That rejection was the worst kind of ache.
I find her watching me. I wipe the blade and retract it. Then I flick it out. Does she remember the sound? The pika was second nature to us. The best thing about a nice sharp blade is that you don’t have to cut with it; you merely have to touch the person with it. The blade does the cutting for you.
“Yuri was adopted out for almost three years. I couldn’t fault him for leaving. I was sad to see him go, though. Wild to lose him. He got nearly three years with a family.”
“And you stayed.”
“Yuri has more impulse control.” I smile as though it’s amusing. “I’d get things into my head, and I’d burn with them. I’d forget everything, and I’d burn to correct this slight or prove something. Like a matchstick, with my head on fire, burning with anger. With injustice.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “If I thought somebody betrayed me, I would feel as if my head was on fire.”
“Do you think it’s because you were in the room when your parents were killed?”
My heart pounds. “That has nothing to do with anything.”
She contemplates the fire with sad, faraway eyes. Then, “You shouldn’t be ashamed to feel deeply. You call it impulse control, but maybe you simply feel things more.”
“You shouldn’t make excuses for me.”
“Many people let you down, abandoned you,” she says. “You were a boy desperate to be loved.”
I concentrate on cutting the next slice, but my heart is cracking. So Tanechka. “Savior of puppies. Children. The unloved. That was you.”
“And then I came along, and I loved you. But then I left you, didn’t I?”
I look at her, heart thundering.
“You thought I was dead. That’s like leaving you.”
Is she remembering?
“So many people let you down and abandoned you,” she says. “You, who feel so deeply. Love so deeply. It must have hurt.”
I concentrate on cutting the next slice, but she’s the one who’s doing the slicing here—she’s slicing me right open. It’s true—everything in my world changed when I met Tanechka. She showed somebody could love me.
And then she betrayed me, betrayed the gang. Or seemed to.
I felt so wild when I thought she’d turned traitor. Like a bull with arrows stuck into it. Yet deep down I suppose it felt inevitable, too.
I didn’t know she was innocent.
And I killed her.
My pulse races, thinking about what Aleksio said. Part of me wants to confess—confess to the nun. Yet a sickly sweet nausea blooms inside me at the very thought.
“I have killed so many people. Some slowly and painfully. Some I tortured. I don’t concern myself with love the way you imagine.”
“I think you love your brothers. I think having a family means the world to you. Somebody who will always be there. Somebody who can never leave. The gang, too—you’re seeking a family.”
“Don’t make excuses for me. You won’t like the result.”
“You should’ve seen your eyes when Aleksio called you brother.”
I pocket the blade and stand, feeling dizzy.
“You’re not a terrible person,” she says. “You’re just a man who feels deeply. You want to be loved. To be forgiven.”
My blood races. “Is there nothing you won’t spin fairy tales about?” I grab her hair and yank her up to me. I feel insane. “Look at me. Look!”
She looks into my eyes.
“I’m not a man who feels deeply, much as you wish I was. I’m not a good man.”
“I won’t accept that.”
“No?” I twist her hair harder. I bring her face close to mine. “No?”
“No,” she gasps.
So I kiss her—roughly. I kiss her, not caring that she doesn’t kiss back.
When she struggles, I clasp my arm around her and force her up against me, up against my cock. I nestle in my cock where I know she can feel it.
I twist her hair as I take her lips. I suck. I bite. I slide her against me, moving her ever so slightly. I often did this when she felt angry—I kissed and manhandled her, cock notched between her legs, until she softened.
“I’m not a good man, Tanechka,” I say into the kiss.
She presses her hand to my chest, pushing. Perhaps she’s angry now.
“I’m the man who’ll make you wet whether you like it or not,” I whisper, hot into her ear. “I’m the man who’ll shove apart your legs and destroy you—with just the tip of my tongue.”
“Get away,” she pleads.
“You think I’m being brutal with you? When I get brutal with you, you’ll know it. You’ll know it because you’ll be screaming my name, begging for more.”
I kiss her neck, now, merciless with my teeth. I want to mark her.
“Every curve, every breath, every nook, all of you is mine.”
She hisses out a breath. She’s softening. The breath is always a sign.
“You’re feeling it now, aren’t you?”
She doesn’t answer, but she’s soft to me now. I pull away, pull us apart.
I stare into her eyes. “I’m the man who will keep you from your god until you remember you’re a devil.”
With that, I turn and leave.