The Water

Marcus steps into the pool with the obviously murderous Hati

I shouldn’t step into the water. 

But I know I won’t listen to myself.

You’re peering at me like a crocodile from the shallow waters. Am I the unsuspecting prey? 

I chuckle at the thought.

Don’t tell me that you’re trying to look more approachable with that smile. It just manages to make you look more deranged than usual. Hatred in your gaze is burning holes in my tunic. It’s a good look.

I smirk at the thought and it causes disgust to flash through your gaze. Can’t fault you for it.

“Make room, I’m coming,” I say, feeling almost giddy.

And you seem as dementedly happy about it. A small, unhinged giggle leaves your lips, a telltale that your mind is filled with blood. My blood.

“That sounded positively psychotic,” I let you know and you agree. It’s nice to have something to agree on. 

You look like you’re ready to stab me in my thigh. I can definitely see you doing that, and you’d probably enjoy it. Would you look into my eyes while I’m bleeding dry, drinking the sight of my pain? Or would you spit at me and leave me alone with my pitiful regrets?

Your gaze darts to the pile of clothes you had your dagger in and I’m almost offended by it. The knife is gone, you silly little thing. Of course I wouldn’t make this too easy for you. You need to use your hands. Or maybe you’d try to drown me? Honestly, I would prefer a good old strangulation, it feels more intimate. 

You, however, would most likely prefer to behead me like I did your father. A head for a head, as they say.

I almost frown at the thought but manage to control myself. 

No beheading on the menu tonight.

First, I need to see if the would-be-murderer’s cheeks will blush like a maiden’s.

It’s just an experiment. A battle of wills, if you will. 

I make sure you’re watching. Then, as a show, I start taking off my clothes. And you…

• You blush.

I smirk at the sight of your chubby little cheeks flushing. How predictable, yet so satisfying. And the irritation that invades your gaze when you realize that you lost the battle is irresistible.

Makes me want to squeeze you.

• You stare.

Did I expect your chubby little cheeks to flush? Maybe. I had hopes.

But maybe this is even better. The stare you throw at me is intriguing, the stare that you must hope could kill me. It almost sends a shiver down my spine. You could curse someone with that stare. Or, more intriguingly, maybe you’re doing it right now!

• You ignore the show.

Instead, you ask about the scars. And it irks me more than I thought it would. My previous battles are not important. I’m here, naked, and you should care about that.

Instead, you keep asking. About the one in my stomach, the one wound that should’ve killed me. But it didn’t. I crawled out of my death bed and when I came to, the first thing I saw was my father. And the first thing he said was that I should marry before I die. That if I choose to remain as a Centurion, he chooses to force me to do that.

The memory irks me as much as this failed show does. 

This is annoying.

Besides, you don’t care about the scars and their stories, you just want to revel in the thought of me almost dying, you sick thing.

“You should be happy he didn’t manage to kill me,” I say. It means that you can kill me, instead.

And you agree. It’s the second thing we agree on tonight.

The water is pleasantly warm as I step in.