Red Swan

Chapter 33: Red Swan

✴Isabella Marciano✴

I was thinking. Thinking of a way to break that 30 by 79.5 steel door. It was almost like a freaking vault door. From the looks of it, it's more or less 600 lbs of solid steel.

These people are smartass. They knew better than to put me in a regular holding cell. It won't hold me in like this room was holding me in.

Climbing the air vents would be a no-no. My hands were the only thing that would fit in them and the floor was solid cement. I tried searching for any drainage system under but found nothing. Even the walls were so thick, maybe two or three feet solid cement.

I always wonder how Edmond Dantès felt when his best friend betrayed him when he was locked away in Chateau d'If.

It's boring as hell, and I've been here for what? Twenty, forty-eight hours?

Instead of counting sheep to relax my stubborn mind, I'm counting ways on how to wring Konstantine Zafeiriou's sexy neck for choosing that fake head over me. My back was laying flat on the floor and my legs were resting up on the wall. The concrete floor was cold but my body was already numb, getting pneumonia is not my concern at the moment.

Why did I have to be putty for that Greek Sex God? Well, I'm weak, a sucker for his beauty but I still felt no threat around him. Even when he was standing beside that fake head, I still felt safer when he got closer to me.

There was something he's not telling me, I wanna know what it is before I kill him, and kiss him one last time.

Stupid Isabella. Why can't I just like someone like my James Dean? I miss the love of my life. All my souvenir items from him were left in New York. I should have brought his life-size pillow I had in my closet when we left. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have felt this way for Kon.

Just wait. All I could do was wait. And I'm not a very patient person! And I smell like shit!

After trying to kick, slam and pound on the door. I tried unhinging each part but to no avail. I only gained more pain from my broken ribs. If I don't get treated right away, I might suffer the long term result of my injuries.

What have they done to John?

I jumped up from my lying position when the door slammed open, the metal crashing against the cement made a loud bang. So loud that it might have made a crack in this impenetrable cell.

A girl with blond hair stood at the entrance. Her hair was the blondest I have ever seen. It's dove feathers. Her green hues were so vivid, just like mine. The shape of her face and eyes were like mine but her lips are thinner.

''You!'' I accused. ''You were that fake head!'' I wanted to charge forward, kill her without remorse but I knew better than to make a fool of myself. She is in good shape and I'm in a worse state than a limping Coyote.

Blondie smirk, sauntering inside the cell towards the metal chair where I was tied up to earlier. She checked the ropes that restrained me, they were still intact. Her vivid green eyes stared at me, from my face to my shoulders, and rested on my wrist.

I was an ugly duckling in front of this pretty dove. I need a shower and I'll turn into a swan, a red swan, fake head.

Her thin lips pulled up into an amused smile, ''how did you get out of these?''

''Wouldn't you wanna know?'' I plonk my bum on the floor and rest my aching body on the walls.

I wanted to act strong but I'm in so much pain. There was no point in standing up when all I wanted was to curl into a ball and sleep for eternity.

How I escaped was easy. They tied my hand in a constrictor knot, a double that would tighten with every move I made. It's annoying as hell but Heath is a freak. His fascination with Albert Einstein's 'In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity' annoyed me all the time. He likes being tied up, not in a kinky way but in a life-threatening way. So he created these kinds of slime that would lose any rope, cuffs, and chains which we always carry around.

Thank God my family is crazy.

''Tell me,'' the girl's voice softened as she sat crossed legs in front of me. The anger she threw at me last time was gone, that bratty stubborn fake head who claims to be is ancient history in her face.

This woman is cunning.

''Go away,'' I hugged my knees closer to my body, suddenly feeling cold.

She silently groaned. ''That's why he liked you. You're just like her,'' she whispered so softly that it didn't even come out of her lips. ''Come, let's get you treated before your ribs forget where they are supposed to be.''

She reached out for me but I swatted her hands with the strength I have left in me.

''Why do you have to be stubborn?'' she huffed. ''I have no patience for brats.''

I gleaned up at her standing figure, ''get away from me before I snap your neck!''

Her well-shaved brows knitted together, her pretty face turned in a scowl. She surprised me when she laughed wholeheartedly, a genuine laugh. She clutched her stomach, throwing her head back as if I'm a clown on her birthday.

I'm doomed. Maybe this is the world's punishment for me. To die in the hands of the crazies.

''I like you, Isabella,'' she wiped the side of her eyes comically. ''Let's go, I'll take you to the old bald guy.''

''John?'' my ears perk up like a puppy.

''Is that his name?'' the girl uttered. ''You two will fill it perfectly in this family.''