Catch Them

After that, I think I fainted again because of the hunger I was feeling at the moment. When I woke up, I was in another room, and I actually had a decent bed.

As I previously wished, I got a bowl of chopped-up oranges, Kiwi, and some lemons. I don't know how, and I don't care. I just eat and don't ask any questions.

It's early, probably 4 or 5 in the morning. The light is barely bleeding through the windows of the prison cell. That's what it is. A prison cell. And the boy in whose room is in front of mine is looking at my food like he'd like some, too.

"I see you're stuck here, too." I say, throwing him a lemon. He doesn't look at it. He keeps staring at me like he wants to kill me.

"No, thanks. I don't accept presents from people like you."

He's more handsome than I want to admit. Apparently, the sirens are prettier than the mermaids. I don't believe Aric. Sirens are sirens. I'm a mermaid, and you can't change my mind. I was born to think that.

"If you're so clean, what are you in for?"

He laughs, stroking his jaw. He looks about my age. He looks like he hasn't had a haircut in months. His brown hair is tied with what I think might be shoelaces, and his clothes are dirty and muddy. The perfect reminder that I won't get out of here.

"I'm in because I stole three fucking crowns."

"Crowns like the jewelry or..."

"The coin. Crowns like the coin. And I've been here for four whole months. You killed thousands of people."

No. No. They will execute me if I don't do something!

But I'm sure my father will take care of it. He won't let his child die just because of a dumb decision he took. No, of course not! He loves all of his children equally. All nine of us.

Hours pass as I lay on my bed, waiting for my death. I hear a nonexistent clock ticking to my end. All I did was sing. All I did was enjoy my birthday.

The door of my cell screeches, but I don't even bother to look up. I know that whatever it is, I won't be satisfied. The once hunter is now prey for every little insect that comes in his way. They still pick me up, possibly dragging me to my death. You know what? I couldn't care less.

I follow them blindly. I don't open my eyes. If I would, I don't think I could handle this like I want to. I don't want to cry, scream, or squeak. Every single one of those would be a sign of weakness. Instead, I try to keep a straight face. I really should. 

I am about to fall. I tripped over a threshold. It reminds me of the time me and Casper were playing a "trust game." It was dumb, but we really enjoyed it at the time. Right now, I don't think I can say I trust these people.

I think it would be wise to at least peek. 

Across the table, there's a blonde gentleman is sitting and smoking some kind of cigarettes. He has been here for a long time now; the ashtray is full of cigarette butts. 

He points at a chair, inviting me to sit down. Is he sent by my father to come pick me up?

"Welcome to Moscow, my girl," He says, pulling a lighter out of his pocket. "Would you like to try?" I shake my head. I don't smoke. "Ah, well, then!"

I don't think he's sent for me now. My parent never would send such a mediocre human being after me. And we're in Moscow. That explains the tough rules. 

He flicks his hand, calling a guard over. The guard bends, and he whispers something in her ear. She smirks and returns after a few minutes, putting a deck of cards on the table. He picks them up and starts to shovel them.

"What would you like to play? Durak? Vint? Tri Palki?"

"No, thanks. I don't like playing card games."

He starts a new cigarette, putting the butt of the other one in the ashtray. I frown. I can't stand smelling the smoke. My father doesn't smoke, but, when I was 11, he forced me to try. I begged him not to. I tried to get him to wait, but he just put the paper in my mouth, lit it, and forced me to take a deep breath out of it. If I had tried it on my own, I would surely have become an addict because, even in that situation, I found it a bit pleasant.

"Good girl."

I feel sick. He's talking to me like I'm some kind of prostitute and not a well-raised lady. I clench my fist. If I want him to respect me, I have to make myself unrespectable.

I steal the cigarette out of his mouth. He gasps and then smiles. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I take another strong breath out of it, feeling the smoke invade my lungs. I blow the smoke in his face.

"Bring the Durak in, old man."

He's not old at all. He actually is about 25. He coughs and throws the cards on the floor. I think I magged him.

"I don't want to play anymore. I'll get straight to the point. You help me and my hunter, you live. You refuse, you die. I'll let you think about it until tomorrow. When you decide, ask the guards if you can talk to Serghei."