23- Alexei

Alexei tugged absently at his shirt and glanced around at the other passengers on the plane. He didn’t recognize any of the faces, and no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. He closed his eyes and tried to relax back into his seat. In just a few more minutes, he would be out of South Africa. And by this time tomorrow, he would be starting fresh in a new city.

He tried to look out at the clouds, but it was still mostly dark outside, and all he could see was his own vague, distorted reflection staring back at him from the smudged window. He could make out the mop of thick, pale blonde hair that covered his forehead and tickled the back of his neck. The round, boyish face. The small mouth with its full, pouty pink lips. The reflection showed only watery shadows where his large, round brown eyes were. In fact, it was so blurry that he could almost see the perfect, doll-like face that he had once had. He stared at that reflection for a moment, remembering what his life had been like back then.

"Oi– Are you alright?"

Alexei started and turned away from the window. The young woman in the next seat was staring at him. "I– I’m fine, thanks."

He watched her go through the usual reaction to his face. Her eyes widened, then she looked away, then she focused her gaze on his right ear, then his mouth. "Oh . . . well, that’s good, then. You just looked so sad . . . I was worried you might be crying. . . ."

He smiled for her, faintly amused to see the flustered confusion pass over her features. How many women had told him? That gorgeous, youthful grin, contrasted with that gruesome scar and those sad, beautiful eyes . . . It all combined to make him appear dangerous, yet sensitive, and playful at the same time. A combination that could easily get him into a lot of trouble, if he were even remotely interested in any of those women. Alexei laughed. "No, really, I’m alright."

The woman blushed and smiled, and Alexei turned back to the window.

There was only one woman whose opinion mattered, and she would never find him attractive again. She couldn’t even look at him without showing her disgust.

Alexei looked down at his hands. Young, smooth, pale-pink skin spread over long, pretty fingers. Just two days ago his knuckles had been a raw, bruised, bleeding mess. And now there was no sign of it. Every injury that he’d ever received had healed up without even a trace. Every injury except one, that is. He couldn’t even get a real suntan because his skin healed too quickly. After all this time, he still looked like a healthy fifteen-year-old boy.

He chuckled softly. Looking this young could be very inconvenient at times. People were always more likely to suspect that his identification might be fake, he was often watched with suspicion when he went into a shop by himself, and he was rarely treated with any respect by anyone. But it definitely had its advantages, as well. Sometimes, in certain situations, being underestimated and disregarded could be an enormous advantage.

Especially in a new city, where no one knew who he was or what he was capable of.

Alexei bit his lip and glanced around at the other passengers again. He’d had to leave Sun City in a hurry. He knew he wouldn’t be able to go back– not for another twenty years, at least.

But he was sure he would have better luck in Macau. Alexei always had a change of luck when he moved to a different city. He sighed. That was what he hoped. He only had maybe ten years to turn things around before Mila would be needing him.

He reached into his pocket and grasped the old, threadbare scrap of satin ribbon between his fingers, lovingly running his thumb over the precious fibers which had once been snowy white, but had since faded to a dingy brown. He never took it out in public anymore, but he kept it in his pocket and carried it with him at all times. Whenever he touched it, he remembered how it had looked in her hair all those years ago– a dainty white bow, the ends of it falling down to bounce alongside her red-brown curls.

That memory drove him to persevere when his luck was down. It gave him the courage to do what he had to do to survive . . . whatever he had to do, to be ready for her when the time came.

Yes, Macau would be good for him. In ten years– maybe even five, if he played things right– he would be in a position to properly care for her. To make sure she had everything she needed. Everything she wanted.