Mafia Modravé (manxboy)

CHAPTER SIX

It feels as though these dark days going by of Cove's captivity are only getting worse. The presence of the beast that enslaved him has not been seen for some days now and Cove can't help but feel restless. He finds it increasingly hard to sleep at night, with the room being lit by the Eiffel Tower mere streets away, and the uneasy feeling he gets because of Modravé's men aligning the roofs surrounding the occupancy.   

It seems unjustifiable to complain as a somebody who has been kidnapped; stuffed in a possibly ten-thousand-euro-a-night hotel room, and fed throughout the day: about loneliness.

There are some poor people who are shoved in basements, covered in their own filth and haven't even seen the sight of food for weeks!

It just that Cove is such a naturally sociable person, it seems unruly for him to be cooped up in the same room twenty-four hours a day without any human interaction. The only thing keeping him going is the boxset Valentino dropped by for him which is Series 1 of a British comedy called The Inbetweeners.

Valentino quoted it as being "fucking brilliant, mate" when he dropped it over, and even stayed to watch the first episode - and Cove must admit... it is pretty hilarious. At least he's had something to keep his mood a little more mellow, even if it is only temporary.

The little things.

They're the things that's been keeping Cove from going insane. There is a little bluebird that lands on the edge of his window every morning that Modravé tells to "shoo you little shit", but soon returns later in the afternoon when Modravé is away, and just sits, singing to Cove. There's also an old man that, for endless hours of the day, sits on the cobbled streets below, on a little wooden crate, selling potato peelers. Cove watches him, not in a stalker way, but with immense amount of admiration and adoration also.

Will Cove end up as he?

Resorting to, despite being an aged man, selling potato peelers to survive? But, something he will never be, or never do, is be befallen to such a demisable, and despicable man such as Modravé. Oh how he resents that name.

Peering out of the window, the sky is beautiful pink. It's almost dark - but not late, it's just sadly getting closer to winter, therefore the darkness overtakes the light more.