Red Reaper - Soldiers of Fortune [book one]

Chapter TWELVE

Konstantin Ivanov

I refill both of our glasses, downing my shot fast to light another cigarette before placing the auspicious empty Vodka bottle on the floor out of well conditioned habit.. Then I make my way across the living room and out to the balcony where the frosty wind cools my bare burning skin and invigorates my system.. I wish against all odds that Lucky would let go of the subject of my son, that she would let me hold my internal sorrow in peace, but of course it goes against custom and the compassion in her heart to do so..

She follows me out into the cold night air without her jacket and I can see the immediate regret in her as she shivers and wraps her arms around herself.."I--I can't imagine how terrible it must have been for you to lose him.."

I puff on my smoke and twist my cigarette between irritated fingers.. There are few things I regret in my life, but the death of my son has never left me.. I could not be there for him when he needed me and I could not keep the fragments of my humanity intact after he was gone.. I was destroyed, the last vestige of the man I might have once become, died along with my child..

Now I am resolved to feel nothing..
Even if Lucky is irresistibly enchanting..
I cannot love her.. I will not.

I never want to know that kind of anguish again and now that I have learned the depths of Lucky's purity, it has become more obvious to me that there is no life in which I can be the man to give her everything.. She is the kind of woman who wishes for marriage and family and I am resigned to never know these liabilities ever again.. "All ov' thiz iz in 'ze past. I cannot change it. There iz no sense for me to recall thoze memoriez, Malishka.. Not now, or ever.."

"No memories at all? What about pictures?" She glances back into the apartment as if seeking images she will not find.. "You don't keep any reminders of your life before moving here.. No wonder you feel so alone.."

"I have no use for such sentimental thingz.. I have maybe some old--err--negativez-- somewhere.. I do not remember the lazt time I aw 'zem.." I wave a hand non-committally, the notion of framed pictures of the past hung on the walls to remind me of my failures as a man seem unimportant to me..

What good would they do?

I refuse to allow myself to become less before her eyes.. There is pain in me, deep and endless.. A souless mourning that never leaves me in peace, but to show that pain is not the way I have been conditioned by a lifetime of indifference.. I learned during duty and later in the cell blocks that it is better to be stoic then soft, lest somebody mistake that emotion for weakness..

Weakness in my line of work is dangerous.. Weakness is the reason for every aching loss I have experienced..
If I were to be weak enough to love, I would be weak enough to lose.. It is a vulnerability I don't dare expose myself to..

"Come to me, Malishka.. Allow me to keep you warm." Instead of divulging more of my past regrets, I hold out a hand to her in invitation and she accepts it, conceding me as I pull her close to fold her beneath my arm, pressing her against my warmth before I continue to smoke my cigarette..