Chapter 8
One day I’ll wake up alone and not feel fear. Fear of being abandoned. Alone. In a damp house.
But so far I haven’t been able to.
Kirill and I rarely spent the night together. The group, led by Azamat, met regularly several times a week, but Astakhov was increasingly absent. He hadn’t always attended the gatherings before, but now his outings had become even less frequent. Unlike his friends, who teased him, Kai was slaving away on his thesis and diligently studying for his final exams, even though it was March.
How did it happen that we became so close?
I still haven’t fully grasped it.
After my blunder with the blowjob, I felt tainted and couldn’t calm down for a long time. For the first time, I celebrated New Year’s with tears in my eyes. The abyss inside me was suffocating. For a couple of weeks, I lived like a sleepwalker, even worries about the upcoming retake faded into the background, even though the very thought of retaking the exam used to terrify me.
And then Kirill suddenly appeared on the doorstep.
I didn’t understand how it worked, why I was happy to see him. However, I sincerely wanted him to stay.
My unconscious craving led to us sleeping together again. But this time for real, and these feelings… split me apart completely.
When I asked if we were a couple, Astakhov remained silent. He actually looked somehow peaceful compared to how he had appeared—high-strung, uncharacteristically impatient. A little later, we had sex again… I didn’t dare ruin the moment, so I didn’t press him for an answer. But as Kirill was leaving, a barely audible murmur escaped me:
“So… you… like me?”
Kai gave me his direct, yet insanely closed gaze, which made me freeze. And in contrast to the prickly iciness in his eyes, he said serenely, with a slightly dismissive smile:
“Would you like me to express my sympathy in cash or by bank transfer?”
At first, I was confused, but then a timid smile spread across my lips. That meant he liked me, right? It was as if I longed for verbal confirmation, despite having witnessed it twice physically that evening.
“In kind…” I breathed out and ran up to him, pressing my lips to the stern curve of his lips in a farewell kiss.
A surprising, chest-splitting happiness, boundless and sunny, burned away the agonizing ordeals of the last two months since Azamat’s memorable birthday. Everything that had been gnawing at me began to subside.
Even though it was awkward to look Aybazov in the eye, I reminded myself that my relationship with Kir had begun as a result of his betrayal. While I continued to vaguely blame myself, I nonetheless no longer cowered among the guys who had reacted neutrally to the news about Astakhov and me. My suspicions that there would be insults like… whores or prostitutes… hadn’t come true. And I had Azamat to thank for a lot of that. I knew for sure.
He still glanced my way when he thought no one was watching. At such moments, I felt a painful pricking behind my ribs. Echoes of some inexplicable regret. I quickly dismissed them.
Zhanna and I managed to restore our previous relationship. We didn’t discuss sensitive topics about our boyfriends; I didn’t want to clarify anything, and there was no need for that. She was right that I was acting like a child by avoiding her. By nature, I disliked conflict, and whenever someone offended me, I would simply distance myself, without causing a scene or seeking justice. It was easier and calmer this way.
We were partners again, which had certain advantages—we could back each other up and help each other out. Zhanna told me many interesting things about Kirill. I immersed myself in this information and gained a new perspective on some of his traits.
It turned out that Astakhov’s father was a well-known international lawyer in the city and region; he had represented, among other things, large foreign businesses as an attorney with broad powers.
“Following in his daddy’s footsteps,” the partner said, “consider your place in the sun guaranteed. Try to get at least a little bit out of him while you’re dating…”
Such statements were very much part of Zhanna’s repertoire. She herself actually followed her own advice and extracted money from Aybazov for various desires. I understood that this was, in principle, normal between a guy and a girl. But in a situation where you were in a kind of misalliance, it felt extremely negative to me. I never begged for anything from Azamat, and always sincerely thanked him for gifts. The same was true with Kirill—after the jibe about cash and transfers, it would have been even more humiliating. On the few occasions he visited me during this period, he brought bags of groceries and tried to support me financially. I refused the latter without a second thought, but I was grateful for the provisions, since I didn’t have to worry about what to feed a hungry guy after training.
Having gotten to know Kir better through Zhanna’s stories, I began to understand him. Perhaps even justify him in some ways. His aloofness, detachment, and coldness no longer seemed repulsive to me. On the contrary, they seemed natural; he had grown up in a serious family, his natural pedigree had taken over, Kai had lived up to it, strived, and perfected himself. There was no one in my circle who matched his intellect. I came to the conclusion that one was compensated for by the other. For example, I was quite sociable, simple, and yet not particularly gifted.
I believed that the world should be built on people like Astakhov: intelligent, powerful, and self-assured. Solid, moving forward without hesitation. Able to react quickly and navigate contentious situations. Just remember how he would resolve fights in groups, breaking up arguments and bringing those fighting to their senses. They listened to him, obeyed him and did not contradict him.
When I looked into his angry eyes, my heels felt like they were scalding, and my heart was vibrating violently. I had a permanent reaction to Kir—tormenting surges of tension and emotional disarray. I admired him… like I’d never admired anyone before. And I really wanted to live up to my boyfriend, but I was realistic about my chances, recognizing that I’d never be able to match him. Not academically. Not in any other way. And I was simply content with what I had now…
* * *
“The mistress asked you to stay late,” the housekeeper smiled faintly.
Zhanna and I exchanged glances and nodded. The woman caught us on our way to the pantry, when we had finished cleaning the house and were heading to change.
While I was packing away the equipment, my partner managed to change and suggested,
“I’ll push the cart to the gate, you get ready. Let’s see what this woman wants.”
Usually, after an intense shift, I wiped my skin with wet wipes; it made me feel less dirty. This helped me hold out until a full shower.
This time was no exception. I slowly brushed off the phantom layer of foreign dust and reached for my clothes, hanging on the wall hanger next to the shelves with various chemicals, as one would expect in a utility room.
Then there was a knock on the door. Knowing Zhanna definitely wouldn’t knock, I instinctively cringed, sensing something was wrong. Luckily, I had managed to get dressed.
And then she lost the power of speech when she saw a man in a police uniform.
He greeted me, introduced himself, and showed me his ID. I felt like I was blind, unable to discern a single letter. My ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton wool.
I only noticed that two security guards, working on the mansion’s grounds, were standing behind him, watching me with interest.
“A call has been received from the owner of the private property. Due to missing jewelry, a search of all employees with access to the building is being conducted. Your partner has already been checked. Please present your bag first,” a male voice announced. “The witnesses are assembled.”
I suddenly went speechless, deaf, and dumbfounded, staring at him wordlessly and blinking in bewilderment. The backpack had landed in the hands of the law enforcement officer without my intervention. He unceremoniously fished out its contents again and again, his pale face frozen in a mask of impassivity. But at some point, something in the man’s features changed, and I glanced at his fingers and froze.
A necklace, studded with sparkling stones. Clearly not costume jewelry.
My gaze shifted, meeting the guards’ disapproving, contemptuous eyes.
And I slowly sank into a chair…
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To be continued…
