Mikhail

20

It was happening all over again.

My father was being stabbed repeatedly in the stomach, but this time, he wasn't screaming. He wasn't howling in pain. Instead, he was looking at me pointedly with anger and disappointment in his eyes.

I was curled up in the kitchen cabinet, but this time, the door was fully opened and I was my 25 years old self, big enough to hold back my tears. But here I was crying like my ten years old self had done, tears pouring down my face in vehement rivulets of shame, of pain, of dispair and desperation.

“Traitor! You don't deserve to be called my son.” My father growled.

“But I killed these four men who killed you.”

“You've not done anything to the man who sent them. You've decided not to avenge your mother and I because of a woman.”

“But I love her.” I said, desperately trying to justify myself.

“Obviously more than you do your own parents. Traitor.”

Beside him on the ground, my mother's throat was being slit over and over again. Every now and then she would look at me. She didn't say anything, but she would shake her head sadly. The disappointment in it every time made me cry harder.

“You are a traitor. TRAITOR! TRAITOR!” My father's voice became louder and louder and louder.

“Mikhail? Mikhail!” A voice like Montserrat's voice echoed through my father's screams.

I jolted awake from my nightmare to find Montserrat beside me looking at me worriedly. I was sweating and air rushed in and out of my lungs raggedly.

“It's okay. It's just a nightmare.” Montse cooed, stroking my sweaty cheek.

Her touch was soothing, and my heartrate returned to normal soon. She continued to say soothing things into my ear, sending me right back to sleep.

*****

“Good morning, Mikhail!”

Montserrat's voice was the first thing I heard when I woke up the next morning. She was standing beside the bed, looking down at me.

She wore a silky, sunflower dress that looked so good on her and she smelled like lavender. If I could wake up to this every morning, then I would gladly pretend to be asleep every morning just so she would wake me up.

“You know, I'm not about to die so you don't have to watch over me twenty-four-seven." I said, smiling as I sat up.

“Well, I'm glad you feel fine enough to rebuke me for being such a good nurse.” She said wryly.

I looked at her bright blue eyes and realized I hadn't even thanked her for taking care of me since yesterday. I got out of bed and stood in front of her. I felt better than I did yesterday and it was all thanks to her.

“You would have to forgive me because I'm a bit rusty when it comes to.showing my gratitude.”

“A bit?” She asked, arching her neck cockily.

“Okay, very.” I said, rolling my eyes when she chuckled. “You've been such a good nurse. I really appreciate...”

“Oh stop.” She waved me off. “I'm just glad you're okay.”

But for the sounds of birds chirping and the wind whistling, silence enveloped us as we stared into each other's eyes.

Montse was the one who broke the spell by clearing her throat. “Uh, so I'll just go downstairs and uhm, prepare breakfast for us.”