to stop touching me." The long-haired brunette tilted his head and smiled. Was that the reason why she had killed him? Suddenly, he became interested in the foolish innocence of that girl. "Why did you have the belt in your hands?" Was that man a friend of the guy she had killed? Why did he seem so cold and indifferent to everything? She was surprised by the question. "Do you know the rest?" she asked timidly, taken aback. "Answer me," he demanded. She drew her legs up, bringing her knees to a height that would stop exposing her nakedness below. "Because he tied my hands with it... He didn't want me to hit him.” He released a sigh. Did it really happen that way? How pathetic…