The door didn’t close before I heard shouts from outside. The Russian at first seemed undeterred, stroking my face with the palm of his hand as a tear dropped from the dip of my eye. He came close and licked the tear away before its crash onto the remnants of my clothes, as my insides squirmed irrepairably.

Before his hands reached to pull the straps of my bra from my shoulders, a shout came from outside.
“Motka!”

Annoyed, the Russian responded, his name clearly being Motka. He swung his body heavily towards the door, before laughing at someone outside. I breathed heavily at my narrow escape.

Motka left the doorframe before coming back in dragging something behind him. One of the Russian’s lackies followed, walking over to me and tying my hands behind my back as I realised it was Derek who had caused the interruption, and Derek whose lip was bleeding profusely onto the office carpet.

“Stupid boy,” Motka spat at him.

I couldn’t help but agree. Stupid boy.