Michael hadn't truly left.
He paced back and forth by the entrance to the fourth floor. From time to time, his gaze shifted to the staircase leading to the floor above.
Damn it! What now? He wondered, frightened.
What are they going to do to her?
Are they going to imprison her? Or just coax her like a child?
Damn it all!
What about me? Fuck!
It had been several minutes since Genevieve left. Still, there were no signs of her returning. Those minutes felt like days to Michael.
He slapped his cheeks twice and thought seriously:
No, they'll most likely just have a bad impression of her if she says something stupid.
There's no way they're going to punish her for wanting to worry about a friend.
Right?
They cannot be that heartless!
But…
What if they are?
Fuck me!
Michael didn't know whether to laugh or cry. No! He definitely didn't want to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to wail and call out for his mother.
Why did I take this damned mission?
