“You shouldn’t be talking to me,” I tell her.
“Because of what I saw?”
“What you saw is the real me. I’m a killer, I torture. I rip people’s heads off with my bare hands. I would make you dirty,” I say.
“I don’t see that. I see a man that is dying inside. Something has turned you into that, and your people just keep feeding it,” she says.
I just grunt. Not much to say, partly true.
“Have you ever taken time to really enjoy your surroundings?” She asks.
“What?”
“I’ve seen pictures of Russia, the architecture, the beauty in. The hats,” she giggles.
“Hats?”
“The point I’m trying to make is that there is beauty everywhere, even in the dark. Even hell.”
“I’m not sure hell could be described as such.”
“Just look,” she points to the mill, “and then listen. The water dripping through the spool is calming. The river running is energetic. The wind tells a story only you can hear.”
I take a minute to think about that, but I can’t.
“It’s hard to try and find the glee in blood and guts, that’s my life. Like today, today should have been the happiest day of my life. I was marrying a woman I fell in love with, even though it was arranged. After we said our vows, I found her fucking my cousin in a broom closet while our families were waiting for us to cut the cake. You know what I did?”
She shakes her head but with a fearful and sad look in her eyes.
“I killed them. And then my uncle went after my father, tried to kill him, so I killed him as well. I was betrayed by my family. The whole plan was to target my father and to do that someone had to live in the house. That’s why the arrangement was made, my uncle pushing this girl on me. My father approved because she was of pure blood. But that went to shit. I mean look at me, I’m a monster. Who would ever love this?”
I stop when she takes my hand and holds it to my heart, “there is blood in there. It still runs. Being alive is magnificent and alluring. Your heart isn’t dead yet.”
I pull my hand away gently to not hurt her.
“Are you hungry? I brought food. I was going to have a picnic by myself but you’re here and it’s a lot of food,” she says as she pulls out a couple of dishes of pasta and some bread. Another Tupperware has a salad in it. She has a couple of sandwiches in there as well. Way too much food for her.
“I could eat,” I shrug and let her make me a plate that I devour.
She chuckles as I finish my plate before she even starts to eat, “guess you were hungry.”
“Sorry, it’s my size. I eat a lot,” I admit.
“It’s alright. I’m glad you like it at least,” she says taking a couple of bites of pasta.
“It was delicious. Did you make it?”
“I did, with the help of my cook. But I do know-how. I plan on teaching my kids to bake and cook because we can’t always rely on staff,” she replies.
“I agree with that. My mother used to cook a lot when she was around. I picked up a few recipes from not only her but the cooks my father has. I never actually made anything with them, I sometimes scare the staff, but I would just watch. I pick things up easily just by watching.”
“That’s amazing. Maybe you can show me sometime,” she says and I jerk back.
“We can’t continue this, Adelina. Our families wouldn’t let us.”
“Can you give me today?” She asks.
I look at my watch and nod.
