Short Story "Krakow 1998" # 19

I don't know. Sometimes I feel the need. Sometimes I feel like furniture has a soul or that there is something special about a person. I didn't ask about anything important.
"What about it?"
"What's your name?"
She laughed again. It started to annoy me terribly. The urge to silence her returned immediately.
"Adrianna," she said, "Ada." And you
She picked up the angel from the table, looked at it and turned it in her hands. Of course, I wasn't going to introduce myself. Suddenly, she screamed in fear. The blood from her fingers had spilled satisfactorily; the edges of the wings should have been well sharpened. She looked at me in surprise.
"Damn, how did this happen?" - I reacted. "No one has ever hurt him.
"Don't just put on a chair."
"Do you have a patch?" She screamed, slightly panicked.
"Yes, the fingers are pretty well supplied with blood."
"No, I'm really sorry. But I live in the building next to the store. I'll give you this hand, it's because of me. Come on.
She looked at me curiously-it might sound a little dangerous. She probably only saw the pure innocence and remorse that I knew my face was expressing now. She probably thought she knew people. Moreover, blood was still flowing from her hands.
"It's okay," she said.
I hurried to find the keys and headed for the exit.
"I'm really sorry." - I closed the door of the store. - I wanted to show you something beautiful, and it turned out the way it came out.
- Nothing happened.
"Nothing happened if you didn't dirty the chair."
We were walking along a sunny street. I was telling her something, but I was planning the next steps in my mind. After a while, we entered the apartment.
I introduced her to the living room, the centerpiece of which was an antique fireplace. The walls were covered with Baroque paintings - figures in theatrical poses, covering their faces with their hands, seemed to be in great pain. The scent of cigarette smoke permeated the walls, but the furniture was, of course, beautiful. The kitchenette is hidden behind a sliding door.
"A charming salon," my toy, my Ada, praised.
"I think so too," I said with a smile. "I'm giving this to you...
I gave her a gauze and a patch I took out of a big closet in the corner.
"Everything will be fine," I assured her. I poured a lot of hydrogen peroxide on my incision.
She moaned.
"Does it hurt?" Oh, don't overdo it. It's not real pain, I'm not pouring this water on you because of a deep wound. Admit it, have you ever hurt yourself so much?
"I still have a cut," she said. "I have an aggressive cat," she muttered.
She exposed a significant cut. Without thinking, I filled them with hydrogen peroxide.
"Aww, are you crazy? She hissed.
"No, I'm just deactivating it."
"But it hurts!" I didn't ask you to
"Come on, honey. I'm already putting on a piece. You know, when I met you, you reminded me of a bunny, a bunny.
She looked at me incredulously.
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