The White Rosebush

Chapter 10: Internment

Chapter 10: Internment

I moaned as a particularly loud noise shook the entire room I was sitting in. Damn bombs. I had hardly gotten a wink of sleep the entire night; the bombing hadn't even slowed down since yesterday afternoon. It was quite frightening to think that there were people above ground actually having to live like that. I had always wondered what being bombed was like, but at this point, I had gotten more than enough taste of it and willed it to cease. Bloody small chance of THAT happening. Not that the persistent bombing alone kept me from sleep. I hadn't gotten a word from Ivan or Alfred or any of the people in power about Andreas. That alone would have kept me up all night with worry. And there was the guilt. It was my fault all this happened. I forced Andreas to leave his home. His parents were probably dying from worry. He could have been home with his family all this time. I could have listened to him. He made a sensible argument, and I ignored it. I could have been smart, but no. He was lost somewhere in London, possibly dead or seriously injured, and it was my fault

Part of me wanted to say he got home and that his family was safe in a shelter, but I knew that was highly unlikely. I didn't wan to lie to myself. Be realistic, I scolded my mind internally. I could feel a tear running down my face as I took in a breathe of air that was shaken with sobs.

"How could I be so stupid?" I murmured to myself.

"Moping is never a good thing," I heard an  obnoxiously  familiar voice comment. I unwillingly raised my red eyes to see Alfred standing in my doorway, looking sympathetic and a bit embarrassed he'd walked in on a crying girl. He pushed his sliding glasses back up his nose nervously as I gave him a glare that could have put Ivan to shame.

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" I snapped a bit harshly. He laughed.

"Why would I do that?" He grinned tauntingly.

"Oh, I don't know," I responded sarcastically, "maybe because it's common courtesy. Most people have that."

"Well, according to you," he answered annoyingly, "I'm American, and therefore was born as a mannerless swine in a box in the middle of a dirty alleyway." I blinked at him. What the hell?

"I never said that," I defended. He smiled.

"You're prejudiced.  I can tell, so don't deny it." I rolled my eyes at him.

"You still should have knocked. Mine being prejudiced has nothing to do with it. I could have been naked or something."

"That would have been enjoyable."

"EXCUSE ME?" What the HELL was wrong with this guy? Were all Americans this much of an obnoxiously shameless hog?

"I'm joking. Calm your pretty little head down."

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?!"

"I don't want anything. Ivan does." That surprised me.

"What? Ivan? Why?"

"Beats me," he shrugged, "but he called another meeting and wants you present."

"I don't want to go." The Russian creeped me out and, the way I saw it, the less time I spent with him, the better. He  was weird and demented and obviously ruled his underlings through fear. It was sadistic. I had seen enough of him yesterday than I ever wanted to again.

"He thought we might come to this little roadblock."

"Roadblock? It's not a damn roadblock, its my own decision. I'm not going."

"You're being very difficult." I glared at him.

"You must be dumber than I thoug-"

"Because I'm American, right?" he interrupted dryly.