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Abruptly, Caleb s smile faded. He stared down at the drain, drops of water falling off the sides of
his bottle fell slowly, other drops hung off his fingers for dear life before falling, falling and slipping
down towards the drain. He stood up, taking a long pull from his bottle. Yes, he would break her
down and build her up for Vladek.
She was his and Rafiq s instrument of revenge. Through her, they d get close enough to kill that
motherfucker. He needed to put a swift end to her rebellious nature, not admire it. He needed to bring
out the Submissive he d observed. Submissives were survivors.
Caleb had underestimated the girl in some regard. For weeks he had observed her, and for weeks
she had played the would-be chameleon. She had made it a habit to wear masculine, shapeless
clothing when walking in her own neighborhood. At first, he d thought it was simply a fashion choice,
but it hadn t taken long before he d become less convinced of his original assessment, especially
when he observed her wearing flirty skirts and bright colored shirts through the fence of her school.
After that, he pegged her as woman who understood how important it was to adapt to her
surroundings. She knew she lived in a man s world, and she reacted accordingly.
It was important for girls in her position, in this kind of situation. To her parents she might have
been the teenage daughter they didn t need to worry about, because she didn t wear provocative
outfits to entice the young horny boys. In her neighborhood, she was the invisible girl, no one of
interest. But inside, she was still her whoever she was. And whoever she was, she appealed to him
under her camouflage.
It had felt unavoidable at the time, selecting her. She was the only one that jumped out to him,
though he didn t completely understand why. Then, that day on the sidewalk during their strange
encounter, he d known he had to have her. She had made an impression on him; she would make an
impression on others. Perhaps he d made a mistake in that regard, choosing someone he had found
indefinably appealing. Instead, the mystery had drawn him nearer and now he found himself only
further confused, further drawn in. It suddenly seemed such a waste that such a gift was meant for
Vladek.
He turned around, leaning against the counter, the edge digging into his spine. One hand gripped
the edge of the counter, the other holding the bottle, quickly cooling as veins of water cascaded down
his arm. He drank. A lot rested on the girl, and in turn, him. Aside from his own vengeance, he could
not fail Rafiq. Vladek Rostrovich had to die. In this, Rafiq and he had never disagreed. Upon how to
execute each step, that was something else. He took another mouthful, rolling the liquid in his mouth
before swallowing and feeling it fill him.
Destroying lives was something he was good at, this was no different, of course. Or was it? He
drained the bottle, tasting little, but wanting more. He turned around and rinsed it out, watching the
water rush out.
The girl was genuinely terrified of him, that much he was sure of. He had to use that to his
advantage. Under his tutelage, she would become whatever she needed to be in order to survive. She
would accept the hand she was dealt and make the best of things. She would find whatever good there
was in the bad, for however long it d last. She would fight him, that was a given, but he would
convince her despite herself.
He finished his bottle which had done nothing for him, still restless. He walked over to
the fridge again, cracked open another. Repeat. Another taste, another gulp, the thirst just growing.
New thoughts distracted him. What would he do with the girl when this was all said and done? He
stood still, listening to the house, listening for signs of the girl but there was nothing, no clamor from
behind the locked door. No desperate shrieking, just a girl, plotting her time. He walked to the table
and noiselessly pulled out a chair. Another long pull of beer, his gaze passed around the room. He sat.
What would he do with a girl who d never trust him? Caleb drank, set his bottle down on the table
then sat deeper in his seat, head back and breathing in through his nose, eyes closed.
Caleb knew nothing about caring for a woman long term. He d heard a lot about love in the last
twelve years, but he never felt the things people talked about. He ran his fingertips up and down the
neck of the bottle absentmindedly. The only person he felt any type of affection for was Rafiq, but he
doubted it could be called love. Caleb understood Rafiq, understood his anger and his need for
revenge. He trusted Rafiq with his life. Without that man to give him purpose, Caleb would have been
lost and for that he respected him. Did understanding, trust and respect equate to love? Caleb didn t
know. Rafiq had taught him to read and write, to speak five languages, to seduce a woman, to hide in
plain sight, and to kill, but never to love.
He leaned back again, drank, and then set the bottle in a different spot. He stared at the ring of
water on the smooth lacquered surface of the table. Leaning forward, he dragged his other hand
through it, creating two long translucent trails. They traveled along the surface of the table slick and
solitary before colliding into one another when his fingers came together.
A few years ago, Rafiq met a woman. The woman was his wife now and had given Rafiq two
sons. Caleb had never met them, nor would he and he d never expected it. He understood fully his
role with Rafiq. While afforded great respect and appropriate affection as someone Rafiq had raised
into manhood, Caleb was not family. It was not a confusing situation for him, the boundaries clearly
defined and consistent early on. What he was, was an equal partner in the settling of old scores. It
suited him fine since he knew nothing of that other life of Rafiq s, of family. He could scarcely
remember his.
There were a lot of things Caleb couldn t remember: his birthday, his age, what his name used to
be. It didn t bother him to not remember, though he sometimes wished he knew where he d grown up
so he could avoid it. This small detail had the ability to put him on edge whenever he was forced to
visit America for one reason or another. What if he had a mother who thought he was dead? It was his
secret horror to fathom a mother elated at the sight of him. Because whoever her stolen boy had been,
he was most certainly dead, and Caleb wanted him to stay that way.
The bottle, somehow drained again, rested in his hand, still cool to the touch. He got up as quietly
as he d sat, and silently moved through the kitchen. He rinsed the bottle, listening to the soft glug-
glug of the water going down the drain. Then took a soft towel and wiped away any evidence of his
presence. It wasn t the forgetting Caleb didn t like, it was the remembering.
He needed a shower and a lot more beers. He d miss beer when it was time to return to dry,
spiritless, Pakistan, it was an excellent aid in the forgetting process. He just hoped the bar in this
piece of shit town was still open.
Once inside his room, Caleb removed his clothes and walked into the bathroom to take a shower. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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Abruptly, Caleb s smile faded. He stared down at the drain, drops of water falling off the sides of
his bottle fell slowly, other drops hung off his fingers for dear life before falling, falling and slipping
down towards the drain. He stood up, taking a long pull from his bottle. Yes, he would break her
down and build her up for Vladek.
She was his and Rafiq s instrument of revenge. Through her, they d get close enough to kill that
motherfucker. He needed to put a swift end to her rebellious nature, not admire it. He needed to bring
out the Submissive he d observed. Submissives were survivors.
Caleb had underestimated the girl in some regard. For weeks he had observed her, and for weeks
she had played the would-be chameleon. She had made it a habit to wear masculine, shapeless
clothing when walking in her own neighborhood. At first, he d thought it was simply a fashion choice,
but it hadn t taken long before he d become less convinced of his original assessment, especially
when he observed her wearing flirty skirts and bright colored shirts through the fence of her school.
After that, he pegged her as woman who understood how important it was to adapt to her
surroundings. She knew she lived in a man s world, and she reacted accordingly.
It was important for girls in her position, in this kind of situation. To her parents she might have
been the teenage daughter they didn t need to worry about, because she didn t wear provocative
outfits to entice the young horny boys. In her neighborhood, she was the invisible girl, no one of
interest. But inside, she was still her whoever she was. And whoever she was, she appealed to him
under her camouflage.
It had felt unavoidable at the time, selecting her. She was the only one that jumped out to him,
though he didn t completely understand why. Then, that day on the sidewalk during their strange
encounter, he d known he had to have her. She had made an impression on him; she would make an
impression on others. Perhaps he d made a mistake in that regard, choosing someone he had found
indefinably appealing. Instead, the mystery had drawn him nearer and now he found himself only
further confused, further drawn in. It suddenly seemed such a waste that such a gift was meant for
Vladek.
He turned around, leaning against the counter, the edge digging into his spine. One hand gripped
the edge of the counter, the other holding the bottle, quickly cooling as veins of water cascaded down
his arm. He drank. A lot rested on the girl, and in turn, him. Aside from his own vengeance, he could
not fail Rafiq. Vladek Rostrovich had to die. In this, Rafiq and he had never disagreed. Upon how to
execute each step, that was something else. He took another mouthful, rolling the liquid in his mouth
before swallowing and feeling it fill him.
Destroying lives was something he was good at, this was no different, of course. Or was it? He
drained the bottle, tasting little, but wanting more. He turned around and rinsed it out, watching the
water rush out.
The girl was genuinely terrified of him, that much he was sure of. He had to use that to his
advantage. Under his tutelage, she would become whatever she needed to be in order to survive. She
would accept the hand she was dealt and make the best of things. She would find whatever good there
was in the bad, for however long it d last. She would fight him, that was a given, but he would
convince her despite herself.
He finished his bottle which had done nothing for him, still restless. He walked over to
the fridge again, cracked open another. Repeat. Another taste, another gulp, the thirst just growing.
New thoughts distracted him. What would he do with the girl when this was all said and done? He
stood still, listening to the house, listening for signs of the girl but there was nothing, no clamor from
behind the locked door. No desperate shrieking, just a girl, plotting her time. He walked to the table
and noiselessly pulled out a chair. Another long pull of beer, his gaze passed around the room. He sat.
What would he do with a girl who d never trust him? Caleb drank, set his bottle down on the table
then sat deeper in his seat, head back and breathing in through his nose, eyes closed.
Caleb knew nothing about caring for a woman long term. He d heard a lot about love in the last
twelve years, but he never felt the things people talked about. He ran his fingertips up and down the
neck of the bottle absentmindedly. The only person he felt any type of affection for was Rafiq, but he
doubted it could be called love. Caleb understood Rafiq, understood his anger and his need for
revenge. He trusted Rafiq with his life. Without that man to give him purpose, Caleb would have been
lost and for that he respected him. Did understanding, trust and respect equate to love? Caleb didn t
know. Rafiq had taught him to read and write, to speak five languages, to seduce a woman, to hide in
plain sight, and to kill, but never to love.
He leaned back again, drank, and then set the bottle in a different spot. He stared at the ring of
water on the smooth lacquered surface of the table. Leaning forward, he dragged his other hand
through it, creating two long translucent trails. They traveled along the surface of the table slick and
solitary before colliding into one another when his fingers came together.
A few years ago, Rafiq met a woman. The woman was his wife now and had given Rafiq two
sons. Caleb had never met them, nor would he and he d never expected it. He understood fully his
role with Rafiq. While afforded great respect and appropriate affection as someone Rafiq had raised
into manhood, Caleb was not family. It was not a confusing situation for him, the boundaries clearly
defined and consistent early on. What he was, was an equal partner in the settling of old scores. It
suited him fine since he knew nothing of that other life of Rafiq s, of family. He could scarcely
remember his.
There were a lot of things Caleb couldn t remember: his birthday, his age, what his name used to
be. It didn t bother him to not remember, though he sometimes wished he knew where he d grown up
so he could avoid it. This small detail had the ability to put him on edge whenever he was forced to
visit America for one reason or another. What if he had a mother who thought he was dead? It was his
secret horror to fathom a mother elated at the sight of him. Because whoever her stolen boy had been,
he was most certainly dead, and Caleb wanted him to stay that way.
The bottle, somehow drained again, rested in his hand, still cool to the touch. He got up as quietly
as he d sat, and silently moved through the kitchen. He rinsed the bottle, listening to the soft glug-
glug of the water going down the drain. Then took a soft towel and wiped away any evidence of his
presence. It wasn t the forgetting Caleb didn t like, it was the remembering.
He needed a shower and a lot more beers. He d miss beer when it was time to return to dry,
spiritless, Pakistan, it was an excellent aid in the forgetting process. He just hoped the bar in this
piece of shit town was still open.
Once inside his room, Caleb removed his clothes and walked into the bathroom to take a shower. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]