The Hitman and His Consort

LXI - Found

First Person P.O.V: VALENTIN HACKSAW

I think I’ve been jogging enough that it felt like a marathon. I did start off with running, but now I think I’ve run enough that my legs started feeling numb. I thought tiring myself out would subdue my anger. But now I’m tired and angry. I don’t know what came over me to want to run in this weather. Running was never fun regardless of the weather, but why the f*ck did I even consider that idea.

People really do stupid things when they’re upset.

But it’s not like I have a choice, I don’t just have a switch I could flick to shut down these f*cking sentiments, for f*cks sake, the more I ponder about it the worst it gets. I knew I have a pathetic side, but I didn’t know it was this noteworthy. No one else would be able to sabotage me more than myself. s**t.

I wish some punk steps up to me, so I at least have a face to punch. Society had always preached that violence was never the answer, in that same breath fight over foolish things like rejected loan applications. I wonder if Arthur would still like to see me in this state.

Even in this kind of situation, she’s still what I’m thinking of.

‘Do I have to incur some fatal head injury to forget about her once she decides to get out of my life?’

Probably. There’s no other way I’d get over her than to forget her whole presence like I haven’t even met her. But that doesn’t mean I want it to get to that point. I talked big about making her stay and I am intending to make her stay… but I can’t force her.

Speaking from experience, forcing or guilting her into staying with me would just result in arguments and a stinging cheek. She’s been going on with how I changed. She did too. I think I could testify against that because the last time we met, she was pretty resolute in telling me there was no chance something would happen between us.

‘I can’t believe I forgot the most important aspect of this whole ordeal,’

Some change of heart definitely happened within the span of five years. I want my logic back. I spent too much acting and trying to be considerate that it cost me my rational thinking. The me from five years ago would probably know what to do in this situation,

Or would I? What else could I do? The woman I’m absolutely crazy about was exchanging sweet sh*t with another person just after we had s*x the night prior. What the hell am I supposed to do? Confront her about it? Then what, she’s going to think I’m bugging into her life too much, that I can’t be satisfied with the fact she’s here in the first place?

“I’m f*cking ecstatic she’s here… but what the f*ck...” I cursed against the cold wind, the words forming clouds as I spoke. I paused in my tracks and pinched the bridge of my nose, making sure it was still attached and hadn’t fallen off from frostbite as I was running.

I love how potent self-doubt and insecurities are. They could sprout out of the tiniest issues and still make you question your whole being. I think Rodrigo and I talked about this before. All I could remember is that I wasn’t paying attention.

Oh, I know I could communicate properly with her.

'Like f*cking hell, I could,'

Even normal people struggle with proper communication. What chance does a f*cking pretend-good-guy, who abandoned his world in a heartbeat, have? I couldn’t even keep my violent tendencies at bay. We could talk about it, but how will that conversation go? Do I have to lie out of my teeth and play nice when the simple image of her being with another man made me want to commit g******e? I won’t ever hurt Arthur, that’s for sure, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt someone else.

I was starting to think that I did change when she told me that I did.

‘Yeah, I changed for the worst, increasing the insatiability quota,’

Where are the people? Where are the assholes that want to play the ‘f*ck around and find out’ game? Maybe they’re downtown. If I run a few more, I’ll probably reach a bus stop, but I have no money for a ticket. I can’t just walk up to someone and bum them for one. How the hell and I going back home anyway.

“How f*cking complicated and demanding can emotional outbursts be? I thought being miserable is one of the few things you could do for free,” I hissed, hoping that wording things out would reduce the weight of this dread I’m wallowing in right now.

I tried patting down my clothes hoping that maybe I’m still luck’s favorite child, and I’ll find enough money for a bus ticket at least, and of course, the coffee wasn’t enough to be considered breakfast and now my stomach feels cold and empty. I checked all the pockets but it’s all empty. I guess that means I’m neat about my money.

And that there’s no way for me to ride a bus downtown and get food. I don’t think I should get back either. I’m still pretty f*****g pissed. What sort of ‘urgent’ s**t would I even say as an excuse why I evacuated the house in that kind of manner? I acted like I’m chasing a high-profile criminal only to come back more annoyed and hungry.

Still, I didn’t even notice that I was meters away from the bus stop. There were another two other men and a woman waiting there. I wonder who of these people would most likely start a ruckus. I’ve known the statistics, it’s not going to be surprising, but it doesn't make the anticipation less entertaining.

‘A pleasant surprise, indeed,’

I stood at a considerable distance from the group and waited for the bus, knowing full well that I have no money for it and merely hoped that something fortunate for me would happen, and so it did. Exiting from one of the stores was babushka, the babushka who lives next door. The OG, which stands for Old Granny.

She was facing down carrying some plastic bags, so I approached her and offered my hand, “Can I help?” I asked, speaking in fluent English to catch her off guard. She looked up at me with a deep scowl before her expression softened once she recognize me, shaking her head at me.

*“Vaska, why are you here?”* she asked as she handed the plastic bags to me, it’s not the first time accompanied her on her grocery shopping but this one was a little too early, I’d normally be at work at this time anyway,

*“I was… running,”* I replied, making her frown and knit her brows, walking with tiny steps as she gestured to the bus stop post,

*“I don’t think people who run use buses,”* she noted with a shrug, a knowing smile on her face, bringing out a box of cigarettes from her coat and pulled out one stick for her before offering me the box, I also took one before she pocketed the box again and pulled out a vintage-looking zippo lighter, lighting hers before handing it to me,

‘This is why we’re friends,’ I thought with a huff, lighting my cigarette and giving it back to her,

*“We’re having a misunderstanding, I just want to let off steam,”* I replied, sucking in a cloud of smoke, holding it in to try and warm myself up before exhaling.

She did the same before clinking her tongue, *“Hm, well, you’re already here, help me shop,”* she said with a shrug and I just hummed to agree.

I don’t have anything better to do anyway. One of my current goals is to start problems and put my fists, knees, legs, and arms into work. I was planning to have a full-body workout by getting into a fight. Multiple ones if I could.

She brought me to her usual stops, makes me think I should also get groceries soon, otherwise, I won’t be able to return her Tupperwares.

‘It feels illegal to return those food containers empty.’

And I need to feed Arthur too... once I accept that while Arthur could have a casual relationship with me, a romantic relationship is rather too far ahead in the distance. Too far that I don’t even see it, I thought I did though, I really thought I did. Turns out I’m being delusiona—oh f*ck this! I can’t believe this is how f*cking sappy I’ve gotten. How I even got here I didn’t know,

*“It’s like you’re knitting your next sweater with how furrowed your brows are,”* she noted as she checked the product she planning to buy, not even looking at me, but I guess she could tell either way,

*“Well, it looks like I’d end up spending my days alone again soon, it's provisions,”* I replied she looked around and further the aisle, smoking as she did, sometimes I feel like she’s connected to some organized crime syndicate.

In whatever she does people hardly ever notice her and that’s throughout the city, I once accompanied her to a*****e, and the staff catered to her every whim, and the cashier and gave her a huge f*cking discount, I know there’s a thing about senior discounts but there are other elderly people in line and no one getting the special treatment apart from her.

It’s so f*cking obvious. I’m just waiting for the day some punk tries to mug her and hear news about a missing person or a dead body found in some alley.

*“Hm, I’ve been there… my husband is a moronic man, you know, easy on the eyes but painfully dumb,”* she began making me chuckle at the tone of her voice, it was hilarious hearing that amount of venom in her words,

*“Sound like a real catch,”* I replied, bringing the shopping basket closer to her so she could put her choice of products there easier. She's quite short. She chuckled, walking further down the aisle,

*“He is, you know, a can with very few rocks clang louder than a can filled to the brim, he always runs his mouth, even at the menial things,”* she began, making a mouth with her hands,

*“it’s always ‘my love, how do birds fly?’ or ‘my love, why do balloons pop when their reach a certain altitude?’… those kinds of questions,” she listed, making her hand puppet move as she seem to mimic her husband. I smiled as her expression softened. This was the first time she was ever talkative, about her husband, no less.

*“A real curious man,”* I noted,

*“Da, affectionate too… so whenever he has something he’s crossed with, especially when it comes to me, he brings it up immediately, the second he’s thought of it, he’ll spit it right out,”* she followed,

I sighed as I started to follow her train of thought, understanding where the discussion is going now. Pretty surprised to see her care about our 'misunderstanding' this much, but then I guess she must’ve been worried about Arthur. Arthur has this aura that makes people worry about her because she looks like she doesn’t have things under control when in truth she does.

I don’t give her enough credit for her craft when she’s much more of a professional than I am.

*“Should I also speak of issues the moments they arise?”* I replied,

She pointed an accusing finger at me and shook her head, *“Would you ask me something about yourself?”* She began as we progress to the following aisles. I shook my head to reply,

*“Of course not, you already know things about yourself, but let's say that's not the case," she stated with a shrug, "what you could do instead is ask me something about myself, and then we can compare notes, then both of us could achieve a conclusion that's useful for the both of us,”* she suggested and I pursed my lips as I nodded, that does kind of make sense,

'There's a lot of thinking needed in that part,'

“You know Vaska, I loved talking with my husband given that he’s mostly unaware and clueless, what I loved more is putting his mind at ease, like it’s meant to be, and in return, he sets my heart at peace because I know that there’s nothing that man keep from me,” she followed, I knew my brows were raised when she spoke in English, her accent thick but her tone soft,

“I loved that I was his confidant, that even when we’re fighting the only person he would talk to is me and from there we’ll try to settle it between us, we’re the ones that fighting so it makes sense that he’ll talk to me about it,” she said I shrugged, does that sound like a very logical approach,

“At first I was so annoyed, why would he force me to talk to him when the last thing I want is to see him, but I was lucky because instead of drinking, or finding someone else to ease his worries and calm his heart, he goes to me… because that’s who I am for him," she trailed off her smile growing wider,

"I am his peace, I am his rest, I am his clarity,” she said with a blissful sigh, looking at me with her fists on her hips,

*“Who is that woman for you, Vaska? A problem? A challenge? A safe haven? A home?...who is she?” she asked.

“She’s…” I tried to answer, but I immediately realize that I don’t know what the f*ck we were talking about. It felt like I did understand her but I’m not catching up to her pace,

“She’s… well to me, she’s… she’s just Arthur,” I replied, I’m not getting the idea here and I’m kind of worried that’ll be a problem in the near future, the near future being now because babushka is looking at me with pure contempt. She scoffed, looking away from me and resuming her shopping.

“Well, don’t be surprised when someone who makes her feel more than ‘Just Arthur’ comes and takes her away,” she warned.