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Like a lost lamb lured into a pack of wolves, she had blindly walked straight into the wolf’s den, completely unaware of what was to come.
I took one last drag from my cigar.
Let the fun fucking begin.
Chapter
Twelve
“Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart.”
? Fiodor Dostoïevski
Sofiya
After Dasha made sure I ate all my dinner, just like a kid, she wished me goodnight and left.
I hesitated.
Should I stay here like Princess Fiona, waiting for the ogre, or explore the tiny distraction handed to me?
What if the library was a trap?
I couldn’t trust anyone, but I was tired of rotting in here with only my depressing thoughts and nostalgic pictures.
I looked out at the stormy night, feeling the need to escape this room.
I paced for what felt like hours but was probably only fifteen minutes before giving in to curiosity. I wanted to see if the stunning library held any of my favorite books or if its owner had a favorite genre. Maybe thrillers, fantasy, or even biographies of serial killers. Who knows?
Books reveal who we truly are, beyond the walls we build to protect our hearts and true selves. They reflect our aspirations, desires, and dreams. I majored in Greek mythology for its enigmatic world where even gods faced peril, showing me that there is beauty in pain and ugliness in success.
I tiptoed quietly to the library, stopping at the door to listen for any signs of life. As my breath quickened, a thought crossed my mind: maybe this was my chance to escape.
But where could I go with no plan, money, passport, or phone? I couldn’t even speak their language.
I knew I was doomed from the moment I entered this house.
My shoulders dropped as I forced myself to focus on the small blessing of the library.
A few seconds passed, and I gathered some courage to slowly open the door and enter the dark room, where the only light came from the nearly extinguished fireplace and a few rays of moonlight peeking through the gray clouds. Other than that, the room was almost pitch black. I stopped to admire the grandiosity of the library once again, and my heart started beating fast in my ears. I gently touched the first row of books in front of me with my fingertips and randomly picked one.
My breath quickened as I started to read its title.
Bel Ami by the renowned French author Guy de Maupassant.
This book’s as disturbing as it is fascinating. Here is the story of Georges Duroy, a young, underprivileged, retired French soldier from the Algerian War. Aspiring to join Paris’s elite, he uses his charm and smooth-talking skills to seduce the wives of influential men and climb the social ladder. His list of lovers grows with each chapter and continues even after he marries the daughter of his influential chief, who is also the daughter of one of his lovers.
Yep, having sex with the mom and the daughter. Never seen something as cliché as that before.
The thought made me roll my eyes.
I put the book back in its place and looked for one that I could read tonight or one that could maybe give me a clue of how to get out of here, like some kind of escape plan involving a damsel in distress.
My eyes landed on Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. Well, the owner had a bizarre taste when it came to literature. I can’t read about a serial killer addicted to the scent of his victims to the point where he would… Actually, I would rather not think about the disturbing motives of that character. It was quite a scary book and, to be frank, I may not be able to sleep if I reread it.
My attention stopped on one Russian classic that I had longed to read for quite some time.
Crime and Punishment.
