Prizzy Kriyze
Multiple Stab Wounds
Mikhail "Mike" Yenin
"Bet, I'm making carbonara. You know the code? Eight, four, eight, three to get to the stairwell, then top floor. A'ight, love you, see you in a bit."
A gentle breeze rolled through the open window of his kitchen, pushing and pulling on the steam rising from a pot of boiling water. Leaves from the old oak scraped against the glass. The landlord had been saying they were going to get rid of it, but honestly Mike kind of liked a bit of greenery greeting him in the morning. It was a humble two room apartment he'd moved to after meeting Riley. It's not like he could've invited her to a roach infested motel room with piss stains on the walls. There were still boxes piled in the corner of the kitchen that he hadn't bothered unpacking yet, but the living room and bedroom were finally set up.
With a smile still on his lips he went to put his phone down, and hesitated before the countertop. He wasn't used to things being clean like this, and as a force of habit couldn't put things down without making sure it wouldn't be in some mysterious stain. A sigh escaped him, still with that inescapable smile glued to his face. It was all thanks to her. It was easier being strong for someone else, and it was much easier to make changes to your life if you had a reason to do it. And she was worth it, every little bit of it. But it was funny, he thought as he put pasta in the water, that he'd ever had a chance at all.
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It was one of those early mornings when the October winds blew straight through your clothes and chilled you straight down to the bone. Mike dropped the key at least fifteen times trying to get the door to the pizza joint open, but his hands were trembling too hard from the oxy withdrawal and the cold wasn't helping. The early morning sun peeked over the horizon, but its warmth was nothing compared to the 30mph shit winds that kept blowing rain down his collar. "FUCK!" He cursed and tossed the keys at the closest streetlight, breaking the key chain and scattering the 10 or so keys on it over the concrete. His head was pounding, and he was still supposed to pull off eight hours in this fucking pizza joint. After night of selling dope with his gang they'd sat down to pop pills and get wasted, and he'd completely forgotten about this until his manager called him at 7am to tell him he better be at the joint now.
Sitting down on the steps he just barely managed to light a cigarette while mumbling under his breath. "I could make fucking twice this God damn cash in ten minutes why the hell am I even here." With his head in his hands he took a huge drag causing him to cough, and halfway through the attack this girl he'd never seen before opened the door behind him. He was about to tell her to fuck off when she asked him if he was alright. Turned out she was a new hire, and he was supposed to show her the ropes and that she didn't need to be there for the first hour of prepping but she figured she'd do it anyway. Here he sat, having damaged company property, unable to control his hands, smoking a wet cigarette in soaked clothes, bruised knuckles, saucer-size rings under his eyes and obviously wasted; he couldn't even get a door unlocked, yet still she smiled and introduced herself like it was nothing.
God damn. She was the first person who talked to him like a human being there. She kept small talking with him for the entire shift, and smiled at him in a way that made the day feel worth it. She didn't even rat him out when he passed out during lunch and when he woke up he had her jacket on him. They started talking on the daily, switched numbers, and eventually he asked her out. He didn't even think she'd say yes, that she was only being polite because they worked together, but she did. Mikhail knew he didn't deserve her, but he would damn well try to.
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He brushed a few beads of sweat off of his forehead and placed a bowl of freshly grated Parmesan next to the big pot of carbonara, then stood back to look at his masterpiece. A bottle of wine, a candle, the vintage plates he got at a local Goodwill. It'd been little over six months since they got together and they had both been busy on the 6 month day, but he wanted to do something nice for her. She deserved it.
He didn't have a balcony, but being on the topmost floor his kitchen windows were in this hollowed out part of the roof. He shuffled out there and leaned against the side of the roof, and sparked another cigarette. The sun cast long shadows now, bathing the city in a golden orange light. Like an unreachable itch, memories of what he'd usually do on nights like this cropped up in the back of his mind and clumped up just to move down to his chest. Most of all, he just really didn't want her to get involved in this.
Then a familiar car rolled up the street, and he smiled.
He tossed his half-finished smoke in a can he kept out there and climbed back in to greet her.
"Bet, I'm making carbonara. You know the code? Eight, four, eight, three to get to the stairwell, then top floor. A'ight, love you, see you in a bit."
A gentle breeze rolled through the open window of his kitchen, pushing and pulling on the steam rising from a pot of boiling water. Leaves from the old oak scraped against the glass. The landlord had been saying they were going to get rid of it, but honestly Mike kind of liked a bit of greenery greeting him in the morning. It was a humble two room apartment he'd moved to after meeting Riley. It's not like he could've invited her to a roach infested motel room with piss stains on the walls. There were still boxes piled in the corner of the kitchen that he hadn't bothered unpacking yet, but the living room and bedroom were finally set up.
With a smile still on his lips he went to put his phone down, and hesitated before the countertop. He wasn't used to things being clean like this, and as a force of habit couldn't put things down without making sure it wouldn't be in some mysterious stain. A sigh escaped him, still with that inescapable smile glued to his face. It was all thanks to her. It was easier being strong for someone else, and it was much easier to make changes to your life if you had a reason to do it. And she was worth it, every little bit of it. But it was funny, he thought as he put pasta in the water, that he'd ever had a chance at all.
--------
It was one of those early mornings when the October winds blew straight through your clothes and chilled you straight down to the bone. Mike dropped the key at least fifteen times trying to get the door to the pizza joint open, but his hands were trembling too hard from the oxy withdrawal and the cold wasn't helping. The early morning sun peeked over the horizon, but its warmth was nothing compared to the 30mph shit winds that kept blowing rain down his collar. "FUCK!" He cursed and tossed the keys at the closest streetlight, breaking the key chain and scattering the 10 or so keys on it over the concrete. His head was pounding, and he was still supposed to pull off eight hours in this fucking pizza joint. After night of selling dope with his gang they'd sat down to pop pills and get wasted, and he'd completely forgotten about this until his manager called him at 7am to tell him he better be at the joint now.
Sitting down on the steps he just barely managed to light a cigarette while mumbling under his breath. "I could make fucking twice this God damn cash in ten minutes why the hell am I even here." With his head in his hands he took a huge drag causing him to cough, and halfway through the attack this girl he'd never seen before opened the door behind him. He was about to tell her to fuck off when she asked him if he was alright. Turned out she was a new hire, and he was supposed to show her the ropes and that she didn't need to be there for the first hour of prepping but she figured she'd do it anyway. Here he sat, having damaged company property, unable to control his hands, smoking a wet cigarette in soaked clothes, bruised knuckles, saucer-size rings under his eyes and obviously wasted; he couldn't even get a door unlocked, yet still she smiled and introduced herself like it was nothing.
God damn. She was the first person who talked to him like a human being there. She kept small talking with him for the entire shift, and smiled at him in a way that made the day feel worth it. She didn't even rat him out when he passed out during lunch and when he woke up he had her jacket on him. They started talking on the daily, switched numbers, and eventually he asked her out. He didn't even think she'd say yes, that she was only being polite because they worked together, but she did. Mikhail knew he didn't deserve her, but he would damn well try to.
--------
He brushed a few beads of sweat off of his forehead and placed a bowl of freshly grated Parmesan next to the big pot of carbonara, then stood back to look at his masterpiece. A bottle of wine, a candle, the vintage plates he got at a local Goodwill. It'd been little over six months since they got together and they had both been busy on the 6 month day, but he wanted to do something nice for her. She deserved it.
He didn't have a balcony, but being on the topmost floor his kitchen windows were in this hollowed out part of the roof. He shuffled out there and leaned against the side of the roof, and sparked another cigarette. The sun cast long shadows now, bathing the city in a golden orange light. Like an unreachable itch, memories of what he'd usually do on nights like this cropped up in the back of his mind and clumped up just to move down to his chest. Most of all, he just really didn't want her to get involved in this.
Then a familiar car rolled up the street, and he smiled.
He tossed his half-finished smoke in a can he kept out there and climbed back in to greet her.