Mikhail

11

I drove home after saving the two lovers and killing the bastard. Unlocking the door to my house, I entered slowly.

A part of me expected Montse to come greet me in her usual bubbly fashion, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. I'd pissed her off, and she was probably going to give me a hard time until I apologized.

Which was the main problem; I'd never apologized to anyone before after my parents were brutally murdered.

A sweet aroma drew me to the dining area. Montserrat was sitting at the table and just placing a generously-sized chunk of chicken on her plate of stir-fried noodles.

She looked at me briefly before beginning to eat her food. Her face was unreadable. I walked towards the table.

“I'm assuming you prepared enough for the both of us?” I said even though the bowl of noodles in the middle gave me my answer. I pulled the chair opposite hers and sat down.

She didn't even bother to glance at me.

Gritting my teeth, I pulled the extra plate on the table with a chunk of chicken on it and proceeded to serve myself some of the noodles. I would've eaten outside if not that I remembered Montse saying she'd bought enough food commodities to last us a day.

“You must've bought a lot of stuff in the morning when you went out?" I said, cringing at how lame I sounded.

Montse simply made a sound in her throat without bothering to reply.

I chewed the first forkful of noodles and deliberately moaned lowly. “This tastes good."

She continued to eat without looking at me. God, couldn't she see I was making an effort here?

“You're never gonna speak to me again?” I asked, trying to keep the itritation from my voice.

Suddenly, Montse picked a card from the table and held it for me to see. It was like the card used at auctions. Written bodly on it were the words vocal rest.

I looked at Montse's face in disbelief. God, she was so childish. I let out a sigh.

“Look, I was having a bad day, and I took it out on you, okay? I don't want you to rest your vocals ever. Just say something?”

Great. I sounded so desperate now.

“I want you to teach me how to shoot.” Those were the words out of her mouth when she finally spoke.

I merely dropped my fork. “What?”

“I said I want you to...”

“I heard it the first time. Why would you want to learn how to shoot?"

She looked at me in disbelief. “Would you rather you return home and find me dead on the floor?”

“That won't happen.”

“We don't know that. I never thought anyone would attack me in my cabin until yesterday. If I learn how to shoot...”

“You think you can pull a trigger on someone?” I asked incredulously.

“I don't plan on going on a killing spree or anything.” She glared at me. “Mikhail, you have work to do and you won't be able to stay with me twenty-four-seven. What if I'm attacked? I want to learn how to defend myself.”

I stayed silent and studied her closely to ascertain that she was being serious. Nothing on her face told me she was joking.

“I'll think about it." I finally said.

“Ah, why do you even have to think about it. Why can't you just accept to teach me to shoot?”

“Why are you suddenly so eager to learn how to shoot anyways?” I snapped at disbelief at her insistence. “I thought you said no one should put the law into their hands. You think you can be able to handle killing a man?”