Mikhail
I stand in the dark bedroom, watching Maria asleep in her bed. The moonlight creeps through a gap in the voluminous net curtains that descend from the ceiling. The weak light casts a pale glow on her face, emphasizing her serene expression.
All while the rage builds inside of me.
The only sound is her breathing-soft, gentle, and vulnerable. A wave of temptation seizes me.
I imagine her eyes snapping open in a panic, searching mine for forgiveness as she struggles, unable to break my grip. I imagine her pleading for her life but refusing to show her mercy. I recall the feeling of my fingers on her throat earlier as I fucked her mouth. And I once again imagine the life draining from her body until nothing is left but an empty shell.
I struggle with the hostile emotions that clash in my mind. My nails dig into my palms as if to anchor me to some semblance of sanity. What I know taunts me as I stand over Maria’s sleeping figure.
My heart races like an AK punching bullet holes in the wall. Each beat pounds painfully against my chest. Sweat forms on my forehead as the shadows lift away from the walls. The room closes in around me and Maria in her bed. She shifts.
This is mercy … Far more mercy than she or her father deserve.
Startled by my thoughts, or what I think are my thoughts, I suddenly snap out of my morbid trance. My hand is hovering just above Maria’s neck. Slowly, I lower it until the fingertips touch her neck. A shudder goes through me as my hand touches her warm flesh. The feel of her underneath my fingertips sends a jolt of power through my body, igniting a blaze of hatred. The thrill of the kill takes over my mind.
Whom do you protect? Whom do you love?
The room is suffocatingly silent, save for the sound of my own ragged breathing. I force my hand to remain still, but my fingers continue to curl around Maria’s throat. She feels so tiny and small in my hand. I only need to squeeze and it’ll be over.
I try to convince myself that it’s an honorable thing to do.
No matter who accepted the hit, the result would have been the same. A dead son.
Against my fingertips, Maria’s heartbeat quickens, and the rapid rhythm of her pulse hypnotizes me. It lures me deeper into temptation. It beats swiftly, a siren song that ridicules and mocks my inability to do what is necessary.
A voice in my head taunts me as the shadows come closer.
I saved you, Kolya. And you can’t even avenge me.
I study Maria’s face. Her thick lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the gentle curve of her lips, and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.
Do it, you coward! You lovesick fool!
“No …” I whisper. “No, I’m the pakhan. Not you.”
Slowly I take my hand off her throat, but the warmth lingers on my skin. Her heartbeat gradually returns to normal, as if sensing the danger has passed. Maria stirs slightly, but her eyes remain closed.
For a long moment, I stand there, paralyzed by the thought of how close I came. I shake my head, trying to dispel the shadows that haunt the fringes of my sanity.
Have it your way, Kolya. But no matter how hard you fight, you’ll never right that wrong.
“She’s not the one who wronged you,” I admit under my breath. “A father’s sins do not pass to his child.”
My gaze stays on Maria as I slowly step away from the bed. I leave the shadows behind as I walk out into the hallway. My feet carry me down the stairs, through the main hallway, and out to the terrace.
I step out into the moonlight and stare at the tall, angular tower. The one my mother leaped from. Eroded planes of carved white stone glow against the dark sky like a beacon. It stands alone like I do now as my head slowly clears, and the wind dries the cold sweat off my face.