The Monster In Us

30- There's nothIng

I get out my sketchpad and I hand it to him as we sit on his bed like we had those few days ago when I had drawn him and he had read to me his favorite poems.

I take The Little Prince and we situate ourselves so that I can read and he can draw. I then clear my throat and I start reading, "Once when I was six I saw a magnificent picture in a book about the jungle, called True Stories. It showed a boa constrictor swallowing a wild beast."

We stay like that for hours, until I am done reading him my favorite book and he has finished his drawing of me laying on his bed. It's not the best drawing but I can definitely tell that it's a person with hair and boobs, holding a book. I like it.

"We should get dinner," Dante suggests as he puts the small children's book on his bookshelf. It looks comical, the bright blue spine sticking out against all of the thick books in dark, mature colors.

"I'm okay with whatever you're in the mood for," I decide, not feeling particularly like eating any specific food.

He doesn't tell me what he decides on, he just sends somebody a text and then we're lying down on his bed together, the sketchpad and book put away now, and we're not even kissing or getting steamy at all, we're just lying under his comforter and I listen to him tell me about his day yesterday.

As I was sneaking into his lake house, he was sitting in meetings for his father and then as I was getting my tattoos, he was buying some new suits. It's not an incredibly exciting day but I soak it all in, I listen to every word. I just keep thinking that I don't know how many of his words I'll be able to listen to, so I want to listen to as many as I can to remember him as vividly as possible.

I know that I've been trying to tell myself that it's possible that he will come with me if I run but I eventually have to face facts—that's just not going to happen. I can't really believe that I thought that it ever could. Like I could just tell him who I am and that he could ever get over that. Not just about who I am but also about how much I have lied to him since the day we met.

But then there's still that little part of me that thinks that maybe he can understand. He follows his father just as blindly as I follow mine, so maybe he'll understand that I had to do it because it is what was ordered of me. He could even offer to help me find out what happened to my mother.

"What are you thinking about?" Dante asks me when he can tell that my mind had drifted off.

"Nothing," I answer automatically but then I add, "Just thinking about how much I like you, and how much I don't want to ruin it."

"What do you mean?" He persists.

"Just that I don't want to lose you is all," I try to explain. "And I always have this dread that you'll realize some day that you just absolutely hate me."

"Why would I do that?"

"What if..." I trail off before I sit up and look at him so that I can see his eyes. And then I continue, "I told you that I was Russian?"

He frowns at me and I stop breathing, just to wait for his reaction with complete stillness. After he frowns, his eyes go wide and his nostrils flare a little bit. I can tell that his body tensed up just at the mention of Russia and after he took a moment for his body to react in a very defensive way, his lips finally part and he starts to talk. "What?"

Well, he sure didn't like that at all.

"They fought each other in World War II," I say to him. "Italy and Russia. And you seem to be pretty into your Italian heritage, you obviously aren't a big fan of Russians."

His body relaxes again, "Oh. Well Italy was on the wrong side of that war so I don't think that we, as Italians, still have a grudge over Russia specifically for that war."