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10: In Which He Gets Advice from Half His Shoe Size [FILLER]

10: In Which He Gets Advice from Half His Shoe Size [Nikolai’s POV]

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I squinted at the cloud, concentrating all my energy on considering what the hell it looked like. If I covered my right eye with a hand, it looked like a rabbit but with both bloodshot eyes open, it looked like a heart split down the fucking middle, tiny puffs of silver-grey blood spatters following in its wake.

Yeah, I’m not telling that to a six-year-old, I thought, now wishing I’d stayed away from my fourth glass of Hennessy that morning. If I had, maybe I would’ve made even the least bit of sense even in my own head.

“So what do you see?” Asya asked in perfect, impatient Ruslavian, shifting slightly in the grass on my left. She pointed at the cloud we were currently analysing. “That one, remember?”

I wiped at the moisture that was already accumulating on my brow. “Nothing. I see nothing.” I glared up at the sun hiding behind a cloud.

“You’re talking funny,” Asya giggled.

I gave the girl a sideways glance. “I’m talking funny? Your front teeth are out and I’m talking funny?” I slurred, sitting up.

Yeah. I was talking funny, all right.

Someone as intoxicated as me shouldn’t have been around a kid just then, but it was fucking impossible for me to chase her away from her space, a space that was specifically for the children of Kroya. I was the outsider, the strange man who got someone to drive him into the village so that he could stumble into a children’s park at eleven in the morning like a paedophile.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lev, my bodyguard and glorified babysitter, unobtrusively leaning against the limo parked at a distance outside the park’s gates. I couldn’t even get shitfaced like a normal person without someone watching my every move.

“Yes,” Asya replied, still laughing. She pushed herself up beside me. “Papa talks like that sometimes, but it’s only when he’s had his bitter drink. Have you had bitter drink today, Kolya?”

Let’s see. I was drunk by eight this morning. My sobriety has gone to shit. And why? Because of a female?

I wasn’t an alcoholic. I just liked drinking and didn’t particularly like how I got when I was drinking. This was partly the reason why I’d dropped out of college; why I couldn’t hold down a proper job. I could drink, but only socially, around people. When I was alone with a bottle, it was a toss-up on whether I’d stop at one – or finish the entire bar.

Think clean thoughts, Kolya.

“My mother would bring me here to play every weekend,” I murmured, resting my chin on my raised knees. “Back then, it was just a field of weeds but she had the best imagination. I forgot the bad things when she was around. This park was Eden and I was a six-year-old boy-king.”

“Mama says Aunt Sonya wanted to be an actress,” Asya spoke up, reaching out and curling her hand in mine. For someone so young, she was extremely intuitive. I squeezed her tiny hand in mine. “But she made dresses for princesses! She looked like a princess, too, didn’t she?” she wanted to know.

I reached out and ran my free hand through her thick, dark hair, staring back at green eyes that were exactly like my mother’s. “Yes,” I told her. “Yes, she did. And so do you.” She brightened at my answer.

Sometimes, when I looked at my little cousin, I swore I could see my mother staring back at me. Their eyes were the same, but Asya’s were almond-shaped and so expressive, they made Puss in Boots’ eyes look dull and lifeless. Even in a faded pink dress, Asya was beautiful. There were moments when I wanted to tell her mother – my aunt – to fuck her pride and accept my money, to accept the things I could and desperately wanted to offer her family.