"Terra Markov, age 28; died yesterday morning after bleeding profusely due to a botched abortion." I read aloud from my newspaper before I took a sip of steaming cinnamon breakfast tea. Slade Wilson, my sensei, was no doubt the father of the child. I pray he hadn't gotten the newspaper this morning; he'd be in a state of pure despondency and near irreconcilable. He loved her dearly.
A door slammed down the hallway and I heard the sound of combat boots fading away from their source, Slade's room. It was no doubt him. I stood up from my chair, stashing the newspaper in the silverware drawer and went after him.
"Sir," I called into the darkness. No reply. I heard the door of training room close and a resounding crash as it did. I ran there as fast as my legs would carry me and threw open the door. I found Slade in the center of the floor on his hands and knees sobbing and heaving in a pile of training dummies and staffs. "Slade," I whispered. His head snapped towards me and he threw a staff at my head.
"I thought the door was locked. Go away," he growled. Instead, I walked over to him and sat with him. He sat back on his heels and wiped his snot on his sleeve.
"I said go," he said striking my cheek with his fist and sending me sprawling across the floor. I stood up and walked back to him wiping the blood from my mouth. He stared at me for the longest time with what looked like a glimmer of mirth, because I could take the punch, mind you, before he stood up and shoved me out of the room.
"I'll call you when I'm ready," Slade said just before he slammed and locked the door.
I sat in my room waiting on Slade. I heard the exercise equipment going almost non-stop. When I attempted to approach the door, his butler, whom I only know as Wintergreen, stops me and sends me away. I can understand why. Slade Wilson, Deathstroke the Terminator, lost the only person he's loved since his wife ,Adeline, shot him in the eye and left him, and to top it off he MUST feel that it's his fault because it takes two to tango and two to have pre-marital sex.
About 8 hours later, I saw him blaze past my room and towards the kitchen. I, once again, get up and followed. Slade was seated at the table making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich...or was it three? It was hard to tell since he had bread strewn about the table.
I noticed the silverware drawer was open and my heart skipped a beat when I saw the newspaper to the left of his hands, busy smearing jelly. "Well, I'm not going to let that small article ruin my daily newspaper," he said. I was astonished. He wasn't the type of man to grieve as much as he did, but he also wasn't the man to let things go that fast. I thought it over for a second and decided, 'No, he most certainly is not.'
"Sit," he said to me gesturing to the seat across from him with the jelly coated knife. I sat down and he just STARED at me again. I moved a piece of bread away from my side of the table and back to his trying to avoid eye contact. He just didn't stop staring.
"What?" I finally asked him. "Don't you have some long and drawn out 'I think that…' smart-alecky comment on this situation," he asked with a quirked eyebrow, just before taking a bite of his sandwich. With that, I knew he was fine to talk about this.
"No, but I think that-" I was cut off by his near evil laugh. "You don't even notice that you say that anymore do you?" Slade inquired with a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly mush. It was disgusting.
"No," I sighed running my fingers through my hair. "Continue," he said waving his hand dismissing this small side conversation.
"I think that you two should have waited." I said crossing my arms across my chest. Slade shifted back in his chair and gave me a look that just screamed 'You don't say'.
"Well?" I said my eyes wide and shaking my head for effect. "Thank you mistress of the obvious," he sighed. Slade stood up, downed his glass of milk, crossed the room to the sink and started washing the dishes.
"Or you could have gotten married," I suggested. Bad move. He turned off the faucet, put his palms flat on the edge of the sink and looked out of the window. He was so tense, I could see it; he looked almost like a wax statue of himself.
"No," he said after a long and cumbersome pause. He turned to me and leaned back on the sink. He pulled the chair next to me over to the cabinets and stood on it. He was already a tall man without the chair, so he must've been reaching for something on the top of it. He stood on the tip of his toes, leaned as far forward possible without falling, and felt about the top of the cabinet until he got what he wanted. He smiled once he retrieved his goal, a small black velvet box.
"Oh," I said in realization. He just nodded as he fumbled with the box. I extended my hand for the box and he reluctantly gave it to me. "Be careful," he said.
I opened the box and found a locket. "I was never for traditional proposals," he laughed. I opened the locket and found a picture of him and Terra in the snow. I remembered that winter; it was the winter that Slade said I was like a stepdaughter and Terra called herself my second mother.
Slade abruptly snatched the box and locket from my hand. "And obviously she rejected it; it's her own fault this happened" he said looking everywhere but the locket as he tried to wrestle it back into its place. It sounded like he was trying to convince HIMSELF of that.
"But obviously she didn't feel like you did. Why did you two…" I couldn't say it. "Have sex?" He said matter-of-factly and took his seat at the table again while beginning to work on his second sandwich.
"I wasn't raised learning about chastity like you kids. That thought hadn't even crossed my mind. I wasn't raised religiously, but I did know that the Catholic Church sees…sexuality as a gift of G-d with binding properties." I nodded with my hand over my mouth trying to stifle my laughter after he said 'sexuality'.
"I also knew that if we hadn't there'd be no risk for something like this orSTDs." Slade groaned and pointed at me, as if he had come to a shocking revelation. I leaned back in my chair balancing it on two legs and crossed my arms across my chest in an attempt to look like a sophisticated-unsophisticated therapist.
"She talked me into it," he sighed finishing his sandwich. He slid the plate away and stood up from the table.
"Have a good night," he said walking to his room.
"You too."
