Another knock on my window

With a nauseating mixture of fear and hope I went to my window and opened the curtains. There was Marek outside waiting for me to answer his knock.

I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face; but he looked tired and older than his actual age of 20, and also maybe as apprehensive as I was, underneath his perpetual mafioso cool.

I let him in. I’d thought a lot about what I would do should . . .

Sorry, but this content is restricted to paying subscribers only.

Register here. Choose a monthly, yearly, or lifetime membership.

Then support risky writing here.