FOOD FOR THE WOLVES, After three years of a certain incident that happened in your past, you finally manage to get over this trauma. In Russia (your native country) you meet a person you never thought you would see again, or at least you thought so...
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Gogol had placed you on your bed, placing his ungloved tepid hands, one nearby your abdomen and one on your thigh, to halt the bleeding. You had become quite feeble. And while Fyodor went up the stairs with a small pail of taintless water, a cloth and quite a few non-sticky bandages, you held on to the pain, no matter how much it was. It was bearable to a certain extent.
"Dostoy, hurry up if you don't want her to die!"
"She's not going to die yet, Gogol, she's strong enough to hold on." His voice became more pellucid as he mildly opened the door to your bedroom. He sat down next to you and moved Nikolai aside. He place the pail on the floor, and the bandages on the sheets along with the cloth.
"Can I stay here and watch, Dostoy?" The jester asks with a blameless face. His braid falls over his shoulder. His gaze is vacant, but he conceals "mellowness" behind it.
"Go away," Fyodor responds him without glancing at his eyes. It wasn't because he was vexed with Gogol, he was just outworn, exhausted. While the buffoon was leaving, Fyodor wet the cloth and lifted the upper part of your clothes a little, adequately to view your abdomen and part of your hips, he placed it there, on the injury, and grabbed another one, placing it over the wound on one of your thighs.
You nibble your nether lip to not make a sound because of the aching you felt. Your entire body was feeblened and you didn't want to accept it yet.
"I know it hurts, milashka, but in a few days you will get better," He comments. His gaze was concentrated on delicately cleansing the wounds without attempting to inflict too much pain. "Stay still."
His cold hands graze over the injured areas as he grabs the blood-stained cloths and places them back in the pail. As he holds the bandages, he initiates to hum a Russian tune, parallel to that of a lullaby. He gently swathes the bandages around the wounds, without tightening them too much. "There."
"Thanks, Fedya..." You mutter.
"You do not have to thank me. I was the one who brought you here, I have to take care of you." A small smile appears on his lips. "Don't you think I have to take responsibility for you, dear?"
"It wouldn't be necessary."
"Maybe not for you, for me yes."
Dostoyevsky stands up and glances at you with an outworning look, but cold in his judgment. "Rest for today, (First name), since you arrived bad things have happened to you. You deserve a break."
"How sweet you are sometimes, Fyodor. But I don't think I'm going to rest all day in bed..."
"Stay still," He says, as a caveat as he hurls you a cold glare, as if he had shot you with a dart. You stiffen at his tone of voice: cold and adamant. You didn't think you had any choice but to listen to him.
"Sorry," You lay back down on the sheets, somewhat bewildered.
He sighs lightly and ambles out of your bedroom, shuting the door behind him.
Before long, a circular portal materializes in your bedroom. You knew perfectly well who it belonged to: Nikolai. Soon you see his gaze inserting into your eyes; a mixture of preoccupation and perplexing feelings for his vacant eyes, without apparent life.
"Good afternoon, little dove! How are you? Do you feel better?" He asks, with joy.
"What can I tell you... It still hurts, but I'm lucky that it wasn't a high caliber weapon, otherwise I would be much worse than now. At the moment I just want to heal faster and get on with what I have to do."
"Poor thing... I don't know you well and you're almost gone from this world," He fake sniffles and strolls towards you, taking your hand. "If only you had been luckier!"
"Enough of the drama, it's not that much, Nikolai," You remove his grip on your hand. "It was just an incident that happened and nothing more. At the moment I'm not going to die anytime soon."
"I know." His tone of voice switches to his habitual one, as if he is not even showing his actual emotions. He smiles and takes a step back.
"Then why do you..."
"I only did it to make you talk more," He interrupts.
"That's a very far-fetched reason, but I'm not going to question it... Just be helpful and don't bother me, I have to rest."
"You're a little boring today... But that's okay, I'll let you rest for now, but I don't promise to stop too soon!" He vanishes into his circular portal and all you do is flop down on the sheets, exahusted.
The atmosphere becomes quiescent and out of boredom, you proceed to talk to yourself,
"I don't even know what I'm going to do these days. With these wounds and the events that are happening to me, I don't know if I'm even going to get out of here alive or if I'll end up in a grave with a cross. Could it be that I made the right decision by coming to Japan with Fyodor? Maybe it would be better to stay in Russia, I already miss the snow and the atmosphere. If I keep killing the people Fyodor tells me to, am I killing them without them becoming infected with my sins? Maybe they are pure souls free of sins, but no, that can't be true... If Fyodor orders me to kill them, they have to be sinners, and if I don't I will become even more of a sinner than I already am. No. Is that so? I must follow Fyodor's word... Be his devoted follower until my last breath. Maybe I'm just going crazy, I'll be tired and that's why I'm paranoid. I can't understand myself, my head is too light, maybe I just need to get some sleep to get better. I think I hate myself and my existence, but at the same time I want to continue living to free others from their sins. I don't know what is happening to me and my destiny, I just want to get rid of everything and be with Fyodor, just listen to his voice, his voice that gives me so much peace when he speaks to me. I'm slowly running out of energy to live, or maybe it's just because I was shot twice... Whatever it is, I think Fyodor will always be right."
