Myocardium

Part 9

By now, a couple of hours have passed, and I've just said goodnight to Sasha and Daisy. Now I'm sitting in my car, on my way to this shitty workplace of mine. Damnit, I'm begging for him to not come back. If I'm lucky, he'll be busy prepping studies or quizzes, or whatever else fucking instructors do all night long. 

Or maybe he magically got hit by a car or killed by a hitman or something. 

As long as it keeps him at a far, far distance from me, I'll accept it.

Any and all ideas about finding a way not to get the kids taken away from me slowly diminish one by one, eradicated by my own, logical mind. 

It feels like I'm joining a game, already knowing I've lost, no matter how well I play it. 

Trust me, if Sasha and Daisy weren't involved in this, I wouldn't care nearly as much as I do. Joe's mates could murder me and the police could lock me up for life. If my siblings weren't a part of me, I would not care if I died or if I were robbed of my freedom. 

As long as they're safe, I'll be at peace. 

The problem is that this is not how things work, I know it's a lot more complicated than that. 

Joe has made that very clear to me. 

It's torture, not giving myself a happy shot tonight, but I know that I need to observe everything and anything he does and says in case he actually does come back. But hey, just one more night of this shitshow and I'll have two nights to myself, not needing to sell myself to those monsters preying upon me. 

Oh, I am so looking forward to catch a break and let myself breathe for once. 

Painfully sober as I am, I sit on one of the barstools, ordering a shot of vodka to at least make me a bit less hyper-focused on my frightening surroundings. It doesn't take long until, lo and behold, the one person I do not want to see actually does bestow his presence upon this rotten place. 

My guts contract as I watch him through my peripheral vision, walking directly towards me, looking as attractive as ever. 

Speaking of, this is the first time I get to make up my mind about his appearance – in a mostly sober state of mind, that is. 

He sure is handsome and...undoubtedly the man from today's announcement.

He utters a calm 'hey' and seems somewhat glad to see me as he sits down on the barstool right next to me. For now, my mind remains neutral and as calm as it gets, although Joe's irritating, ignorant words still haunt my frustrated ego. 

With a faint smile on my face, I reply,
"Hello, there. How are you tonight, Sir?"

Rafael Woodstein. 

As long as I don't let that name slip before he tells this version of me too, I should be fine. 

Right? 

There is no way he could have noticed me among all these students. After the typical "How are you? Fine, you? Same." sort of conversation, I realize how strange it feels not to be dragged into the backroom immediately. 

In a way, it makes me nervous, how calm he is. 

"Hey, sorry I got so angry yesterday. But I want to let you know that my words were honest," he speaks, the smile fading off my face more and more with every second of him speaking. 

Please, don't start with this crap again. 

That Woodstein guy notices the frown on my face and follows up his statement with the words, "Now before you freak out, I won't ask you to tell me anything, okay? No need to get upset."