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“We'll see about that. Let's get breakfast,” he says as he points toward the bottom of the hill.
A small diner comes into view. My stomach doesn't want to even think about food, but the rest of me doesn't want to think about a three-mile trek back to his estate either. The sun begins to rise as we walk down the hill.
The first rays of the morning sun peek through as we head down the hill in silence, casting a warm glow across the sky. The crisp, salty breeze is refreshing, signaling the proximity of the Pacific Ocean. I take a deep breath, savoring the scent of the sea mingling with hints of fresh coffee that I desperately need. Most of the world is still asleep, yet I've already tackled a three-mile run ... with a hangover.
As I gaze out toward the horizon, the sky begins to blush with soft hues of pink and purple. The city's iconic landmarks, the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz Island, stand silhouetted against the emerging canvas of colors. The tranquil waters of the bay reflect the sky's ever-changing palette, creating a surreal mirage that dances before my eyes. Time seems to slow down as I witness the birth of a new day. The sun inches higher, casting golden rays across the water, illuminating the city's skyline in a breathtaking display. The skyscrapers and Victorian houses are bathed in warm light, their windows glistening like diamonds. It takes me a moment to notice that we've stopped walking, and Kai watches me take it all in.
“It was worth it, wasn't it? To see this spectacular sunrise?”
I could have watched the sun rise from the comfort of my room. Okay, maybe not. I would have still been asleep. I have to admit it feels good to get out of the house ... out of isolation, even if he tried to kill me with physical activity.
“The jury is still out,” I reply stubbornly. “But yeah. This is definitely one of nature's beauties.”
The seagulls soar above, their calls echoing in the distance, and the waves continue their rhythmic dance along the shoreline. The colors intensify, transforming the sky into a magnificent tapestry. Fiery oranges and vibrant yellows streak across the sky. I remain captivated by its beauty even once we're inside the diner. Kai orders us both an omelet with coffee in addition to a monstrous stack of pancakes that I have no plans to touch. I turn my attention back to the scenery outside while we wait for our order.
The bustling streets come alive with people. The sounds of car horns and conversations meld with the symphony of the awakening day, creating a harmonious cacophony of life.
“Did you get the point of this morning's lesson?” he quizzes.
“Other than you're evil and enjoy torturing me, you'll have to spell it out.”
Just then, the server sets down our food in front of us. She astutely guesses that the pancakes are for Kai. He waits until she leaves us before continuing. “I own you,” he says. “In every facet imaginable. I own your pleasure. I own your pain. I own your happiness. I own your sadness. I own your anger and joy. Are you sensing the common denominator here?”
“Yes, your need for ownership,” I deadpan.
“It's not a need, milseán. These are simple facts. I control which of your emotions are unleashed. This morning was about discipline and an exercise in obedience and expectations. Pleasure and pain are on opposite sides of the same coin, so you decide which side to experience.”
“And the induced hangover?” I retort. “The three-mile run at the ass crack of dawn was punishment enough.”
“Meh. Maybe. The headache and vomiting was a bonus for pissing me off. Think of that sensation next time you think to challenge me—operant conditioning per se.”
“Operant what?”
“Conditioning,” he clarifies. “It means to use rewards or punishment to modify behavior.”
“Awww. Psychobabble. Have you ever thought about diagnosing yourself? Because I have a few ideas on which psychosis you'd fall into.”
“Enlighten me,” he encourages as he begins to eat his eggs.
“Well, really it's between two. Psychopath and sociopath.”
`“Hmm, interesting. Do you know the difference between the two?”
“Well, not really.”
“Didn't think so. Eat your omelet, Vasilisa.”
“Do you know? The difference, I mean?”
“Of course I do,” he deadpans. “I don't make it a practice to use unfamiliar terminology.”
I roll my eyes and take a bite of my omelet, trying to ignore the twist of anxiety in my stomach. Kai's words always have a way of getting under my skin, making me question everything I thought I knew about myself.
“The difference is that a psychopath lacks empathy and has the inability to experience guilt or remorse for their actions,” he continues, his gaze never leaving mine. “Whereas a sociopath may still feel empathy or guilt, but they tend toward impulsive behavior and a lack of regard for societal norms.”
“And which one do you think you fall into?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
Kai leans back in his seat, his expression thoughtful. “I suppose it depends on who you ask. Some might say I'm a psychopath, and others might argue in favor of sociopathy. I'm neither. I do what the fuck I want because I don't answer to anyone.”
