Yellow

Six

I kept quiet, waiting for Red to comment on my answer, almost expecting a sneer. I looked down at the grass and hated myself. I hated myself for the things I'd done, the man I'd become, the questions I can't answer and the weakness that has grown over the past two days. Everything my father has taught me was not to show weakness. To be a man. He hardened me, I hated it. "Are you truly a man," Laena answered, "or are you a monster?" I looked at her and saw a disgust in her eyes. She looked as if she could crumple on the ground now any second because she couldn't bear the sight of me. "You enjoy killing?" she asked me with disbelief. "Enjoy is a large word," I answered, "I do not go around killing people because merely I like it." "Just when the opportunity comes," she continued for me, "you take it and find it amusing." "When the opportunity comes," I said, "I am most of the times in danger and I do not find it amusing, I enjoy the power that I can have over someone's life. I like having the strings in my hands instead of being the one who's being played." "That's sick." I looked at her with my fierce eyebrows formed into a frown. "Is it really?" I asked her, "or is it humane to want to have power?" "It's partly humane," she answered, "but that doesn't justify your acts." "I have never said that," I said with a threatening undertone,  "I never said that feeling justifies anything." The silence crept in again as we were both staring at different things than each others eyes. I tried to think of anything to say, anything to keep the girl away from the subject called my criminal activities. "So," I started uncomfortable, slightly because of the question I was going to ask, but also because of the insults that had been flying to my head, "what's your fiancée like?" I looked into the blue eyes that were slightly less bright because of the sun that had gone down. "You're just asking that so we won't have to talk about you anymore," Red said, "I don't like the idea of that." "I'm not just asking that so we won't have to talk about me anymore," I grinned, "you were right when you said we didn't know shit about one another, so I am asking you this out of sincere interest also." What flatteres another human being more than telling them they were right and that you show interest? "All right then," she smíled, "he is handsome, has a good heart, is very intelligent..." "Boring." "He's not boring." "Sounds like the perfect son in law to me, tell me something interesting." "He hunts," she fumbled with the sleeve of her jacket, "sometimes he is gone for nights and returns the next morning looking exhausted." I kept quiet as a sign for her to tell more. "Sometimes I wonder," she continued," if he loves another or that he's a criminal, a bad person. I want him to talk to me, so every morning he comes back from his so called hunts and I ask him what happened, but every time he just gives me a kiss on the forehead and collapses on our bed." "What does he do?" "He's a journalist, has written about you actually,"she chuckled, "the wolf of the night, the yellow eyed thief, the criminal with no name. He's almost obsessed with every move you make." "Aaron Hunter." She looked at me with a hint of slight surprise and nodded. "Aaron Hunter indeed," she said, " if it were up to him, he'd be sitting here right now asking you every single question that has gone through his mind about your brilliance. Sometimes we go out for dinner and all he talks about is you." I suddenly got a huge wave of distrust creeping over me. The fiancée of a particular criminal obsessed journalist is sitting right in front of me and I talked with her about murder? "Did he send you?" I asked her, "Did you come here to unmask me? So I could tell you my name? To understand every move I make? To arrest me?" "No," she said, "when you tried to robb me, I just thought you were another thief out for a big, fat wallet, but the moment I looked into your eyes and saw the piercing yellow, I knew it was you. The moment you were mad with me because I hadn't looked you in the eye." She took a sip from the water bottle. "I didn't look you in the eye, because the eyes tell a man's story," she whispered, "I was afraid of what I might see, but your eyes were beyond the things I was afraid of. I saw the eyes of the man that was ruining my relationship without even being slightly aware of it. I was looking at the monster, the criminal I hated the most, but without my awareness, I was cast under a spell. The spell of your yellow eyes." "What do you mean?" "The hatred fainted in a matter of seconds," she said, "because what I saw was dammage, I saw a good man in those yellow eyes. Those yellow eyes pierce through everything, even your own mask, Wolff." I shook my head and rubbed my chin. "My yellow eyes," I started, "come from my father, he had them, but none of my brothers did. I inherited them. That's all. The eyes aren't a port towards a man's soul, they are purely a part of our body made for the abbility of sight. I do not wear a mask, I wear my clothes. I am not a good man, I am a man with a history and a man with scars. Scars on my body from violence and scars on my soul from the things I have done. Stop being so ignorant and start seeing the real me. There is no mask, only the make-up you put on my eyes with your own."

I turned my back towards her and lay down on the hard ground beneath me. Stupid girl.

�?G:]:~E