Chapter 1
A man’s hand dived under my shirt and over the cup of my push-up bra, croaching on my breast.
I truly panicked.
– Azamat… Azamat, please…
Aybazov jerked toward me out of inertia, not hearing my pathetic protest. But when I finally broke the kiss and leaned back, dodging, he suddenly froze, a few centimeters from my mouth. He looked impatient and perplexed. His gaze gradually cleared, and as it did, his displeasure grew ever brighter.
“Fuck…” He clearly wanted to add more, but at the last moment, his lips pressed together.
I swallowed silently, watching the emotions shift across his dark face.
Azamat was the most temperamental person in my circle, hot-tempered and passionate, yet I felt no fear with him. He didn’t bully girls; he was raised to respect women, so he would never do anything bad to me.
However, I cowered, feeling Aybazov’s irritation literally wash over me in waves.
The guy quickly let go of me and walked a few steps away, not forgetting to rake his last lecherous hand over my figure, as if still in the throes of a severe hangover. His large Adam’s apple quivered. Azamat turned away, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.
I began to breathe freely. With relief.
And, accompanied by Aybazova’s ragged exhalations, I backed toward the door, involuntarily watching her impressive shoulders tensely rise.
Once in the hallway, I quickly closed it behind me and rested my forehead against the wooden panel. With a soft whistle, I released all the air from my lungs and closed my eyes in regret.
Anger at myself flared beneath my ribs and shot up, forming a lump in my throat. I had stopped Azamat countless times, suffering no less than he did. After all, I liked him. Madly…
There were no footsteps behind me, but I sensed someone approaching, more intuitively. I quickly turned around and tried to straighten my clothes. At that very moment, first a tall shadow emerged from around the corner, and then its owner appeared. I bashfully averted my gaze, frantically tucking the bottom of my shirt into the waistband of my jeans. With an unsteady, unsteady gait, I shuffled past one of Azamat’s friends.
The silent Kirill didn’t like me at all, so I preferred to stay out of his sight when I was alone. And embarrassment like this, alas, didn’t win me any points with the guy. While I wasn’t trying to win him over, I didn’t want any stinging, disapproving attention either.
The mood is a complete mess.
I descended the stairs, confused and dejected.
I barely had time to jump down the last step when I was unexpectedly handed a frosted bottle of beer by one of the company’s jesters, the foam hissing playfully at the rim of the neck, threatening to spill. The treat stung my palm with cold, and in gratitude, I saluted the joker and took a tiny, experimental sip.
Delicious.
These guys always have excellent alcohol. Even the labels were often unfamiliar to me, since premium products are hard to find in the regular stores I usually shop at. Perhaps that’s the undeniable advantage of rich people’s parties.
The first floor was a disturbing chaos: music blaring in the background, arguments, laughter, and the squeals of girls. My inner compass led me to the very epicenter. Ten seconds later, I found myself at the threshold of a spacious living room, took another sip of beer, and looked around. It was like a scene from a teen movie. A small group of men huddled around the screen, where two were playing “Pillow” while the rest placed their bets. A little further away, on the couches, a card game was being fought over. Judging by the men’s smug, lewd expressions, the women were losing hard, and something rather indecent was at stake.
Couples were cooing sweetly by the panoramic window—the most romantic spot: dim lights burned there, creating a semblance of privacy. Just half an hour ago, Azamat and I had been milling around among them. And here’s the problem – I didn’t remember at all what exactly we talked about, but I clearly remembered the feeling of warmth, excitement, and interest that I felt next to him…
Until we went up to his bedroom, where I ruined everything. Once again.
I felt incredibly stupid right now. So stupid that I didn’t know where to start. So I decided to head out onto the porch. Or rather, onto the terrace. The colloquial term “porch” doesn’t really apply to houses like this.
The wicker chairs were empty, and a pack of cigarettes lay abandoned on the table.
I pulled the jacket I’d thrown on before heading out tighter; The November evenings were already freezing. But the persistent wind continued to cut through my layers, giving me goosebumps.
The cool bottle in my hand no longer felt pleasant; I quickly set it down on the glass surface and reached for the cigarettes. Conveniently enough, I found a lighter inside, which I was incredibly happy about.
As it turned out, it was in vain. It didn’t respond to my attempts to light a cigarette.
“The lighter’s dead, you idiot,” came to v
I was just about to leave silently, but the guy suddenly raised his hand, revealing an ordinary lighter. He clicked it and held it to my cigarette, lighting it. I stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to comprehend his inconsequential behavior.
The streetlight glinted off the silver earring in his ear, while Max glared at me with undisguised contempt in his impossibly black eyes. Then he disappeared as abruptly as he had appeared. And only then did I realize, inhaling loudly, that I had been holding my breath for a good twenty seconds.
God, what a demon this guy was.
Maxim wasn’t just a spoiled brat; he was a true rebel in every sense of the word, a provocateur and manipulator.
Brrr.
Having quickly finished the ill-fated cigarette and recovered somewhat from the mild shock, I returned to the house and immediately bumped into Azamat coming down from the second floor. I stood there hesitantly, wondering what mood he was in.
Aybazov noticed me and moved toward me. While my heart was fluttering timidly, he grabbed me in an armful and breathed into my ear,
“Sorry. I’m hiding from you. I remember what I promised.”
I relaxed and hugged him back. I immediately felt truly warm and comfortable, as I always did with him.
We turned toward the living room and bumped into Kirill. He glanced at me briefly, causing me to drop my gaze. Azamat’s friend often looked at me as if I’d done something wrong, as if he was displeased with my very presence in their company. I guessed what Astakhov had told him privately: that I was a stupid brat and had no place among them.
Stifling.
Stifling, who had earned his nickname—Kai.
Overall, Max and Kira aside, the rest of the group was pretty cool. And I absolutely loved spending time with them. So I happily stayed until late into the night, despite having my first class at university.
Naturally, I was late for class. I showed up exhausted and utterly tired. As luck would have it, that very day we had tests, the results of which would qualify us for the winter exams. And I’d forgotten about them. Unlike my classmates, I spent most of the time staring motionless at the assignment sheet, completely lost in thought. A sinking feeling of dread filled the pit of my stomach. How stupid and worthless I felt, knowing I couldn’t answer the questions. It was like a Mariana Trench in my brain—no residual knowledge.
I solved the tests at random, and didn’t even attempt the more difficult ones with detailed answers.
“Are you sick or something, Matryoshka?” Zhanna shook my shoulder. “Just don’t tell me you’re planning on skipping your shift…
” “No,” she interrupted hastily, shaking her head vigorously from side to side. “I’m fine, I’m not sick.
” “Okay. Then we’ll head out right after class.
” “You shouldn’t have followed her,” Mira, sitting next to me, watched the retreating figure in leather pants and a leather jacket with obvious disgust.
“I agree. She’s definitely not the right person…” Alyona hesitated, “…to be friends with. You’re too naive, and she’s a shark.
” “Why won’t you listen to us? I’m telling you, she has a reputation as a complete loser!” Sasha blurted out emotionally, picking up on her friends’ discontent.
I looked at the three of them with a weak smile. In my mind, I called them “Charlie’s Angels,” because they really did resemble the trio from that movie from my childhood. Brunette Sasha, blonde Alyona, and redhead Mira. Nice girls, ordinary, simple. And that’s precisely why, I thought, they didn’t like Zhanna, who was a walking protest against the system. And it didn’t matter which one.
“I haven’t noticed anything like that in two weeks of working with her,” I shrugged, not intending to argue.
“Nika, by the time you ‘notice,’ she’ll already be getting some traffic through you…”
I would have laughed at this remark if the teacher hadn’t entered the room. Another class, another test of our knowledge. And once again I was staring at my papers, the only difference being that my thoughts drifted to Zhanna, whom everyone considered a devil.
I sat through the rest of the classes dejectedly, weighed down by the very real prospect of being expelled from the university… after all, with such results from the midterms, I definitely had no chance of passing the exams…
Zhanna was waiting by the exit, squinting at the students scurrying past. As soon as I approached her, I too was subjected to her scanning gaze, after which she nodded briefly, and we silently headed toward the metro.
This girl was unique. She smelled of cigarette smoke, something tart and spicy, and… freedom. I was simultaneously frightened and fascinated by the tattoo in the center of her neck, a targeting reticle. It was difficult to tear my eyes away from this unusual design on the most vulnerable part of her body.
Despite her outwardly unapproachable and cold demeanor, Zhanna was quite friendly and pleasant to talk to. It was she who helped me get a job when, about three weeks ago, the girls and I were heatedly discussing part-time work options in the cafeteria. Overhearing our argument, she simply came up to me and informed me of a vacancy at the cleaning company where she worked while studying.
No one else wanted to be her partner. Except me, for whom the conditions seemed ideal. Even though my classmates tried to dissuade me by telling me unflattering stories about a girl I didn’t know from my senior year, I still went to the interview and soon after a short training period I started my duties.
Cleaning houses seems routine and mundane from the outside, but in reality, professional cleaning is a hellish task with all its nuances. The first few times, I was afraid to breathe, sure I’d screw up somewhere. Thanks to Zhanna, she tried to put me at ease, supported me, joked, and guided me.
And I think I’ve gotten pretty good at it now. At least I no longer worried about mixing up cleaning products and equipment.
“You keep the nursery, and I’ll keep the master bedroom,” Zhanna said, changing her gloves when we finished the kitchen and moving the cart with the cleaning supplies toward the exit.
Upstairs, I picked up one of the steam cleaners and everything I needed for a gentle cleaning of the nursery. Forty minutes later, every inch of the room was spotless. I was pleased, but terribly tired. It was ten o’clock, and I really wanted to go home to a hot shower and a warm bed. But first, I had to finish my shift.
I hurried to my partner. The bedroom was quiet, our cart stood peacefully by the exit. After putting my load in there, I slipped through the open closet door.
And she was stunned to find Zhanna trying on outfits.
“That woman has excellent taste,” she caught my eye in the mirror and winked, “you can try something too.
” “Me?! But…
” “Come on, are you another prude or something?”
“But I’m not…
” “There are no cameras here, and we still have fifteen minutes before the driver arrives. Come on, Matryoshka… you want to… look at all this beauty…”
My head was spinning. Just the thought that… it was actually possible. I could secretly touch something I couldn’t afford in my everyday life. Designer clothes, expensive fragrances, the heaviest luxury.
No one would know.
My loud internal protests were cut short by Zhanna, who suddenly thrust a hanger with a short cocktail dress into my hands. I stared, dumbfounded, at this fringed splendor for about ten seconds.
“Look…” my partner grinned invitingly, “pure sex.”
I tore myself away from contemplating the treasure in my palms and suddenly realized she’d managed to change, and now a chocolate-colored silk nightgown adorned her slender body. But I immediately caught myself: it wasn’t a nightgown, but a fashionable lingerie-style outfit. Insanely revealing and at the same time cosmically attractive.
“It suits you very well,” I admitted, sheepishly averting my eyes from Zhanna’s breasts outlined beneath the thin fabric.
Should nipples stick out like that? Wasn’t it too vulgar not to wear a bra?
Or maybe I was just jealous? After all, breast size is a sore point for me, and I couldn’t wear something like that for purely physiological reasons: it would look like it was on an ironing board.
“Well, what’s the matter? Try it on!” – Zhanna nudged, hurrying him.
I still hesitated. How could I dare? It belonged to someone else. But… damn… so magical!
And as if in a state of affect, within moments I was standing and examining myself in the mirror’s surface. Mesmerized and stunned. How this dress suited me! Every movement set off a firework of reflections in the silver fringe. I felt amazingly light, even airy. Stupidly beautiful. Irresistible.
“I’ll definitely buy one just like this when I have the chance…” I shared naively, continuing to spin and watch the flashes of light on myself.
“Or steal it,” my partner commented cheerfully, “that’s easier. You’ll save up for something like this for a year…”
I laughed and started undressing. It was time for us to leave. Together, we tidied up the dressing room in a couple of minutes, after which I went to the utility room where we’d left our things and changed. We turned in our uniforms at the end of our shift, along with the cart.
A company van would arrive to load the equipment, and if any of the employees needed a ride, the driver would drop us off where needed. For example, for us, it was always to the nearest metro station.
Zhanna and I went through security, her sturdy bag was thoroughly inspected, and my small backpack was barely opened and closed. This procedure seemed humiliating to me, but I’d already accepted that in respectable houses it was the norm. The cleaning company served wealthy clients. Although not everyone subjected them to this mental torture.
Ten minutes later, near the metro, we ducked under a discreet overhang where about five or six people were smoking, and each lit a cigarette. We exchanged casual remarks about the weather and tomorrow’s classes. My partner was in her final year of her bachelor’s degree; they were already starting their final exams. I casually mentioned that I was a candidate for expulsion from the university. With such success on my tests.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get over it,” Zhanna said, without much sympathy, clapped me on the shoulder, tossed the butt into the trash, and got ready to go.
“Probably…” I confirmed without enthusiasm, also getting rid of my half-smoked cigarette. “Well, bye…
” “Wait.”
And then came the surreal.
With wide eyes that seemed to grow even larger with each passing second, I silently watched as she took the backpack off my shoulder, calmly opened it, and… with a magician’s gesture, fished out a dress.
That same chocolate silk one.
Stolen, damn it!
From my backpack.
She carefully slung it back over my shoulder, stuffing the dress into her own bag.
And then she winked cynically and disappeared into the crowd hurrying toward the metro doors.
