The boy sitting before me folded his arms and leaned back in the chair, icy blue eyes flashing dangerously. Although his posture feigned comfort, his expression said otherwise.
"You really don't know how to give up, do you?" He growled. It was hard to see much, the lights had obviously been out of use for quite a while, the yellowish glow coming from the only working bulb flickered and danced on the cement floor.
The bindings holding me to the chair rubbed my wrists and ankles harshly, but I forced myself to relax and grin at Nikolai, knowing it would only do more to flare his temper, which, mind you, was entirely too short.
"You know, this life really doesn't suit you." I said, ignoring my aching throat. That could wait. This was so much more important. I ignored the soft sobs coming from the corner, trusting that Katyusha could hold out longer. It would have to wait, like everything else.
"How would you know?" he said. It was freezing outside, almost thirty below. I could feel my hands beginning to become numb from the cold, the frigid air seeping its way into my thin shirt. The boy in front of me seemed impervious to it, although he was wearing a coat and gloves; they seemed much too thin, even though the coat looked to be lined with some sort of artificial fur.
I forced myself to focus on these observations instead of the aching in my ribs-most likely broken-and the steady pounding of blood in my head, a rather harsh blow from a lead pipe, courtesy of Ivan.
"Are you going to ignore it? Ignore your own sister and your cousins and Alfred and Arthur, Eliza….in favor of your brother? I don't know if you've noticed, but he tried to kill you. He nearly killed Katyusha and Toris. Are you seriously going to turn a blind eye to that just for Ivan? I hate to break it to you, but he's beyond saving. Even you should know that."
The blonde's eyes narrowed and I knew the blow was coming way before he brought his hand back, snapping forward with such precision that I knew only Ivan would've taught him that. My head snapped to the side and seconds later I felt the force of it, the ache spreading through my cheek like fire. I forced myself to push down the anger that bubbled up in my chest.
"We can help." I whispered, the words rubbing my throat raw. He looked almost hesitant for a second, then his eyes hardened again.
"No you cannot, Matthew."
To say that I was pleased with myself would be the understatement of the millennium. Hacking the government database and erasing myself had been one thing, one year of research, two month's worth of work and a few cramped fingers were the only price I had payed as of yet. But not only that, I hadn't been caught, and I had managed to sneak-more like persuade-my way onto a plane and was now in the beauteous country of Spain at only seventeen years of age.
My Spanish was limited, but I had learnt enough in primary school to suffice until I got used to it. After that I could go to Hungary, or Austria, or Germany…I was absolutely gleeful. It was all too simple. Now I would be completely free of my insufferable foster mother and a father who didn't even look at me, who couldn't remember my name half the time and instead directed his praise toward my grades. Like I actually cared about school. My half-brother was the only one who seemed to care even the slightest, but he couldn't sit still for a second to actually listen to me. Not to mention he was in America.
My days I spent in near constant hiding, usually in an alleyway or an abandoned apartment, but occasionally I would get up the nerve to climb a building and even jumped buildings when I was feeling terribly dangerous. My nights…well, I always had been a night owl, so I spent nights wandering the streets, ducking in and out of streetlights, taking in everything. I relished in this newfound freedom from the desolate life I had led and the tyranny of my god-forsaken father.
I held no more want for the simple things, food, clothing, human interaction. I wanted more than that. I wanted the excitement of living on my own, on the run, the rush of adrenaline that came with a life without order. Organized, rhythmic chaos ruled my life. I suppose now, looking back on it, I could've called it wanderlust. The word wasn't too far off the mark, in my mind. I felt a constant push, a drive to seek something I had never had. I longed for new places, new heights, excitement, and adventure.
The simplicities of life could wait. A full stomach or a warm night in a real bed couldn't hold a candle to the thrill of leaping buildings, slinking away in alleyways, or those nights, which were few, that I would meet a stranger on their own journey. Usually without a permanent home, I would stay with them, be it on rooftop or in a forest, or even in a hotel room, learning their story and comparing it to mine. It seemed I wasn't too alone in my endeavor.
My invisibility seemed to simply further my delight in meeting these people. The whole world-except for the other wanderers- seemed to be oblivious to me and for the first time ever, I absolutely loved it. When I walked the streets, I would people-watch, admiring their obliviousness. For the first time, I saw the world around me in a new light. Disappearing off the face of the earth had done something for my view of the world.
It was warm in Spain, certainly warmer than Canada, but I didn't get rid of my old hoodie. It was the last thing I had from my home, and while I entirely disliked my family, I couldn't help the pride I had for my beautiful, snow filled country. This particular sweater was red with a white maple leaf imprinted on the front. It was at least a size too big, as were all of my sweaters, and it hung off my frame loosely without actually slipping off. It was perfect, or at least that was what I believed. As it were, my entire stay in the gorgeous country of Spain was spent wearing that same article of clothing, save for when I washed it of course. It seemed I could not part ways with it, even if I wanted to.
I hadn't heard from Matt in two months. Two. Is he mad or something? I thought. Although we were only half brothers and lived in different countries we kept in touch. I had racked my brain over and over to try and think of something I might've done to bring this on, but it was to no avail. He wasn't the type to simply ignore people, he was too polite.
Finally, I called the Canadian archives. They would talk to an American, right? Maybe if I told them it was my brother they would understand. They could tell me a way to call his parents-Jerks- and that would be it. I didn't like his parents, hell; he even said he hated those superficial idiots. We could both agree on the fact that the mother we shared was considerably more awesome than anyone else.
So when the lady at the archives finally picked up (after two hours of being on hold) and told me "There is no one named Matthew Williams by that description, I apologize." It hit me like a ton of bricks. He had talked and talked about doing research on computers and joked with me about erasing himself completely and traveling the world, but…he couldn't have actually done that, right? I mean, doesn't it take some sort of supercomputer to do that?
After thinking and re-thinking I decided that was the only thing that could've happened. Wow. I never thought he'd get up the guts to do that. It's kinda badass. I thought. Well, there was only one thing to do now. Join the military like I had always planned. If Matt was really missing on purpose, he would want me to. He'd always told me it was my "calling", whatever that meant.
I had to trust that Matt would be okay, since there wasn't a way to find him. God, Matt, you better still be alive.
It was time for a change of scene. After almost two years in Spain, learning Spanish and running around, it was time to continue my dream of wandering around all of Europe. In my mind, that meant every country. I had always wanted to go to Austria, but I'd never had the chance. From Austria I could go to Hungary and from there, Germany. The options were seemingly endless.
The only problem was, how could I get there? I had taken my passport with me to go to Spain, but it was old, and they would probably notice that A) I technically didn't exist and B) I was Canadian but no longer had a residence in Canada. I had checked online, my stupid foster parents had looked for me for a couple months, then just went back to pretending I didn't exist, meaning they hadn't counted me in the Census, so I technically didn't have a home in Canada. Great.
As I wandered around a city whose name I couldn't recall, deep in the bowels of this unnamed place, my mind came back to my disposition. I had gotten to Spain without much trouble, so all I had to do was replicate what I had done then, right?
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair then shoved my hands into the large front pocket of my hoodie. I looked around and shivered involuntarily. I knew all-to-well what kind of neighborhood I was in. I had been to Detroit when I visited Alfred in America and this place looked to similar to it for me to be comfortable.
I could hear footsteps, large and heavy, not completely steady, behind me. I surged forward, launching suddenly into a brisk pace just in case whoever was behind me decided I was the kind of person they'd like to attack. I didn't think much on it, though. It wasn't like I hadn't been jumped before, and most people ignored me, anyway. I looked too young to have much money on me, and the truth was, I usually didn't. The money in my bank account I used frugally. Yeah, this guy probably doesn't even realize I'm here. I thought nervously.
The footsteps behind me quickened their pace also. They weren't too far behind me, at least judging by sound. I glanced backwards and immediately regretted it. Shit, that guy has to beat least six feet tall. I thought to myself. Six feet tall, broad shouldered and barrel-chested, this guy definitely beat me in the size department. A knife glinted in the light of the streetlamps, making my heart feel as if it would beat straight out of my ribcage. My mind raced for an escape plan.
Too close. My bag will weigh me down if I try to run anyway. I thought. Although he was unsteady, he certainly looked fit enough to run. I could try, I had been on the track team, but if I knew anything about crime in this area, he would probably have some friends waiting for me down the block and that was not something I wanted to deal with at the moment.
I kept my feet moving at the same brisk pace, trying not to seem like I was aware of the situation. Okay, calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. He can't really kill you, can he? The worst this guy can do is find out I don't have any money and beat me up. I thought. It didn't help much.
Before I had time to think of a new plan, someone walked into the road in front of me. At first, I was relieved. Maybe this person was going to help me? The man stopped in the middle of the road. He wore a sweatshirt, the hood pulled up so it shaded his face. I couldn't make out anything of his appearance, only that he was maybe five seven" and not as bulky as the man behind me.
I stopped in my tracks. Shit. No, no, no no. this can't be happening, not now! I began to panic as they got closer. They both stopped about three feet away from me on either side. The man in front of me held out a tanned hand.
"Nome digas que notienes dinero, ahora."(Don't tell me you haven't got any money, now.) He said, almost mockingly. I pulled my hands out of my pocket.
"Uh…no. R-Realmente no lo s-sé."(I really don't.) I stammered, though it was barely louder than a whisper. The man took a step closer and I backed up, only to remember that there was someone behind me also.
"¿Qué hay enla bolsa?" (What's in the bag?) He said. Right, my bag. I reached up to my shoulders and wrapped my fingers around the material of the straps. There wasn't much in it, just my clothes, a watch, a couple of protein bars and a small bag with maybe ten dollars in it.
"R-Realmente, n-no tengonad-da."(Really, I don't have anything.) I said, trying-and failing- to raise my voice so that I would sound intimidating, or at least convincing. I sounded more like a nearly-mute four year old. I would've laughed if I weren't being leered at.
I felt my backpack shift and I spun around, now face-to-face with the first thug. No, please, god just let me go! I thought. I tightened my arms around myself, trying to shrink. Oh god, I'm going to die! I thought.
Out of nowhere, the man in front of me was yanked backwards. My eyes widened as a blonde in a blue sweatshirt snapped a fist forward, straight into the man's face. A sickening crunch and I knew his nose had been broken. The man cried out in pain and brought his hands to his face. The blonde took this opportunity to grab him by the arms and yank him forward, slamming his knee into the man's stomach.
The man behind me had frozen, and I whipped around to watch him, afraid of what he might do. His eyes, which had been as wide as saucers moments before, narrowed. He pulled something out of his pocket and my stomach twisted as I realized what it was. He flipped out the blade, fixing the blonde with a glare.
"Así¿qué creesque estás haciendo,mocoso?" (Just what do you think you're doing, brat?) He said, waving the knife around as he spoke. I backed away from him, glancing over at the boy. He looked young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, certainly not big enough to take on either of them, but yet…
Strangely enough, at the man's words, a grin overtook the blonde's face. I could feel the blood draining from my face. He's freaking insane! I thought. The thug leapt forward, shoving the blade out in front of himself. The boy stepped easily to the side, grabbed the man's arm, and wrenched the knife out of his hand. He muttered something to himself as he shoved the man past him and examined the knife.
Losing interest in it, he chucked it somewhere as the man righted himself. It was obvious how uneasy he was about fighting the boy now, but regardless, he turned back toward him. The blonde frowned at him, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a…phone.
"Me gustaría no tener que llamar a la policía, por lo que si usted acaba de salir y fingir que esto nunca sucedió, se agradecería."(I'd like to not have to call the police, so if you would just leave and pretend this never happened, it would be appreciated.) He said. His accent was thick, though I couldn't figure out what exactly it was. The man sighed and relaxed, nodding his head in agreement. The boy tossed him something small and he caught it.
"Recomendar a Carriedo que será mejor que desaparecer, y rápido. No queremos que ningún problema, ¿verdad?" (Tell Carriedo he'd better disappear, and fast. We wouldn't want any trouble, would we?) He said. Carriedo? Where have I heard that name before? I thought. The man glared at him, but walked over to his accomplice and helped him up, walking away somewhere with him.
The boy turned to me and looked me up and down questioningly. I finally had a chance to get a good look at him. Tall, thin, and Slavic-looking, he wore a near-permanent looking frown now. He sighed and muttered something in a language that was definitely not English or Spanish.
"Вы идиот!" (You are an idiot!) He said suddenly. From the very little Russian I knew, I could tell that he was cussing me out. Why is he speaking Russian? I thought. He sighed and held out a hand, motioning for me to step closer.
"¿HablasInglés?"(Do you speak English?) He asked, sounding exasperated. I inched toward him, wary of what he might do next.
"Uh…um, yes?" I said. He stared icily at me for a moment, then turned and began to walk away. He turned back for a moment.
"Are you coming?" he asked, his accent weighing heavily on the words. Definitely Russian. I thought as I walked slowly after him. Where would he take me? Who was he anyway? Whoever he is, he's probably part of one of those gangs I've heard of round here. Where else would he learn to fight like that?
Hey, sorry I haven't updated in a while, there have been some pretty messed up things happening in my life ^^' This story was in my head and I just couldn't get it out, so I'm typing it up in the hopes that you guys will like it as much as I do.
