Stalker | ThirdUnion

23: An Old Knife in The Eye

About a week pasted, and Reich had made no progress on escaping. He was frustrated. Every single window in the house was bolted shut. He couldn't find any keys, any weapons. Nothing.

The only thing remotely sharp was the kitchen utensils, but he wasn't sure how well they would work. He couldn't picture a fork being very useful when trying to defending himself.

Soviet wouldn't let him touch any of the sharp knifes. He kept them to himself. And any time Reich wanted to cook Soviet would be there, watching him intently.

The German felt awkward, and upset.

He was stuck in a house with some crazy Russian that wouldn't let him leave until he loved him.

Soviet kept on talking about marriage, becoming a family, and all that crap. He wanted their wedding to be soon, too soon. Way way wayyyy too soon.

Reich wanted to die when he heard the man talk about children. He tried to get away from that conversations immediately.

He didn't want kids, and he definitely wasn't fit to be a parent.

Soviet was much more persistent about it, which led Reich to ask the Russian about his own kids.

Soviet didn't comment on that, simply saying that Reich was his main focus at the moment. Which was supposed to be cute, but Reich refused to let himself fall for it.

He'd gotten to the conclusion that Soviet had to of been seeing his kids. He couldn't just leave them, like all fifteen of them.

Reich was aware that the Russian had been sneaking out. As he woke up one night, alone in bed, which he was surprised about. Not a Soviet in sight.

He searched the whole house, but there was no Soviet anywhere. He was sure that the Russian had left, for just a moment, he returned in the morning, with some breakfast he had bought for the German.

He was living a double life, and Reich was sure it was straining him. A couple more days of all this and perhaps Reich could have a chance to attack him.

That wasn't the best idea, and it could very easily end badly. But the Russian kidnapped him. He'd probably be fine if he went to court.

And he had to do something, anything he could do to get away from that dreadful honeymoon.

Reich sighed as he mixed his hot coco. It was a cold morning, and there was nothing to eat. Soviet wasn't home, so there was no prepared breakfast.

The German watched the television from the kitchen. The kitchen had a pretty decent view of the living room, you could see the TV quite well, which was right above the fireplace.

The news was playing. It wasn't anything exciting. But the disappearances were mentioned, all those disappearances.

The German sipped his drink, he was completely sure Soviet had something to do with them. Even if the Russian hadn't said anything about them, Reich was sure it was him.

Nothing too interesting played after that. Reich went to turn off the TV, and glanced towards the front door. He could hear the handle being messed with.

So he made his way over there to look down the hallway, and soon enough the door opened, and Soviet was there.

The man had a bag of food, and smiled as soon as he noticed the German.

"Good morning love."

Reich hummed, more interested in the food than anything.

Soviet locked the door, and hid the key away, but Reich was sure it had to be in one of those many pockets he had.