" I found peace in your violence..

Can't tell me there's no point in trying."

...

Since Mikhail lost his only hope, he had already gone wretched and lunatic.

He couldn't eat or drink. He couldn't find a home to make him feel safe and at ease. He didn't know what he was doing. He was deprived, lonely and homeless.

He spent more than a month sleeping in the streets, bus stations, under freeway bridges and abandoned buildings.

He suffered from eating disorder. Starving himself just to not ask for help from anyone. He wanted to convince himself that he was strong, and didn't need anyone's pity.

But that didn't stop him from stealing some fruits from the groceries once every week.

At first he sucked at it, but by practice he begun to get used to stealing easily. He had to.

He only was able to steal fruits, vegetables and bread. And he'd get beaten up every time the merchants notice him.

Though every time he tried to find a job, people would end up mocking him and calling him a homeless garbage, and an untrustworthy child.

Nobody seemed to accept the way he was, not even himself. He hated himself more than anything. More than his mother and his father. More than all the people who underestimated him.

He always questioned his existence. Why was he alive and what use was it for him to keep fighting? It was worthless.

Everyday passed he'd remember the way his first love's body was crashed to the ground, while he was unable to move or do anything that could've helped her.

That memory never seemed to escape his vision. He felt guilty for it. He was convinced he was the reason she died. He killed her.

By losing her, he lost all the faith in the world. He lost himself.

...

One day he was sleeping in front of a barbershop. It was a balmy morning with fresh air breeze. The sun almost caused his skin to burn.

A bald man named Don who had three body guards around him noticed Mikhail weakly sleeping as he ordered them to wake him by beating him up.

The man was in his forties, in a beige suit, not very tall, with a scare on his left eyebrow, dark eye bags and a ruthless expression on his face. He always held a cigar between his huge fingers.

He noticed how needful Mikhail was, how forceless and vulnerable he seemed to be. So he took him to one of his apartments, fed him and gave him some clothes and a place to sleep.

But that didn't come out of pity, nor kindness. The man thought he could take good advantage of him since he was weak and had no one behind his back.

He wanted to make a deal with him. To hire him as his own private killer and he'd let him live the luxurious life that everyone wished for. Since Don was a mafia leader, all he could ever think of was how to make good use of Mikhail for his own benefit.

Mikhail surely never agreed to do that, he never wanted to kill anybody, he never wanted to end up like his father. A criminal.

But Don threatened him. He said that it was wether he work for him or they would torture him to death. Mikhail didn't know what to do. He never was put in such a difficult situation. He never wanted to get killed, and he never wanted to kill anyone, either.

But he had no other choice. So he accepted his deal.

One morning, the man decided to test him and see if he had enough strength to fight someone to death, or if he would just get scared and give up.

So he brought a drug dealer who once robbed him and ordered Mikhail to shoot him in the head.

But Mikhail couldn't.

He was stuttered, his hand was sweating and shaking as he held the gun right in front of the guy's forehead. He couldn't even pull the trigger. The guy noticed how shaky Mikhail was, he decided to resist and defend himself so he gave Mikhail a punch in the stomach.

Mikhail couldn't believe his eyes, he never wanted to accept being beaten up in front of everyone the way he got beaten by his mother.

So he tossed the gun away, and began to violently punch back the guy.

Don was surprised by his sudden action, he noticed how furious Mikhail was as every punch that came out of him was as hard as a rock.

He kept punching the guy as if his life depended on it. And it actually did.

Blood covered his hands and wounds pained his whole body. Even though the guy was already dead, he kept punching him to the very last second.

"Damn kid, you satisfied?" Don demanded with disbelief, staring at the guy's face that had already got destructed.

"Not yet." Mikhail choked out between heavy breaths, and then continued punching the guy's jaw.

That moment Don knew that it wasn't the wrong choice to hire Mikhail as his own killer. He needed someone fearless, cruel and rigid, who had no mercy. Someone who had no clue what it felt like having a kind, gracing heart.

Don taught him how to fight, how to use guns and weapons. How to avoid getting killed at all costs and how to live his whole life dealing with soreness as if it was running through his blood. So Don ordered his guards to punch him every now and then, to get used to feeling highly painful.

They tortured him, assaulted him and forced him to do many things he despised. Alcohol and drugs were included.

As much as it was deeply painful for him to be one of them, he liked every bit of it. He was surrender. He knew it was his fate to be the criminal his father once was. And he didn't once complain about it.

He killed and tortured until he was fifteen years old. And that was when he decided it was enough.

He couldn't accept being Don's puppet anymore. And he couldn't come against him, either. Especially when he knew how dangerous he was.

He regretted killing all these people. He hated himself for being merciless and a fraudulent.

He needed redemption.

And he sworn to make sure of it.

...

One month passed since I saw Mikhail killing the four men back at the mansion. I tried to avoid him at all costs. I didn't answer his phone calls, didn't reply to his texts and I didn't even dare to pass across the bakery he was used to going to. I was afraid. Afraid of him, and what he could do to me. Afraid of what he did to them and what he could've done to others. He was an infernal creature, who I yearned not to ever see again.

But there he was. In my bedroom, in front of me, kneeling and desperately begging for my forgiveness as I sat on bed, shocked and dreadful from the story he just told me, the story that I'm barely believing for it to be his.

He nervously looked at me, uncertain of my awareness to the words I just heard from him. "I never wanted to hurt anyone, Evelyn. Not even you."

"And you want me to believe you? I don't even know who you are." I blurted, hands shaking from all the terror he caused me at that moment.

He looked down in despair and chuckled, "After all of what I've told you about me and you still don't know who I am?"

"You could be a liar. You're already a crumb, and a scoundrel." I said as I tried not to sob, while my lips hardly trembled.

"I stopped killing people. I no longer work for him." he pleaded, looking up at me through his long eyelashes. "I swear to you."

A part of me wanted to forgive him for what he did. To believe that every single word of that heartbreaking story was what he had actually been through. Another part of me doubted him, forced me not to ever trust that man again and to kick him out of my life as fast as I could.

"If you actually stopped killing people. How would you explain the four men who were covered with blood and you coldly stood there between them?" I asked him, all I could ever think of was his long fingers that ran through his soft hair as they were covered with fresh blood.

"I never killed them. I maybe tortured them, but they weren't killed." he looked up at me with pity eyes.

I slowly nodded, not daring to look at him. "And why did you torture them?"

"It's part of my job." he said, voice harsh.

"What kind of job is that?" I furiously  complained, frowning at him. "If you no longer work for the mafia, why do you have to do that?"

"It's not that I have any other choice."

"Whatever you're doing is dangerous," I argued. "It could get you in so much trouble!"

"I'm not a fucking child! I don't need your useless assumptions!" he lashed out on me, and I flinched, frightened.

We looked at each other for a moment. I could barely stop the hatred that was growing inside of me for him. I despised the way I believed that I could once trust him and make him my own friend. I despised how I thought we understood each other and had many things in common.

I was delusional. I despised him so much.

"Please, just get out." I whispered with despair, "I don't want you here."

He noticed my nervousness as I played with my fingers and then he sighed, "I'm an FBI agent."

My eyes met his gaze. "What?!"

"That's why I torture people. That's why I spy on them and go undercover." he added, making  my head ache with confusion. "That's why I deserve a second chance."

"How a criminal like you works in the FBI?"

He shrugged the insult I gave him as he half smiled, looking down. "I have regretted everything I did. And that was my only choice to get revenge and forgiveness."

"I don't understand."

"I've lost someone important to me. They got killed, and I think whoever did that was a member of the mafia I worked for." he explained, "So I decided to get revenge. Luckily, Rafael helped me achieve half of it. I told him everything he had to know. I told him that I was forced to do all the crimes under some type of threat. I told him that I was weak and vulnerable. And needed to find another better way of living. He promised to help me. He commanded me to continue being a mafia member and not to leave it until I take every single one of them down. He forgave me. And I hope you forgive me, too."

"But joining the FBI, it needs someone professional. Trained."

"Yes, I did get some training. But I was already skillful enough."

Suddenly everything made sense. I nodded as I blankly stared at the floor, "So you're only in the mafia as an undercover cop?"

"Yeah." his eyes sparkled. "We good?"

I half laughed from the question he demanded. It made me feel how youthful sometimes he could be. The tenderness and vulnerability he could uncontrollably show. It's not his fault he got born into this, but it's not my fault, either. Why me he wanted forgiveness from? Isn't he kind of ruthless? Why would my forgiveness matter to him that much?

"Why do you desire my forgiveness so much?" I narrowed my eyes at him, receiving an unreadable expression.

"I don't know." he shook his head. "I never thought about it. I didn't need to. I just do whatever I think is right. Earning your forgiveness is the one thing I'm sure would help change me into a better person. I've done horrible things, Evelyn. Nothing would help me become more acceptable than a person like you."

"Me?"

"Yes. You said it yourself, we had something in common. It maybe isn't revealed yet, but it surely exists." his gaze met mine, a hopefully reassured one. "You understand me more than I had ever thought of. Maybe you could be the reason I could also forgive myself."

I chuckled, "I think you've mistaken me." shrugging, I looked away as I felt him grinning at me. "I'm not that person you're looking for."

"Wanna bet on that?" he tilted his head, charmingly.

"I don't fix people. I defy them." I gave him a challenging, daring gaze. "If you want me to help you, do not blame anyone but yourself. I can be too formidable."

"I'm willing to try that out." he smirked, offering his hand submissively. 

I smiled, not sure if what I was doing was actually the right thing or completely the opposite. I do not claim to trust him anymore, nor do I feel safe being around him. But something about him was challenging, it devoured passion, excitement, thrill. I didn't know if I could help him become the opposite person of his father or not.  But he needed me, he maybe wasn't that merciless as he affirmed to be. What if there was a part of him that ached for vulnerability? A part that was sympathetic, softhearted and considerate. I could help finding that side of him, why not try it out?

I reached for his hand, faithfully shaking it. "I'm willing to try it as well."

We look at each other for a moment. I felt his hand being frozen to the marrow. I frowned, "How long haven't you eaten?"

"Uh, not sure. Weeks?" 

"Are you insane?! You look slim and pale." I squished his cheeks as I wandered his colorless face. "It's disgusting." 

"It's been rough, the last couple of weeks." he said, restlessly blinking. "I had to investigate a case."

"Well you do not starve yourself investigating a case." I rolled my eyes, "It's stupid."

He gave me a tired smile as he ruffled his hair and rested his head on both hands.

"I can bring you food from the kitchen." I concernedly glanced at the door then back at him, "What do you want to eat?" 

He was silent for a moment, as though he didn't want to burden me. I stood in front of him, insisting on him answering me.

He slowly raised his head, curiously looking at me. "Do you have brownies?"

Brownies? Is he serious?

"You haven't eaten well for weeks and all you want are brownies?"

"Yeah, please."

"Alright." I sighed. "I'll bring you some." 

As I headed to the door, a genuinely tender smile was shown on his face.

I brought him some brownies as I sat on bed next to him and gave him the plate.

He grabbed a piece and took a bite. I found his gaze blankly freezing at the floor. He took a look at me, then continued eating the piece. "Did you make that yourself?"

"No, it's my mother." I pursed my lips in shame, "I don't know how to cook."

He smiled, forcing back laughter.

"Don't smile like that!"

"I can teach you."

"You know how to make brownies?"

"No, but I've learnt to cook many other things when I joined the FBI and lived on my own."

I nodded. many thoughts running through my mind. "Does anyone from the mafia members know you're spying on them?"

"I hope not." he took another bite, "They think I'm still working for them and I need to keep it that way, until I find who killed my friend."

"What makes you sure it's them?"

"I'm not. But somehow I feel they were behind it."

...

Now,

Feeling heavy hands shaking me back and forth, I opened my eyes, frowning as I rubbed them to clear my vision. "What time is it?"

"Shh! It's six in the morning." Olivia whispered, still impulsively shaking me. "Get up! We need to sneak you out before your parents are awake!"

"Sneak me out?" I mumbled, digging my face into the pillow. "Why?"

"The camping trip is today!" Emma uttered in amusement.

I sprung up from bed, eyes widened. Not sure if I heard her well.

"The what?!!!"

_____

[Nefarious] (adj.) : Wicked, Villainous, Despicable.

...

Well now you know Mikhail's reasons for going on a killing spree :)

Do you think Evelyn would be able to forgive him?

Btw, what's your favorite sweet?

Don't forget to vote and comment!

xoxo.