Chapter 2 *Edited*

Chapter 2

Rising above the horizon of trees, the great sun lit up the early morning sky with its warm pink, orange, and yellow rays. Still in his bed, Sasha lie sprawled out on his back, snoring loudly with his mouth agape. Warmth peeked through a crack in the sheer curtains and fell directly over his closed lids. His face scrunched upon feeling a slight burning sensation on his soft flesh, yet he made the mistake of exposing his hazel eyes to the harsh rays. A grunt escaped his throat as he threw a calloused hand over his eyes for protection in vain as the shadow of the sun had already burned into his retinas. After a moment or two of lying in his bed, the Russian let out a drawn out groan upon coming to the conclusion that he would have to get out of bed soon. The night hadn’t been an easy one, and the five hours of sleep that he did manage to get was plagued with nightmares. With his eyes still closed, he moved his hand away from his face and pushed himself into a sitting position, the thick duvet sluffing off of his bare torso to expose him to the chilly air of his bedroom. Finally, he got up the courage to open his eyes to start his day.

Sasha takes to lazily looking around his brown and tan room from his side of the California king in a poor attempt of delaying his responsibilities. His eyes wander to the foot of his bed where large wooden posts reach for the vaulted ceiling where a lone black fan hangs barely above the tops of the towering stalks. Minute embedded lights litter the ceiling and serve their purpose of accentuating the height of the room when the lights were dim, but they didn’t actually light the space. The main source of light comes from the twin lamps sitting on twin nightstands—that double as bookcases—which sit on either side of his large bed. Light is also provided by the fireplace during the cold months such as now. Looking to the window to his right, his eyes cast over a chair and lounge chair, sitting slightly angled toward each other, in front of it. A small table—adorned with jasmine flowers—separates the two seats. Next to the small sitting space is a fireplace—the raised hearth and mantle shelf made of polished teal granite—with the previous night’s fire long since burned out.

Atop the mantle sits two carved candles on either far side of the stone surface: both of a bear’s head. Above the mantle hangs a large Brother Bear-esque painting of a bear surrounded by northern lights which was painted by a teen that passed through the sanctuary last year. Could the information that he gathered be wrong? Were he and the kids truly in danger? Sasha’s brows furrowed as the image of a Russian military team flashed in his mind followed by pages upon pages of seek and capture planning. The man placed his hands over his eyes to try and force the images from his mind.

Dropping his hands from his face to his lap, Sasha looked to the door that sat about ten feet away from the foot of his bed, next to it a full bookcase. On the other side of the bookcase was the door to his bathroom; upon resting his eyes on the slightly open doorway, Sasha felt a sudden and great urge to use it. Quickly, he tossed the thick comforter off of his bare body before army-rolling to the other side. He continued his mad dash for the porcelain god once his feet connected with the hard carpet below. The ground went from tolerable to cold in an instant when he crossed over the threshold into his brightly lit bathroom. Skidding to a halt in front of the toilet, Sasha sighed with relief as he—well—relieved himself.

The man flushed the toilet with his foot before striding across the cold, marble floor to the sink on the other side of the decently sized, simple and to the point, bathroom. The embedded lights in this room actually light the space unlike the ones out in his bedroom. A bathtub sits to the left of the sink with a glass encased shower at its end. On the other side of the sink is where the door to the walk in closet sits. Arriving at the basin, Sasha turns on the water with a flick of his wrist before going through the motions of washing his hands. As he did so, he raised his eyes to the sizable mirror to come face to face with his own exhausted features. His face is square and sports full pastel pink lips that are surrounded by day-old stubble which covers his strong jawline, half of his cheeks, and partially his neck. Black brows so think they might be able to crawl right off of his face loom over his deep-set eyes. A Roman nose takes center place in his features. Atop his head sits straight brown locks shaped into a relaxed military cut.

The worst part of his night was the names. Men he used to know were, now, allegedly hunting for him and the children whom he mentored. Oh, who was he kidding, they are definitely hunting for them.

As he continued to scrub his hands clean, his eyes wander down to his exposed chest. Over all, his body is decently in shape though he’s not what he used to be: he has muscle but it’s all hidden under a layer of fat making his body thick rather than lean like he was in his early twenties. In short, Sasha is a hairy man. A layer of black body hair covers his broad, built, chest and dissipates right before his stomach; a trail continues at his belly-button and leads to the inevitable pubic patch. His forearms, shins, and underarms are, too, covered in a decent amount of hair.

After observing his body hair in all its glory, Sasha picks up his razor and briskly shaves off the short whiskers that cover his face. He splashes lukewarm water on his freshly shaven features, turns off the faucet, and shakes his hands in the basin before drying himself with a hand towel. The sharp chill of autumn found its way into the already cool bathroom, sending a shiver up the mentor’s spine. Memories of the torture he endured as a young boy was spurred on by the sudden rush of air; his hair standing on end.  Images of tall figures, syringes, and a toothy yellow smile filled his eyes. Sounds of retching, painful shrieks, and drill sergeants filled his ears. Anxiety rose from the man’s stomach to his heart and, before he knew what was happening, his body began to quake with fear. Between gasping breaths, Sasha muttered words of comfort to himself in his native tongue to bring him back to reality.

Eventually, the mentor found regularity in his breathing, the sights and sounds of his past dissolving into the farthest reaches of his mind. Though his tortured memories would forever scar his psyche, Sasha—strangely—wouldn’t change his past in any way for his experiences made him who he is now, but he could seriously do without the flashbacks and corresponding panic attacks. During the episode, Sasha had crumpled into the floor, but he couldn’t remember when he had made contact with the ground nor could he remember when he rolled up into a ball like a roly-poly. Acting as if nothing had happened, he uncurled from his previous state and brought himself to his feet before making his way into his rather bare closet, flicking on the light as he passed the switch.  Sasha walks over to his unlabeled “autumn” section and began browsing his limited wardrobe. He only has a handful of outfits for each season and only has five pairs of shoes for only five occasions, but when it came to underwear, it seems that he has undershirts, briefs, socks, and long johns for every day of the year.

Settling on what to wear, the man quickly strips and re-clothes himself with a pair of blue jeans, a random undershirt, and a simple white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to just above his elbows. The final piece to his causal outfit was a pair of soft-sole dress shoes. Sasha checked his reflection before exiting the closet—being sure to hit the light on his way out. As he crossed out into his bed room, he happens to glance at the digital clock on his nightstand. It reads 5:26am. Urgency overcame his being after reading the red numerals. The man darted out of his bedroom. As soon as he opened his bedroom door, he was greeted with another door which leads to his spacious office. His bedroom door—marked with a golden 01—groaned closed behind him as he rushed down a short hallway that spits him out into a small sitting room. Rushing past two other doors on his left—marked 02 and 03— and various sitting places, bookshelves, and a lone coffee table on his right, Sasha made it to a somewhat narrow stair case which leads to the second floor: the teens’ quarters.

A hasty descent later, Sasha found himself holding his breath while making an attempt to muffle his steps as he crossed through a large common area. Couches, recliners, coffee tables, and end tables litter the majority of the spacious area. Bookshelves full of teen and young adult novels line an entire wall and a table set with twelve chairs sits on a far wall. The only place that had a clearing was the area directly in front of a fireplace which was nestled in a corner. Sasha would allow the teens to build forts and camp out in the common area by the fire but those times were reserved for special occasions such as a holiday.

Each of the six bedrooms on this floor is similar to a high-end hotel suit. They each have two full sized beds with the bedding of the teen’s choice, a window in the middle of the room, two wardrobes, two night stands, and two writing desks and chairs all to be rearranged how ever the teens wish. The bathrooms are very similar to the one Sasha has: each with a shower, bathtub, double sink, toilet, linen closet, and two laundry hampers. Next to the entrance to the room and bathroom is a nook with a coffee table, two recliners, and a potbelly stove. They’re all allowed to decorate their side of the room how ever they’d like just as long as it’s not offensive to their roommate. That being said, Sasha has had to mediate a lot of arguments between roommates over a poster or two. As the man tip-toed through the relatively neat common area to the main staircase, a toilet flush could be heard from somewhere deep in the hallway of six rooms where the other residents were starting to stir.

Sasha just about tumbled down the main stair case that leads to the main floor of the mansion to try and get to the kitchen faster. The staircase faces the floor to ceiling glass with massive tan drapes framing each one of the five glass panels that make up the majority of the mansion’s front. To the left of the stair case is a massive indoor pool—the deepest point reaching fourteen feet and the shallow end graduates to a beach entrance—which is surrounded by pool-side furniture. Once the man set foot on the hardwood floor, a quick dart of movement within the large pool room caught his eye. He looked over his shoulder to examine the open space as well as each piece of furniture for the source of the movement to no avail. Eventually he brushed it off as a trick of the light or possibly a loose lash and continued on to his destination—he didn’t have much more time to waste.

The entire palatial front room consists of sitting places, lamps, tables, a few benches lining the glass wall, even more bookcases filled to the brim with various reading material, and a grand piano taking up the remaining space between the basement door and staircase. Soft scents from all directions gently waft through the air from live potted flowers that Sasha had chosen to decorate the once utterly bland, tan, space. The delicate white-framed purple of lilies, small bushes of soft purple lilacs complementing the bold lilies beautifully, tiny white dots of jasmine, the strong pink of Boronia adds a little flair to the small flower merit, and, finally, gardenia filled the gaps with its captivating pinwheel of white peddles. The mentor could faintly remember a time when there was no flower arrangements placed strategically on every other table, and that world wasn’t one he’d like to go back to. The world felt so dull despite how well the sunlight from the full glass front illuminated the room. It’s amazing how much a little bit of color and fragrance can breathe life into a space.

Sasha found himself admiring the graceful beauty of the flowers as they soak in the morning rays reflecting off of the small body of water—Mysliwski Pond, named after a dear friend that he had lost many years ago—that sits at the front of the property. The image of a mousy haired boy with humble chocolate brown eyes comes to mind just about every time the man looks out at the pond’s rippling surface. Around the water is a half-moon driveway that’s connected to a gravel road that cuts through the property and leads out to a farm road which leads deeper into rural Washington.

While he was busy looking over the front of his property—mind occupied with memories—the man nearly fell over a coffee table after he slammed his shin into the unforgiving wood. Sharply, he drew in a breath through clenched teeth: lips flared and nose scrunched in a silent snarl. Fighting the urge to scream profanities, he hopped up and down on his uninjured leg while cradling his other one in a vain attempt to stop the hurt. The energy to scream slowly subsided through his comedic hopping, but he still took a moment to calmly hold his throbbing appendage. After his pity party for one, Sasha resumed his trek to the kitchen with a slight limp, this time remaining well away from the middle of all the shin-busters and pinkie-toe-murderers.

Finally, the man made his way to the far end of the house. He took a swift short-cut to the kitchen through the dining room where there’s a change in color. Whereas the rest of the house is colored in various shades of tan, the dining room is colored black: even the hardwood is black. In the center of the room is an elongated dark-oak table that holds a massive collection of carnations, each of the forty chairs pushed under it neatly. Though the maximum living capacity is fifteen, Sasha purposefully ordered two extra chairs per each teen to allow space for their parents, if they wished to visit, and to also have appropriate spacing between them if there was a fight of some sort before or during a meal. Once inside the room, Sasha hung a right and pushed through the double swinging doors into the kitchen where he was met with a near blinding white light; the silver splashes of appliances with the brilliant sky light and embedded bulbs only made the kitchen shine brighter.

Taking a peek at the preplanned menu tacked on the wall under a wall of cabinets, Sasha reads the breakfast for Friday before pulling out the many raw ingredients and hauling them over to the main island. In total, there are five islands in the kitchen: one horizontal to the back wall and four vertical. The four are meant for the kids to participate while Sasha gives out cooking instruction from the main, but, despite his attempts to teach them how to cook and conjure up their own recipes, none of them took enough interest for him to press forward with the activity. Moving to the fridge, he couldn’t help but think to himself that it would be much easier if the kids knew how to make their own meals rather than him cooking three meals a day as well as putting together snacks for the evening. A mournful sigh escapes his lungs as he remembers that the youngest has no idea how a gas oven works; he makes a mental note to reinstate the cooking class…soon.

Now, with every ingredient and utensil placed in front of him, he draws in a deep breath before combining the necessary ingredients to make pancakes and waffles. Though the teens absolutely love Friday’s breakfast and often request it on different days, Sasha opts to stick to a routine so they have something to look forward to. While he whisks together various dry ingredients, the man feels his vocal chords itch to be used, so he allows a random tune from his childhood to ring out from his throat as he continues to cook a hearty breakfast for thirteen, his findings from last night still fresh in his mind.