“I do. Or rather, I want to know why you think you did,” she said.
“There’s no ‘think,’ Milan. Only calculation. I have a reputation, one I have to live up to, so I couldn’t have let the insult stand. You didn’t factor it into the equation,” I said.
I waited, but Milan said nothing, so I continued again. “It wouldn’t have mattered who it was. You were there with me, so the insult was to me. Don’t read into it, make conclusions based on a world you couldn’t even begin to understand. Don’t think you know me. You don’t.”
“Perhaps,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly, her expression serene.
“‘Perhaps,’” I said, spitting the word scornfully. “That’s all you have to say?” I couldn’t believe she was so calm, treating this as if it was nothing, as if she knew me and understood me when she had no capacity to do so.
“Yeah. Seems like you have it all figured out,” she said.
“You disagree?” I asked incredulously.
I should have kept my mouth closed and left the conversation where it was. But the list of things I shouldn’t have done since I had first seen Milan, things I should have, was one far too long to articulate. So instead of focusing on that, I continued, though I knew that I was treading on dangerous ground, getting close to something I didn’t want to think about and certainly didn’t want to talk about with her.
“You’re being foolish, Milan. Haven’t you learned anything at all?”
She shrugged off the insult. “I know you have your reputation, that you had your reasons,” she said, waving dismissively. “You have everyone convinced you’re a monster. You want me to think that too. It’s not working.”
I began to pace, the frustration of this conversation rising with each passing moment. Again I should have left it, moved on from this conversation, but as frustrated as I was, as annoyed at her, I couldn’t. “What are you talking about?”
“You say you’re Priest. But I think you’re Nikolai,” she said.
I shook my head and then stopped, piercing her with my gaze. “You’re in shock. Or insane. Or stupid. There’s no other explanation. Because you don’t know me, Milan,” I said. My voice was a near growl now, low, rough with the vehemence I needed to make her understand how wrong she was. Because whatever she thought she knew, whatever I couldn’t stop myself from feeling for her, I would not allow this insanity to continue, wouldn’t let her think she understood things she knew nothing about, things she could never know anything about.
“No,” she said, again ignoring my insult, and instead throwing her legs on the side of the bed and sitting up, uncaring of her nakedness. “I don’t know you, not really. But I know myself, trust my gut. And my gut trusts you.”
Her voice, the surety in it, only sent my rage higher. I stepped close to her, grabbed her arms, and pulled her until we were eye to eye, nose to nose.
“Do you know how many people I’ve killed? People probably just like you?”
She shook her head, but her eyes remained impassive, certain.
“A lot,” I said. “And there will be more.”
I kept my eyes locked on hers, trying to compel her to do something, say something, react.
She did nothing, just stared at me.
“Say something!” I said, almost yelling, desperate for her to do anything but look at me like she believed in me, like she thought I was good person, a nice guy. Desperate for her to do something, anything to make me stop wanting to be whatever she wanted me to be, make me stop wanting to give her what she wanted, even though it was impossible for me. That tension, the desire to make her happy, chased by the awareness I could not, had me angry, on edge, filled with emotion I had little experience with and no ability to stop.
I dropped her hands and stepped away from her, needing the space. Still, Milan scarcely reacted.
“You want me to do something?” she said.
I didn’t speak but nodded. She stood and walked toward me, and though my emotions were thunderous, I didn’t move, not even when she came so close her body touched mine, her taut nipples brushing my skin.
She rose up on tiptoe and put one hand at the base of my neck, brushed her lips against mine softly.
“What are you doing, Milan?” I finally said once I’d regained my voice.
By that time, she’d lain down in bed and pulled the sheet up to her shoulder.
“I’m going to go to sleep, Nikolai,” she said.
Twenty-One
Milan
When I awoke, the first thing I noticed was the bright sunlight that lit every inch of the room. The second was the gnawing hunger that ate at my stomach.