Page 4 of Mafia and Scars

“Oh.” I look up at the ceiling. “Grigory, do you think and dream in black and white?”

“What do you mean, Vik?”

“Like, uh, if I asked you to think of a…a train. Or you dream of a train. Is the train black and white? Or does it have a color?”

“It has a color, of course.”

I huff out a breath. So, it’s just me then. I’m the only one whosemind is full of thoughts and dreams in black and white—and thoughts that collide with each other the entire time. Which means there’s something wrong with me. And that realization sinks in deep.

“What’s going on, Viktor?”

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

“You do that a lot.” He doesn’t know half of it. “You should try and sleep.”

Silence falls between us, and eventually, I hear his breathing even out.

But I can’t fall asleep. The thought trains keep rushing and rushing. Barreling along like bullet trains.So loud. So disruptive.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I want to sleep. I need to sleep. But it’s impossible.

Especially because I think I found what I was looking for earlier in the library…

As quietly as I can, I slip from the pile of worn blankets. I carefully tread over the sleeping bodies and out the door. The cold air is biting this late at night, but it’s a welcome slap to the face I need to wake me up fully.

The library looms in front of me. I’ve been here plenty of times in the last few months. Reading up on things.

I climb the fence that leads toward the small courtyard, using the ledge to get to the second story of the library. I know for a fact there’s a broken window just a few yards in front of me. Once I reach it, it’s just a matter of maneuvering the window open and slipping in.

The rows of dusty books greet me, and it’s a familiar soothing smell. It calms some of the racing in my head. But only slightly.

Then I’m on the hunt. I go back to where I think the answer is. Medical journals.

And I wonder if it’s something curable…

From there, it’s just a matter of time. I read. I read some more. And then I read even more.

Until I find the answer. What I’ve been looking for—for so many years.

The sun is coming up. The book is open on the table, the soft light of dawn illuminating the page.Autism.

I read the word again and again.

A disorder.

That’s what the book calls it.

And everything suddenly makes sense. My aversion to touch. How I hate to look the guys in the eye for more than a split second. It’s all there on the page, in black and white. Like everything else in the world I see.

My hand drags down my face, and I sigh.

No one can know about this. Not Grigory. Not Nikolai. Not Matvey. Not my grandmother either.Because something wrong with me makes me a liability in our precarious life. I need to be strong—not a defect that might bring danger to us. The other guys can’t afford to carry deadweight. They need to believe that I’m…normal.

I close the book and shove from the table like I’ve done so many times before. Only this time, the frustration of not knowing doesn’t follow. Something else settles in its place.

At that moment, I know that I’ll keep my autism a well-guarded secret. No one will ever find out about it—because that would be dangerous.

And I won’t let someone use that against me.