The Hitman and His Consort

XXX - Traces

First Person P.O.V: VALENTIN HACKSAW

“I don’t think I follow,” I replied,

“What, I know it’s your first time since you’re a big stupid i***t, but my words are as precise and concise as words can f*cking be,” he spat, his brows knitted together, “So. What. Don’t. You. Get. Huh?” he followed, having a clap after every word for emphasis.

‘What the hell twisted his f*cking panties that brought this un-f*cking-precedented aggression?’

“What’s with the attitude? Why are you being a b***h?” I asked, shoving his face off with my hand. Maybe the coldness of my palm would chill him out a little.

“I’m not being a b***h,”

“I forgot that’s a built-in feature but what’s wrong with you, why are you so pressed?” I reworded, I don't think I deserve this treatment,

He threw another glare at me and sighed as he dragged his palms across his face again, is there any limit to how emotional and hysteric this man could be, maybe the reason why I’m not well versed in emotions is because he swallowed my portion of empathy and expressiveness. I could probably blame it on him why I have ASPD too, but I don’t want to give him credit for that.

“I’m just annoyed I didn’t pick up on it sooner, and how come an asshole like you have blooming romanced and I don’t,” he groaned, not meeting my eyes and having his face buried in his palms,

“It sounds an awful lot like you’re jealous of me in terms of romantic relationships like I’m the reason you’re a w***e, so women leave you,” I replied, cueing the emotional recovery that made him punch me like it was a reflex. He won’t be landing a punch to my face, but his attempt is acknowledged.

“Hmm, I admit I might’ve been jealous because what made her look at you that way? You’re…” he trailed off as he eyed me from the top of my head down to my blanket-covered feet, looking like he’s skimming his head through the colorful and insolent adjectives he can label me with,

“Well?” I asked, raising a brow,

“Well…you’re garbage, you’re a walking red flag, men wave you around to signify war, she must’ve had her standards deep under the Earth’s crust to think you’re anything close to being datable,”

“Where’s my gun—”

“Arthur must have the devil’s incarnation in her strike-zone to think you’re attractive in any possible way,”

“If I were to kill you right now, do you prefer a burial or a cremation?”

“Then again, if I don’t know you at all, I’d think the heavens blessed you with a decent face,”

“You’re still f*cking going?”

“It’s a shame you look white as all hell, not a shred of color or tan to your skin, pale as a porcelain toilet,” he droned on, clasping his hands together as he smiled at me condescendingly.

“You’re done,” I said as I grabbed his neck, but just before I could finish the job, Rodrigo came in dressed in scrubs.

His gaze shifted between the two of us before he cleared his throat, “The patient shouldn’t strain himself otherwise it could cause complications, are you both certain you want to ruin your sister’s hard work like this?” he said in his usual calm demeanor.

‘Right, Diana was here…’ “Where’s she?” I asked,

Denis huffed, leaning away from me once I lost grip of his neck as Rodrigo walked over and let the latter do his job in peace, “Diana is a busy woman, the fact, that she was called without any prior notice is already worth too much trouble for her, she’s already gone after helping me fix you up,” Rodrigo answered as he pulled the blankets off of me partway just enough to see my wound, on the right side of my lower abdomen.

What a cliché place to be shot.

“Are you cranky because you couldn’t share some lovey-dovey moments with her?” Denis quipped, making Rodrigo raise a confused and alarmed expression at him,

“Ignore that b***h, he’s bitter,” I explained,

Rodrigo then scoffed as he turned to me, “Why, if anything I should be the one who’s bitter,” he said in a joking, Denis groaned as he stood up.

“I’m gonna take a breather,” Denis hissed as he left the garage,

Rod and I exchanged glances, both of us are used to Denis’s stupid shenanigans but it doesn’t mean we’re less annoyed, “What’s wrong with him now?” Rod asked as he draped the blankets back over me again,

“He’s jealous because he said Art’s sexually attracted to a garbage like me,” I replied, utilizing the words Denis used himself.

“Excuse me, what now?”

“He’s jealous because he said Art’s sexually attract—“

“Okay, okay, my bad, I heard you, ah…” He said, cutting me off as he squeezed his eyes, rubbing his temples with one hand, he subtly shook his head as he sucked in a deep breath, “He shouldn’t have said that,” He followed,

I hummed, I agree. I’m not someone that one can compare with garbage after all and I doubt s****l attraction is something I’m pliable too, I never felt like that to anyone so I’m not one to say but, in Denis’ defense, I know I’m capable of many things but an intimate appeal is not something I exude to anyone or anything in that matter.

I don’t even like how that word rolls off the tongue. It feels vile.

“Arthur doesn’t seem to be that shallow, and her feelings as hers to disclose in her own time, he didn’t have to race her to it,” Rodrigo noted, now I’m lost again. What part of the issue is he addressing?

“What are you talking about, exactly?” I asked, with all these unstable and sporadic outputs of reactions and drama, courtesy of the brat that just left, navigating emotions and contexts gradually getting more difficult.

Rod sighed as he took the now empty seat, placing a thumb on his chin, assuming the universal thinking pose, “Well, in circumstances involving normal people, I wouldn’t interfere, but since this is you we’re talking about—“

“Was that necessary?”

“—I suppose I could help you out a bit here, Valya, tell me, what role does Arthur play in your life?” He began, I suppose we’re under a spontaneous therapy session,

‘How convenient,’

But since I have no other pressing matters to attend to, I just played along. I tried to really think about it but if he words it out like that, it’s hard to give a specific answer, “She’s a good source of entertainment,” I answered and he hummed before clicking his tongue.

“So you find her entertaining?”

“That’s what I said,”

“Why exactly is she entertaining?” he followed up, I frowned at him. Is this how we’ll sort this issue out? With questions that progressively get more difficult until we come to an unsatisfactory conclusion that could be achieved easily if he just tells me what the hell all of this means.

Either way, I couldn’t deny that he’s the professional in this situation, a questionable one but a professional nonetheless, “She’s the one that pulled me along with these missions and they’ve been fun thus far, including the hazards” I answered again gesturing to the patched-up wound, he nodded along and leaned back to the chair, and there it is the laid back cross-legged posture that he makes during the actual sessions, makes him look like a proper therapist.

‘Also makes him look like a total douche, because who the hell sits like that during a conversation?’

“Well, it seems that it’s over now, so does that mean you’ll no longer find her entertaining?” he asked again.

‘… I haven’t thought of that yet,’ “That still hasn’t crossed my mind, but… this one’s tricky,” I trailed off.

Now that this is over, will I still see Arthur around? Denis did take note of my sh*tty mood when she cut me off the mission, but it’s not her that I’m looking forward to. I’m looking forward to the mission. Right?

Then again, even now that the mission is over… do I still want to see her?

What about her, exactly? Her face? The weird one with the smile?

“Doing a lot of thinking there, Valya,” Rodrigo remarked.

“What else am I supposed to do, do you want me to answer blindly with whatever comes out of my mouth?” I rebutted and to my mild surprise, he nodded.

“Yes, I just want you to tell me what you feel in this instance,”

“I feel annoyed,”

“Not about me, about Art,”

“Then I’m not annoyed at Art, intrigued yes,” I answered and his brows furrowed,

“Intrigued how?” He followed again,

“She’s interesting enough as a person, don’t you find her intriguing?” I asked, surely he must think the same way it’s not every day you meet a shape-shifting woman who unconsciously grabs your chest as they sleep,

He pursed his lips and squinted as he looked to the side, “I suppose she is a peculiar lady, but having my experiences, I don’t find her particularly interesting,” he replied,

Leave it to this shady guy to not think a shape-shifting, high-spec mercenary isn’t particularly interesting. He faced me again, “Well what exactly do you think is intriguing about her?” he asked, honestly if he’s that curious, wouldn’t it be better if he asked her? He’s good with words. I’m sure he’ll be able to pry it out of her.

“You don’t have to glare at me, Valya,” he announced, I didn’t even notice I was glaring at him,

“Oh, was I?”

“Yes,”

“Why do you think that is? How does that make you feel?”

“Very funny, now answer my question,” he said with a more pressing tone.

Damn it. Screw him and his un-called-for professionalism on what should be a casual discussion. I hope he doesn’t expect me to pay after this. And what the hell does he want me to do with that kind of question? Does he expect me to be a man with an adjective dictionary in my pocket to find the right words?

I called Arthur’s face weird for the lack of a better term, what does he want from me.

“She’s…” I trailed off, it’s a f*cking challenge to think of words on the spot, and he’s not helping either he’s just looking at me with that expectant look with one brow raised, “She’s entertaining, she’s…she’s like a roulette,” I answered,

I did recall comparing her emotional span to roulettes, but it kind of makes sense.

Rodrigo probably thought so too, looking at his wide-eyed, bewildered stare at me like I told him something absurd, “… A roulette?” he repeated, seems like the doesn't after all.

“That’s what I said,”

“You mean like the Russian one?”

“No, like the game-show one,”

“… I’m quite confused, how is she like a game-show roulette?” He asked,

Right back in the same spot, he couldn’t even let me gather my thought to come up with a proper answer, if this goes on I’ll end up spouting sh*t just to get this over with, “It’s because she acts like she’s just letting a roulette with predetermined emotions as the variables and lets it decide what feelings she’ll wear from time to time,” I replied, I did think of that before didn’t I.

“So you see her as unpredictable,”

“To some extent,”

“You find her entertaining because she’s...expressive?”

“… Is that what I said?”

“No but I’m trying to take shortcuts to speed this up a bit, this is taking forever, okay so let’s say for the rest of the day Arthur only expresses only one emotion, would you still think she’s intriguing?” he asked, opening a whole different alley for me to f*cking tumble around.

“Depends on what kind of expression she makes,” I replied, because if she walks around with a face that makes her look like she’s constantly constipated, that wouldn’t be entertaining, it’d be just… uncomfortable to look at.

“So her face is also a factor,”

‘The f*ck? Of course, that’s normal—normal people think face is a factor too, don’t they?’

“Yes—Rodrigo have you seen her? I think the general populace agrees when I say she’s attractive,” I explained I don’t know if this is still part of his scheme to make me speak and talk out of my own volition and interest but this is a dumb tactic… which, albeit shameful enough for me to admit, worked.

“Oh, so you think she’s attractive?”

“Get out, I think you’ll make me open the wound again with sheer rage,” I hissed.

“I’m just surprised you’d acknowledge something like that,” he commented with an amused smile.

“I’m apathetic, not blind,” I reminded, just in case he forgot I could at least tell what’s visually pleasing from what’s not. It's my moral that's awry (debatable) not my eyesight.

He smiled as he took a deep breath, “then back to the question, if she just puts on a single expression for the rest of the day, let’s say it be neutral, would you still find her attractive,” he asked, presenting the aforementioned problem again,

I sighed, it must’ve been already an hour since this question-and-answer portion began, I just want to get this over with, “It’s less about the appearance but more on how she’s interesting as a whole person, just being who she is and what she does, I think, is this over?” I explained finishing with a complaint just so he knows that I’m not doing this because I enjoy it.

He hummed with a smile before standing up, “I’m proud of you, Valya, I think this is progress,” he said as he left without another f*cking word.

Just what the hell is that? Didn’t we start all that talking so I could figure out what the hell was all this fuss is about? I knew we’ll come to this disappointing conclusion, but part of me was actually holding out hope that man would provide some sort of help.

‘Nevermind then… the hell,’

I tried to get some shut-eye and hopefully, when I wake up Denis will stop projecting his insecurities on me. I have no space for them because my d**k isn’t that loose to share or relate his sentiments and experience.

The least I have now is rest, it’s not the first time I was shot, but it doesn’t mean it hurt less, it’s just better to know what to expect—

“Valya!” Denis yelled as he slammed the doors to the garage open.

“What the f*ck now?” I groaned, not even opening my eyes to look at whatever stupid expression he has on his face now.

But this t**t didn’t have any of that and tapped my forehead multiple times with his palm like he was pressing and ‘on’ switch on me so I slapped his face the second I open my eyes, to my surprise however he didn’t even budge, flinch or pause, he just shoved a few papers at my face which was pointless because I couldn’t even read them like that.

Snatching it off his frantic hands, I skimmed through the words of the first page and turned to face him again. He looks panicked, what’s his damage this time, “What’s this?” I asked. I was expecting the usual sarcastic retort, but Denis looked speechless. In fact, he just gulped and took a deep breath as he pointed to the upper right corner of the page.

A picture. It’s a picture of a man. I’m not sure what he’s trying to emphasize, but as I take a closer look, I realize that this is a profile. A profile of someone I don’t even f*cking know—who is this?

“I have no idea who this is,” I told him as I watched him drag his hands over his face for the nth time today, he tapped the picture with his index finger again like that’s supposed to help me figure out what he’s saying and it took a couple more sweating and breathing before he looked me straight in the eyes.

“…T-That’s Dorian Becking,” he said, stuttering slightly like an i***t,

“And?”

“That’s… That’s you father, Valya,”