Chapter Twenty Two

(tw: mentions of violence)

The door opens as per usual and by now Ivanna can tell from the sound it isn't Asia. Her lover always opened the door nervously, slowly. It never swung open very wide and the door itself only made a creaking sound when it passed a certain point of openness. The thing with being encased in such a small space for so long with little to no distractions available, is it was easy for Ivanna to study and catalogue every detail.

She was already blessed with a decent memory and acute attention to detail. The matter of being stuck in what felt like the same moment was excruciating in that way.

So when the sound of a creak came from her left, she didn't bother to move her eyes from their spot on the ornate ceiling. Her latest fascination was with the small birds which found themselves likewise stuck inside of her compact prison in the ceiling's wallpaper. Their beaks were short and more round at the top than the bottom and their legs were on the skinnier side with no web between the toes, implying they were either designed to perch or climb. Ivanna didn't know much about birds but she had focused on trying to guess what manner of birds they were anyways.

Thus far she had been more successful at eliminating possible birds than landing decisively on any particular one. Certainly they weren't ostriches or penguins or eagles. The beaks were wrong to be hummingbirds and she was pretty sure woodpeckers had a little hairlick in their feathers just at the back of their heads. She really couldn't figure it out.

Her grandmother had been fond of birds. Some evenings while her mother worked late, the woman would walk her to the local park. She was a sweet old woman, who kept her hair in short curls about her head and never raised her voice. Ivanna had always been much more interested in the swingset or the colourful jungle gym than in the woman's musings about the different kinds of birds around them. Still, it was a fond memory. She had always felt safe in the elderly woman's precense and oftentimes she found herself lingering on the different manner of birds around her when the grief of loss became too overwhelming. Abuela passed nearly five years ago.

"Ivanna Vayas."

Melkior's voice was as smooth and expressionless as ever. Ivanna found it similar to listening to the static of a blank channel on the old television set in her grandmother's bedroom: there was no use in doing so.

"Asia doesn't seem to be interested in cooperating with my request so long as I'm asking politely. It's time for me to try a different approach with the matter."

Ivanna let her eyelids fall shut. Melkior was indifferent as he stood over the small loveseat where she laid, oxford shoes pointed and at rest on the ground.

"So, my dear, I'll have to resort to a more physically imposing sort of persuasion. Naturally, I can't harm her, being as I need her in good health. I'm afraid that leaves you."

Ivanna did not open her eyes to acknowledge him. Nor did she feel any sort of emotion in the rise and fall of her chest when she thought of what he said. At this point, the situation had left her with little more to contend with than exhaustion. She was tired, so very tired. In some way, she knew it meant that the man was winning. He was slowly managing to break her down mentally, and sooner or later, she would reach a point where it'd be very difficult to recover from the ordeal. Assuming she ever got out of it to begin with.

"It's messy business, my dear. Little more than collateral damage, you must understand I need her to do what I ask and I'm running out of time."

She had decided she would never make this known to Asia. For one, she knew Asia well enough to know that she would never be able to forgive herself for it. Even with everything that had happened, Ivanna did not resent her lover. If this situation had taught her anything, it was that there was probably nothing Asia Alvarsson could do to make Ivanna love her any less. Nothing at all.

Melkior, however, she held in a very opposite respect. As she saw it, he deserved nothing more than a slow and painful death, and even that would be too kind. This was a man who had destroyed everyone he had ever loved. His wife. His daughter. His son. It seemed he was a poison in and of himself. He had a magnificent way of destroying things and that he could be so oblivious of it all made Ivanna that much more disgusted.

As much as she hated the man, she had to admit his resolve was rather unyielding. She didn't have to look to know he had started neatly unbuttoning the sleeves of his button-down collared shirt and rolling them up to his elbows for more agility. He really meant to harm her, and further he really didn't see the matter as anything more than a minor inconvenience.

Ivanna held her eyes closed the entire time.

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