For a moment my heart stops. How does Bogdan know of Daisy? It takes every ounce of control I have not to attack him, to act nonchalant. To pretend like terror isn’t taking over my body, because if I let it, I will start fileting off his skin until he gives me answers. I force myself to relax.
"A girl, Bogdan? Don’t make me laugh. Is there some Pravadian whore I’m in love with?"
Bogdan sniffs with one side of his nose. "Someday there will be."
Ahh, Bogdan knows nothing. I walk toward the hotel room door, relief washing through me like a balm.
"Someday," Bogdan screams behind me. "Someday, like Aleksandr, some girl will be your downfall."
I stop with my white-gloved hand on the door and my back to Bogdan. "Then I will have lived for something important in my life."
"Bring me your mercy then," Bogdan pleads. "You know I cannot take the poison. You know this."
Bogdan is Catholic. He crosses himself before each kill, rape, assault. He believes that if he takes the poison, he’ll go to hell. Not because of any of the deeds he committed, but because he believes taking his own life means that his last deed will be a sin. I rub the inscription on my chest. I can hear the whimpering pleas behind me. Mercy, then.
I turn and shoot.
When I arrive at the airport, I am met with the news that my return flight is delayed. I bargain with the ticket counter, offering more money and nearly losing my temper in an effort to get a quicker flight back. My phone has remained annoyingly silent. I do not know if Daisy has gone to the café without me. Whether she has decided she will not talk to me again.
Daisy is not a girl to wait on. If she has gone to the café, there will be dozens of wolves circling her, scenting her distress, and wanting to pounce on her. My nostrils flare, and the ticket agent’s hand moves to hover over a distress button.
"Sorry," I say to alleviate her concern. Doorak, idiot. I give her my best crestfallen look, the one I saw on Daisy’s face when she thought I spent too much money on her at the mall. She does not realize yet I will keep buying her things to give her the life she deserves. Already, I have ordered her a leather jacket she admired and passed by at the store. I had it delivered to my apartment for when I get home. I will give it to her after I ruin the one tissue-thin coat she owns.
This is the right gesture because the agent smiles at me and removes her hand from the panic button.
"There’s a flight that leaves in forty minutes, but you may not be able to make the gate."
I will make the gate. "Sounds great," I hand her my ticket, and she keys in the change.
I make the gate and arrive in Minneapolis without further delay, but I’ve still missed our date and had no response from Daisy. While I know she is not at the café, I run there anyway. Perhaps she likes the place so much she returns, I hope stupidly. But of course she is not there.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I kick the brick wall of the restaurant, but it does not alleviate my frustration. Two girls walk by and stare at me in horror. I want to bare my teeth at them and give them something real to be afraid of. Closing my eyes, I lean my forehead against the brick wall. The crisp night air should be refreshing, but all I can think about is how my sweet Daisy would have been here alone, waiting for me. She could’ve been cold and needed my arms. Had she felt unwanted? I release a low moan of despair. I wonder if I’ve already allowed her to slip away.
I decide to text her again.
Daisy, I am here at the café. I know it is two days late but my business trip was unavoidable. Forgive me. Please.
I lean against the brick wall and will the phone to respond. I wonder at her cellphone. It’s cheap and must be hard to send messages. This is good in that it prevents her from texting other males, but bad in that it makes it challenging for her to communicate easily with me.
The next time I see her, I will break her phone, accidentally of course, and then she will allow me to buy her a new one. Cheered by my new plan, I decide to go to the cellular phone carrier located three blocks away and buy the phone right now. That there will be a GPS locator in the phone is only so that I can keep track of her safety—or so I tell myself.
My phone dings, and I raise the screen immediately. It is her. My breath quickens.
Why didn’t u txt or call?
Good question. "I was busy shooting two Russian criminals” was not the right answer.
I did text three days ago before I left. Did you not get it?
I do not get an immediate response. Was it possible that she did not receive my message? I take a screenshot of the message I sent as proof. I think it must be her phone. Perhaps I do not have to break it. I will explain to her that her phone is already not working right and that I should replace it. Perhaps the gift will make her forgive me more quickly. Instantly, I feel much better. Good job, Nikolai, I think. This is smart.
As you can see I send message. One thousand apologies for being so disrespectful of your time. Please allow me to make it up to you.
Inside the store, I pick out the latest smartphone.
"With a new contract, sir?"
"No, without." I will have it activated after I gift her the phone.
The purchase is completed before I receive another response from her.
Oh. I didnt get ur msg. Felt stupid. Didn’t know how long 2 wait.
Ah gods, I made her feel alone and uncertain. I should knife myself in punishment.
I beg of you to flush this incident from your memory. Give me one more chance. I promise I will not fail you this time, lapochka.
lapo-what?
I tell you when I see you.
I wait for her response but none comes.
I go back to my apartment and wait. The night grows long, and there is no response. Perhaps Daisy is right to have rejected my attempts at reparation. Why should she want to be with filth like me? The past forty-eight hours weigh upon me. I have killed two men while she struggles to feed herself. I kill men for money, and if she knew the truth, she would spit in my face. I knew from the moment she caught my eye as I was watching Mr. Brown that she was an angel. But thoughts of Daisy make me ache. My c*ck is stiff and my balls are drawn up tight against my body.
Suddenly, I remember that I have something of Daisy’s. The jeans I wore during the laundry confrontation lie folded in the corner. In the back pocket, I pull out the pale pink cotton that once touched Daisy’s ass, her p**sy lips, and the soft thatch of hair between her legs. I lift the cotton to my nose, but it smells only of detergent; the soap had washed away what I knew must be a delicious scent.
Still…I unzip my jeans and pull out my cock. It is hard to imagine Daisy in this place, this desolate space I call my living quarters. Closing my eyes, I fantasize that my hands are Daisy’s hands and that I’ve just removed these panties from her body. The crotch of the panties are still soaking wet because of the double layer of fabric, and I use the moisture to wet my cock.
I picture her falling to her knees and tonguing my length. My c*ck would stretch her lips wide. I’d tunnel my hands in her hair and tug her head back so I could slide in and out with ease. She’s innocent, so she’d not be able to take my whole length. Instead, she would have to use her hands, twisting and turning and pumping me. I wrap the pink cotton around my engorged member until the cloth and lace are binding me tightly, imagining the pressure is from her lips. The bite of the elastic is really her tight fist enclosing my engorged flesh. In my fevered imagination, it is her skin next to mine, her body under me and wrapped around me.
The image shifts and Daisy is now sitting on my mattress, watching me tug at my cock. "Touch yourself," I tell her, and she tentatively reaches down between her legs. "Spread your thighs wider. I want to see you."
She obeys. In my imagination, her arousal visibly glistens her center, and I can hear the juicy sounds of her cunt as she fingers herself. I want to draw it out, but I can’t, and I spurt long, white threads of come onto my stomach. I stumble over to the mattress and fall backward, my hand clutched around my still aching member. It is not enough. The phone has remained silent. The entire apartment seems like a tomb.
I’ll never be good enough for Daisy but I ache and I am…lonely. I reach over to the phone with my free hand and call a number.
"Massage Heights," a perky voice answers.
"I need a house call," I say.
"Do you have a preference?"
I begin to tell her I don’t, but then I say, "Medium height, light brown hair, not too thin."
"Gl—" she starts to say a name, but I stop her.
"Tell her she’ll be Violet for the night."
"Sure. Violet."
"Violet" knocks on my door thirty minutes later. I let her in. She looks nothing like Daisy. Her dirty hair is bleached too light. Her eyes are hazel and not blue. She is too thin. I can see her ribs when she opens her coat to show me her thigh high stockings and garters. She smiles at the sight of me. I shake my head at her naiveté. Because I look young and have a firm body, she automatically thinks that I will be a better lay, but I’m strong and I could hurt her. She has no instinct of self-preservation. She will likely be dead before she hits her quarter-century mark.
Her outfit would be sexy to anyone else, but I am unmoved. I glance over my shoulder toward Daisy’s apartment. Afraid she might be able to see in, I walk over and close the blinds. It is a stupid act. My Daisy is too trusting to peer in windows, looking for me.
The girl I’ve named Violet pulls off her jacket and looks for somewhere to place it. I take it and throw it on the kitchen counter.
"Um, you just move in?" She takes in my empty space.
"Yeah." I do not want her to remember me as “the Russian guy," so I make a conscious effort to speak with American slang. "Haven’t got any furniture yet."
She shrugs. "Where do you want to do this?"
I sit down on a chair and pull out a condom.
"Just a BJ?" She looks surprised at my nod. "And a condom. Aren’t you the responsible boy."
Not responsible, just smart. I open my jeans and pull out my cock. It is flaccid, but its quiescent length still makes Violet’s eyes widen.
"That’s quite a package you’ve got there."
"I want you to suck me," I say.
I do not want to have conversation with her. I want a fuck. I want relief. I jack myself and think of Daisy and the crumpled panties that rest on my washstand. I am erect instantly.
The prostitute comes forward and kneels between my legs. The floor is hard, and I consider getting her a pillow, but I do not want her to touch my things. I barely want her to touch me.
Her hands run up my jean-clad leg and her mouth descends. I grab her hair and pull her face back. One glance at her too-knowing face and my erection subsides. I want for no one but Daisy. This fake flower I have purchased will do nothing for me. I stand up, and she falls aside. Walking swiftly across the room, I gather up her coat and pull out a hundred dollar bill from my pocket. I would offer her more, but she would remember me more, talk of me.
"Sorry. I have appointment I have forgotten."
She looks at me uncertainly, but she quickly grabs the bill and shrugs on her coat. "If you change your mind, just say you want Violet again."