The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19
Шрифт:
“What are you wearing?!”
Kors saw that Nik was wearing the clothes of the unclean ones again. His leather trousers were visibly frayed at the knees, on the outer sides there was a wide strip of lacing, it seemed, in three rows, one to the other, and maybe more, with some complex intricacies of the unclean ones. Probably, it could have been beautiful once upon a time… but now it was torn, tied somehow into sloppy knots with protruding dangling ends. Moreover, the trousers were sewn over the edge in some places. Kors saw a rough seam under the knee. On the thigh, a torn flap was roughly fixed by lacing, so that the hole was still visible, and through it and loose lacing, Nik’s tattooed thigh was visible, and also it could be seen that he was again without underwear. A short vest was put on his naked body, barely reaching the waist; it didn’t cover his sunken stomach. In general, it was not clear from what pieces it was sewn, on the shoulders there was the shabby fur of some animal, which apparently died at the dawn of time, it was slightly puffed up. Boots were lying nearby, again boots of the unclean ones, with heavy soles and a blunt cape, adorned with a million iron buckles and clasps to the very top.
Kors couldn’t resist:
“What kind of tattered stuff are you wearing? Did Valentine sleep on it at the doorstep? It’s just that you wouldn’t give such shit to your beloved Verniy.”
“These are my clothes.”
“No, Nik, these rags can’t be called clothes. What is that shabby fur on your shoulders?”
“This is my blouse!”
“Is it knitted?”
“Kiss my ass!”
“Nik, this is the edge, don’t wear it ever again. I gave you good clothes! Or do you now refuse to wear them?”
“No, I don’t refuse. Not only your clothes got wet,” oddly enough, but Nik tried to explain.
He carefully peeled the band-aid from his neck, slightly touching the indentation from the healed “well” with his fingertips, and put the needle of the refilled syringe under the hoop of the golden collar.
Kors turned away.
“Nik, let me help you with your treatment,” he said a little later, waiting for a moment.
“I'm fine.”
“Are you taking the medicines I gave you, the ones the doctor gave you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have any left?”
“I have.”
“Do you remember that they need to be taken regularly at the same time?”
“I remember.”
“I still have some left to share with you?”
“I told you, I still have some!”
“Can you show me your face?”
“What? No!”
“Show me what’s wrong with your scar!”
“Nothing.”
“What happened to your face?!” Kors couldn’t hide his excitement.
“I said nothing!”
“Is the scar inflamed? Yes? What’s happening? You bandaged your face too much. What’s up with your scar?”
“Nothing.”
“But you bandaged your face for some reason!”
“I got a tattoo on it, okay? Is that all?”
“What?!” Kors froze, shaking his head. “No, no, this is stupidity. Are you kidding? You’re lying? Is this a stupid joke? Don’t joke like that, I’ve always said that humor is not for you!”
“Leave me alone!”
But Kors couldn’t stand it:
“I can’t take it anymore! My strength is gone! I’ll break all your needles! I’ll pour out all your colors! Do whatever you want with me! Blind, humiliate, beat me, I will endure everything, but I will deprive you of the opportunity to disfigure this body, at least now, while we are on the road!”
“I can do it with my own syringe if I want to. Soot, urine and a needle from a syringe – that’s all, I don’t need anything else,” Nik answered calmly, not reacting in any way to the fact that Kors switched to screaming.
“No! You can’t lie, I’m about to die! Be honest! I can’t stand it if you get more tattoos! I still can’t come to terms and accept that your face has a brand on it, like cattle!”
“Yes…”
“People write with ink on paper, and not on the forehead, it would be better to learn this!”
“I can write on paper!”
“Yes?”
“Yes!”
“I didn’t notice that you wrote at least something at least once on one piece of paper during this time!”
“It’s just that you never asked me to write. I can write!”
“Come on, write then!”
“Now I won’t write anything for you!”
“You only know how to write on your forehead! Admit it, you can’t lie to me, were you joking about the tattoo?”
“Yes, I was joking,” Nik agreed.
Kors breathed a sigh of relief.
“Don’t joke like that anymore, it’s stupid. Poison began to come out of your scar, as Cassiel had warned? Answer me!”
“It constantly flows from it,” Nik reluctantly answered him and bent to his leg, slightly lifting up his trouser leg.
“Oh,” barely calming down that Nik was joking about the tattoo, Kors got nervous again, “what is flowing out?”
Nik didn’t answer, carefully examining his leg.
And even now, in spite of everything, Kors wanted to educate him, give Nik a good beating and properly punish him for all the nonsense that he had done. For the fact that he never really obeyed, stubbornly doing everything as he liked. For blinding him yesterday and letting him be hit. And for the way he looked now: sloppy, dirty, dressed in God knows what. Ill, with a bandaged face, but at the same time stubbornly continuing to stick to his line. He jokes stupidly, knowing that he will cause a surge of emotions in Kors with just the word “face – tattoo.” He sniffs with his ringed nose and constantly brings his hand to it, touching and tugging at it.
Ignoring Kors and apparently not listening to his emotions and thoughts about himself, Nik tried to put the needle to his leg. Kors looked at his black tattooed skin and the wide black band of the “bracelet” that went around his ankle just above his foot. The shameful slave stripe was clearly visible and stood out, even though the patterns of other tattoos. Something like sharp teeth was closely adjacent to it. Teeth on the leg, well, only Nik could do such a thing, Kors was no longer surprised. To destroy himself every second was an irresistible craving for his son and the Demon. Slightly turning his foot to the side, Nik injected the drug into the inside of the leg just above the ankle.
“What is the number of injection you have already given yourself?” Kors asked. The way with which maniacal persistence and without respite Nik poured substances into himself began to frighten Kors.
Silence. He was stoned. Already in the morning. How to make him obey? Unfortunately, no way.
“Do you want to overdose again?”
“No,” Nik slightly shook his head in a negative gesture and lay on his back, “I also need water, only another, not rain.”
“Again?!”
“What do you mean again?”