I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
You can't do this.
The mere whisper nearly shatters my resolve.
We're in one of the teaching centers and I'm seated on the elevated platform that I use as a stage. Though I'm the one that's speaking, I have over a dozen pair of doe eyes ogling Vanko. Which is normal. They're always curious about newcomers, but I can't evade the unease that crawls all over my skin like a multitude of minuscule spider legs.
"As you can all see, today I'm not alone." My gaze drops to the floor. I haul it back up, stretching my smile. "Vanko." My eyes cemented to the children. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"
Vanko moves to stand beside me, then lowers to accompany me on the edge—the proximity perilous. His gaze sifts through them and he gives a rigid nod, manspreading before he leans forward to plant his forearms on his thighs.
"My name is Vanko Chernenko."
A chorus of giggles sweeps up, some muffling their laughs with their hands.
My smile endures, though my brows crease. "I also want to laugh. What's so funny?"
Katy throws up a bumbling arm. "He talks funny."
Vanko cocks his head playfully. "And you look funny."
They all burst into a fit of a laughter whilst Katy pouts angrily, arms folded tightly to her chest.
It's not that he talks funny. He simply speaks with a distinct intonation, a refined Russian accent but with softer consonants. Each word carried at greater lengths by the deep bass of his voice.
"Where are you from?" Tommy asks.
"Are you friends with Amar-mar?" asks another.
"Why are you wearing so many rings?"
The questions come hurtling out in a flurry, reminiscent of being quizzed by news reporters at my father's press conferences.
Studiously avoiding eye contact with him, I say, "Well, tell them about yourself."
He casts several hesitant glances at me. "I'm from Kazan, Russia."
I wait, expecting him to expound further.
"That's it? Wow." Words lathered with sarcasm. "I mean, I'm sure we all feel like we know so much about you, practically besties."
Dark eyes drill into me with fierce apathy.
"Why don't you tell everyone why you came to visit them?"
I finally meet his gaze with a faltering resign. His eyes are on me. Then he shifts it to the kids, eyes darting to each chubby-cheeked face.
"Because I wanted to make new friends."
"Right," I say flatly, then I jump up to my feet. "What do you guys say about Vanko taking over story time before we go play outside?"
The kids bellow an ear-piercing cheer.
I go over to the bookshelf, weaving through the minefield of treasured toys scattered across the tattered mats. My finger skims over the collection ponderously before I slide out my choice, walking right back. I hand him the book. He takes it, then shoots me a wink. I roll my eyes and sit down on the platform, increasing the space between us.
Vanko examines the book briefly with annoyance splashed over his face. He looks back at me and raises the book. "Biff, Chip and Kipper? Seriously?"
I arc a brow at him, my eyes moving in a thousand directions per second. "They're like in grade one. What did you expect? Game of Thrones?"
Regret flits across his face before he manufactures a complacent expression, trying to smile his lips bear a resemblance to a curdling plump worm. He reads the first few lines with the same excruciating monotone of my least liked teacher on campus. He makes a children's short story sound like a boring college lecture.
Almost halfway in, I stop him. "Do you mind reading like you want to be here?"
He pauses, falling absolutely still. Then he looks up from the pages before burning me with a flesh-melting glower.
"What do you want from me, sound effects?"
"Basic human emotion will suffice." I thump my temple in mock remembrance. "Silly me, I can't request something you don't have."
"Amara," he warns.
My lips seal close in involuntary servitude, as if his implicit command is something my body can't go against. He continues to read with the same measure of dreariness. A suffocating internal of silence ensues, not one of them even breathes audibly in fear of earning Vanko's ire.
I've never seen them this well-behaved. And quiet. No, it's just fear.
After, I take up the shoulder-length staff of furnished dark wood.
"Now that the torture session is over. Who's ready to go outside?"
"Me!" they all shriek in unison.
I assemble them in two neat rows. Vanko stands behind them with his hands clasped in front of him. With the staff in hand, I take point and lead them all out to the interior playground. The children harmonize in song, singing melodiously as we make the short journey. Once we make it to the entrance of the playground, I slide aside, allowing them to burst out of the doors as they disperse themselves amid the jungle gyms.
Vanko sidles my flank. I hold on to the staff, my hands clutching its head.
Looking out, resurfacing memories mar my vision. His presence stoking inner upheaval. Every bone in my body goes frozen stiff with discomfort.
"This is nice." He lets out a peaceful sigh. "Finally, time together."
Watching over the dashing children, right now, they're my sole lifeline.
"Why are you doing this? Why are you here?"
"Why are you being selfish?"
My breathing hitches with disbelief. "I am selfish?"
"You're making this about you and your feelings." He looks forward again. "This is about the kids."
Anger takes a bite of me. "Don't pretend you care about anything besides your own agenda. The real reason as to why you're here. And it's not for them."
"You're right," he agrees nonchalantly. "I'm here for you. And you know that."
All I want to do is bludgeon his head with this staff.
"You said your piece."
"You don't believe me."
"And why would you care?"
"Because I want your forgiveness."
"Something you'll never have," I seethe, too close to rage.
"Then I'll never leave."
My eyes snap to him. Untold desire burns in them. Not desire for me, but what he desires of me.
"What could you possibly want from me?" I whisper harshly. "If you want some favor or help of some kind. My answer is a resounding no. I'll give you nothing and I'll do nothing for you. Now that you have your answer. Can you leave? I won't let you use these children as some sick ploy to get to me."
He stares back at me with a half-bored look. "You're so paranoid. Why can't you just believe that I'm here to make things right?"
My eyes flit over him, something nasty festering inside of me. "Because there is not an ounce of decency inside of you."
"You know nothing about what's inside me."
He prowls closer. I draw back.
His tongue wets his lower lip. "But we can change that."
My lips tear open.
"Hey, Franko!"
Tommy is sitting on top of the monkey bars, beckoning him wildly. "I want to show you something!"
"The monkey bars," he says with withering wistfulness. Then he slants closer to me as if he's about to tell me a secret. "So many memories."
He leaves me with the sight of his haunting smirk before he strolls to the monkey bars. I attempt a smile as I head to the jungle gym to interact with the clusters of scampering children that run energetically all over the place. Though I try to forget and focus on them, his presence stains my entire demeanor, my composure crumbling with each moment. Every glance at him dents my fragile resolve.
Regardless of his cold and aloof disposition, the kids take a quick liking to the stony-faced foreigner. Gaggles of children jockeying for his attention to amuse him with cute little antics. Vanko fakes fascination, seemingly delighting in their theatrics. They buy into it because they don't know any better. He plays with them the same way a lion would tussle with another male's cubs.
Two boys come up to him. I observe from afar, their discussion imperceptible from where I stand. Vanko flashes a piranha-like grin, tousling the one boy's hair with a ruffle of his hand. Daniel laughs, swatting his hand away.
I, however, see right through his child-tolerating facade.
I cruise through the playground, entertaining each group I encounter.
Half an hour passes before Vanko walks up to me, his face engraved with a somber look. Jackson, a little black boy, is seated on his broad shoulders. Vanko takes him and settles him back on the ground so that he can rejoin the others.
"Some other kid was complaining about being hungry."
I nod curtly.
"Why do you have that stick with you?" He frees a humored breath. "Is it for corporeal punishment or something?"
Avoiding verbal communication, I give him a live demonstration instead. I move the staff so it's symmetrically in front of me, then I raise it, releasing two hard bangs on the ground. Despite the noise, all the kids disembark from what they're doing, fleeing from all corners of the playground to align themselves from shortest to tallest in the same two-row formation they were in when we arrived here.
The Nanny McPhee call, works like a charm.
Organized in pristine rows, we travel back inside to the dining hall for lunch.
The kids seat themselves with their friends, chatting amongst themselves as they wait for the lunch ladies to call so they can line-up.
Vanko sinks down on my bench, straddling it. I scooch away as far as I'm permitted.
"Tell me what I can do." He raises his pinched fingers, only a hair's breadth between them. "So you can hate me just a little less."
"Burn in hell."
"I would, but my boy Lucifer kicked me out."
I gawk back at him. His eyes glide down to the crucifix hanging from my neck. He breaks into a wicked grin.
"Leave me alone."
"Once I earn your forgiveness."
"You'll never get it."
"Then I'll never stop until I do," he retorts. His eyes linger on the crucifix. "You wear that cross, but do you live by it? This is why I hate you religious types. You're all hypocrites. You talk all good about love and forgiveness, but you're the most judgmental of them all."
I distil my depthless despise into a glare. "You're really going to turn this on me?"
His response is a maddening, infuriating, stomach-churning side-smirk. "What would Jesus do, Amara?" he asks mockingly.
After all these years, he hasn't changed. Someone like him never can.