I Am Mustafin

| 11 | - The Proposition

Only a couple of days have passed since I was brought back to the cell room after my failed attempt to escape, and I've had nothing but time to think. Ironically, my mind is consumed by a single, haunting thought: "What if this is it?"

I thought a lot about Efrem and what his motives may be, and having spoken with Isaak that night, I now have doubts of what I originally thought Efrem's plans for are. When Isaak implied that if Efrem wanted me dead, he wouldn't have gone through the trouble of saving my life, everything except my actions make sense.

I don't know anything...

As I'm escorted to Efrem's office, my heart races in my chest. I realize now that it wouldn't be a bad idea for him to end my life, simplifying everything for everyone involved. Most importantly, it would make things easier for him.

I never meant to cause any trouble... All I wanted was to get Briannah some medicine so that she could get better...

Tavin's knuckles rap on the wooden door, and my heart sinks to my stomach. The warmth in my hands vanishes as numbness creeps through my fingertips.

"Come in," Efrem's voice echoes.

When Tavin opens the door, I stand silently still, holding my breath as I follow his directions to enter the room. Tavin closes the door behind me, leaving me alone at the mercy of the head of the Mustafin blood Ring. I don't know if I appeared desperate to him or not, but in this moment, I realize just how much I value my life. I may have been morbid in the past, but in this moment, I realize that I...

...I don't want to die.

"Sit down," Efrem commands, gesturing to a chair positioned across from his desk.

I hesitate, but I do as he says. I don't say a word, but I watch him carefully as he calmly takes a sip from his glass of what appears to be whiskey and places it back down. While I'm sure that his actions are meaningless, I shift my gaze from his eyes to the stillness of the liquor in the glass.

I replay the day he was granted ownership of me in my mind—the day he put me in his car and brought me to his home. Though it's true that he saved my life that day, I can't help but feel angry anyway.

"Did you sleep well last night?" He asks, a hint of sincerity tinged with sarcasm in his tone.

"Splendid," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Did you find the room that I had prepared for you comfortable?"

Again, I'm uncertain whether his voice carries sincerity or sarcasm. Nevertheless, I respond in the same manner I have since our first encounter.

"I don't know," I state drily, "I didn't spend much time in it."

"And why is that?" He interrogates me. His features remain blank, his expression as stoic as ever. Strangely, it irks me.

"Do I really have to explain?" I mutter.

I ball my hands into fists, clenching them tightly as I realize that it won't matter how hard I try, I will never be able to make him feel as utterly confused and helpless as I do at this moment. In this game, I'll never hold the upper hand because of who and what I am.

"Yes, because I thought we had an agreement th—"

"What agreement?" I cut him off. "The one where you say nothing and expect me to sit still and quietly?"

Silence stretches between us, both of us locked in a wordless standoff. I hope for utterance from him, anything that might change the way I feel about him or the situation, but he remains reticent.