We walk past a couple of doors and enter the living room. It is filled with different men, all huge and tattooed, and I instinctively cower behind scar-face. He signals to keep walking, and we leave the living room to enter what seems to be the kitchen, then we enter a backdoor in the kitchen which leads to another building. The shooting-range.
I step into the shooting range and the air is filled with an exhilarating mix of adrenaline and gunpowder. The walls are lined with targets of all shapes and sizes, each one bearing dents and marks of constant use. The sound of gunfire echoes through the space, creating a symphony of precision.
The range itself is divided into lanes, each with sturdy partition. Each lane has a counter where shooters can set up their firearms and gear. The floor beneath my feet is covered in rubber mats, I assume to absorb the impact of each shot fired.
It is well lit, with shooters who take their shots with practised precision, each of their ears plugged, and they pay no attention to me. Two men who seem to be the instructors or trainers there walk around, observing each of the shooters and yelling at whoever seems to make a mistake. I scan through the whole room and there seems to be about twelve men there.
As I stand and observe, I see Vito coming towards me already geared up, and he throws a similar gear to me. I observe the outfit but rush to put it on when he barks at me to hurry. The black jumpsuit is three times my size, and the band of the helmet is soaked in sweat.
Vito comes behind me and my breath catches in the chest. He puts my hands through a bulletproof vest and I feel the slight touch of his fingers as he tries to secure it by clipping it on me. He roughly grabs my hair and twists the strands, then tie it together with a band I didn't notice on his hand. I feel his breath behind my ear and I shiver a little but try my best to feign indifference.
He gestures for me to put the helmet in my hands on. I twist my features in disgust and slide the helmet over my head. It smells horrible. I'm still trying to adjust the helmet so I can see properly when he tosses a gun into my hand. I fumble with it before finally securing it in my grasp. I have never held a gun physically before.
He grabs my wrists and guides me to the second lane which is the only free lane. He stands in front of me and patiently explains how to handle a firearm, emphasizing safety and precaution. He then goes ahead to put ear plugs in my ears and does the same for himself, I assume to muffle the sounds of the shot.
Vito shows me how to position the gun between my fingers, then stands behind me. With his strong hands gently guiding mine, he helps me find my stance, and speaks to me in a low tone, emphasizing the importance of balance and control. Our bodies move in harmony, swaying together as he adjusts my position.
My heart races, not only from the adrenaline of shooting, but also from the unexpected intimacy I feel with this seemingly dangerous man. He takes off the safety of the gun then I take my first shot, and the recoil reverberates through my body.
He takes another shot, correcting whatever mistakes I made in my first, and I continue shooting. I get better with each shot, and feel a sense of euphoria I have never felt before.
Hours feel like minutes, and I see a light-heartedness in Vito that I had never seen before. He watches me and fails to hide how impressed he was, seeing me hit the target almost perfectly. "Have you done this before?", he asks, and I shake my head no, and continue shooting at the target.
After a couple of minutes, he signals that I should stop and tells me it's time for dinner. "You would be eating with us, so freshen up and come down to the dining table." Then he walks out, leaving me unattended. Wow, so we have graduated to allowing me walk around alone? Sweet.
I make my way towards my room and lock the door behind me. I take off my clothes, now drenched in sweat, and add it to the pile on the bathroom floor. I take a quick shower then change into a pair of shorts and another tank top. Whoever chose these clothes need to be shot.
I leave my hair tied up and make my way down the stairs. The living room is filled with sounds of chatter and conversation, but as I appear into view, the conversations cease. Everyone turns to look at me, and I see Vito slowly turn his head.
His eyes catch mine and I see anger flash through them. "Get back upstairs. NOW!". He yells.
"Do you get off being so proud and disrespectful? Youre the one who brough me here so I at least deserve a bit of respect. If you're talking to me or want to get a point across, speak like a human being. I am clearly not deaf. Plus, you're the person that called me down to eat dinner, so that is what I am going to do."
I walk to the table and sit at the only available chair. I'm sat at an oblong table surrounded by about eight men who I assume also live here, and I eye the food arranged on it.
In the centre of the table, a partially burn chicken sits and I immediately deduce it is one of the men that cooked. Mashed potatoes are piled high in a porcelain bowl and next to it, a platter filled with what seems to be friend rice. In another dish is creamy mac and cheese, sitting beside a tray of roasted vegetables. Then a pie, maybe blueberry, is placed at the edge of the table, almost next to Vito's plate.
My stomach grumbles, filling the silence, and everyone looks at me as though I had grown two heads. Just as I am about to grab a plate, Vito stands up and comes to where I am, then grabs my hand and begins dragging me up the stairs.
"Kee, make her a plate and send it up to her room". He continues dragging me and pushes me inside the room once he opens the door. "You will not disrespect me, or I would make living here hell for you", he seethes. In response, I give him a dead expression and begin picking at my nails.
Kee then walks in with a plate of food and sets it down on the bedside table, then leaves as quickly as he came in. "What are you going to do? Kidnap me?". I laugh at my own humour but quickly stop when I see the rage plastered on his face. "Get up, and pick your food as well." I don't move an inch.
He then throws me over his shoulder and proceeds to carry my plate as well, ignoring my shouts of protest as I hit my fists against his back. We go in the direction of the cell and I begin to regret my decision. The pushes the door open and drops me on the bed, placing the food beside me. "You'll remain here until you know how to act".
He exits, locking the gate behind him, and once again, I am left alone in the dark, the only source of light being the moonlight, and the reflection of light from the dimly lit hallway.
I gobble up my food and realise he didn't bring water for me to wash it down. FML. I settle into the bed once again and notice the blanket had been taken away. I throw my hands up in frustration and curl myself into a ball. This was going to be a long night.
---
I roll to my side and squint at the light that shone in through the window. I use my right hand as a blindfold and try to fall back asleep, not ready to begin another day.
Just as I am about to drift back into unconsciousness, I hear the door unlock and I groan. "Ava, you have a guest." I sluggishly try to wipe the sleep from my eyes and face the door.
I squint so I can focus on who was in the doorway and I don't know whether it was due to the people or due to the stone-cold expressions they have on their faces, but I gasp softly in shock and disbelief. "Mum, dad?"