His Colossal Mistake #justwriteit

Chapter 12 Day 14

"Be smart enough to hold on, be brave enough to let go."

I woke up to a clatter downstairs and a grunt that inform me Sevastyan is to blame.

Checking the time, I bolt from my bed to get dressed. I slip on my adventure boots and stumble downstairs to find Sevastyan sitting harmlessly on the couch. Harmless is far from the truth of the collared man.

"What did you do?" I glare and make my way to the kitchen. The kitchen seems like the best bet for the scene of the crime. The floors are tile and the pots and pans typically cause a racket when I drop them.

Nothing appears amiss. I close the last cabinet and carefully examine Sevastyan. He stubbornly sits in silence. I could have been talking to an inanimate object if I desired that response.

I reluctantly let the subject go and make breakfast. Unlike yesterday, Sevastyan eats two plates full of food. I give him mine, too. Witnessing a monster eat like a starving hobo is not appetizing.

"Ready?" I ask then hit myself. Way to be inconspicuous. I pivot on my heel and march out without a backwards glance. Why would I ask him?

The guilt.

The guilt that Sevastyan is to be tortured at my hand.

I will be torturing Sevastyan tonight.

Does that make me a monster?

I just need to go see Lily and Nicole in the tree house. Explain to them the predicament.

Does that make me a monster?

I hardly remember the walk to class. Before I knew it, class is over and I am buying dinner at the deli. I bought meat; meaning the meal is for Sevastyan. A treat.

Once again the streets are empty as we walk home. I quicken my pace through the ghost town and only calm down once we are safely behind my apartment doors.

I then hand Sevastyan his meal and sit at the island bar with him as I snack on an apple. The way he attacks his food makes me feel like a tiny bunny compared to him.

Apple pie seems really delicious at the moment. Maybe I should make one tomorrow. Sevastyan's childhood is probably morbid and lacks sugary treats. Lowly soldiers never make enough for such expenses. If I make him one and he enjoys it, he would recognize one of the many wonderful parts of the human community. The fun and everything. Plus, what is life without baked goods?

A bad one!

Maybe that could be my new goal. To show him the world he missed out on growing up. The world his parents declined him of when the war began.

"Your history is told differently than ours," Sevastyan breaks my train of thoughts. His words hold a double meaning behind them. I had no idea what the meaning is, but there is something Sevastyan held back as he spoke. I shrug it off. He is a strange person; a strange creature. If he had something important to say, he would say it.

"Because yours is wrong," I say nonchalantly. "Not your fault, I guess. You did lose major historians when we divided," I recall about 14 years ago when the division began.

"Not everything is as it seems," he states before he continues stuffing his face with food.

I allow him the last word, even if he is wrong. I know little about Sevastyan, but I have a feeling that he is a stubborn man who refuses to admit when he is wrong. I also have more important matters to fuss over.

Like my guilt.

My guilt of leaving him to electrocution.

"Do you have enough food?" I ask politely. He nods and I hop down from the island to check my knitted shoulder bag.