Chapter 4
“I can’t, I’m in a hurry. Work,” she shook her head and looked back toward the university exit.
My former partner smiled condescendingly but didn’t comment. Raising an eyebrow, she nodded and stepped aside, voluntarily giving me a path to retreat.
I nodded back and rushed to the door.
I didn’t want to talk. The moment I saw Zhanna, my resentments tensed like an angry string, creaking. Almost in the same place where we were standing now, about a month ago, I had introduced her to Azamat. And now I lamented how stupid I had been to not immediately notice the intimate vibrations between them. If I had gone to the birthday party alone then… I would have a full-fledged relationship by now, instead of… vague memories of a creepy first time with someone I didn’t even like.
I was bursting with regret.
I changed my schedule and took different shifts with other employees, just to avoid running into Zhanna. It was harder than I thought, because each of the women had their own specific nuances and principles that guided their cleaning. And, of course, I wasn’t as tired before.
But the girls in the group were glad I was no longer hanging out with a “dangerous repeat offender” whose criminal record they only knew by hearsay. But I—no, not only that.
After the first successful week of session, the Charlie’s Angels and I dragged ourselves to a karaoke bar. It was posh and expensive, but popular and beautiful. We danced, had fun, and met guys who kept approaching us, asking if we could have a good time. I wouldn’t say I was thrilled, but I didn’t refuse one of them—a cute, short, blond guy—when he asked me to slow dance.
At one point, while we were twirling and chatting, I inadvertently glanced up and caught a familiar figure. A few seconds later, I realized it was Kirill.
Astakhov was standing in the dim light on the second floor, his elbows resting on the railing, looking down at the dance floor. The guy himself was barely visible in the glare of the light show, but I was sure it was him.
I felt a chill when our eyes finally met. I blushed and immediately looked away. This was our first meeting since that blurry night. However, curiosity got the better of me, and I glanced at Kir again. Watching him turn away indifferently, showing no interest.
Well. Nothing new.
Then why did my solar plexus feel so heavy?
The thought of the whole group being there suddenly made me feel uneasy. To avoid running into anyone, I retreated to the table as the last chords of a slow dance were playing, and I sat there for the rest of the evening, nervous and furtively searching the crowd for familiar faces.
I can’t imagine how, in this bacchanalia of darkness, flashing lights, and loud noises, Azamat spotted me. He approached just as the girls and I were getting ready to go home.
“Well, hello there, missing person,” he said, sounding a little accusatory, as if he actually cared about me, “how’s your vacation going?”
“Hello… good. And you? How are you enjoying yourself?
” Max was completely wasted again, causing a ruckus, the guys decided to at least bring him back to his senses in the restroom, so let’s get out of here too.
Oh yeah, Maxim was the main reason the whole gang preferred to gather not in public places, but on neutral territory at home. Forays into establishments were rare.
“Want a ride?” Aybazov glanced briefly over my shoulder, seeking his girlfriends’ approval. “Don’t worry, half of us haven’t been drinking.”
I even guessed which half: he and Astakhov.
While the girls were glaring at each other, clearly considering whether to agree, I quickly shook my head and showed the smartphone in my hand, with the taxi app open.
It wasn’t out of pride, nor was it motivated by anything negative; I simply didn’t think it was right to continue contact with Azamat after what had happened.
The truth was, this guy still made me nervous. It still needed time. I’d cried so many nights, regretting that everything had turned out this way. And how, I wondered, could I pretend we could be friends?
And Zhanna was probably there with them too…
“Nick,” Aybazov touched my palm in a gentle, tender gesture, “I had a nephew, you remember?” She remembered, of course, that his sister was about to give birth. “I’m having a party in a few days. Ni-i-i-i-i?”
Damn. The way he kept saying my name… It made my bones vibrate.
I frantically searched for excuses, turning them over in my mind. And I was sure all these thoughts were reflected in his eyes—obvious to my interlocutor, and therefore utterly stupid. The problem was, no matter how much I understood in my head that we shouldn’t continue to communicate, I wanted to ignore the arguments and give in.
God, it was a powerful temptation.
But I resisted.
“Sorry…” she shrugged. “Congratulations and… bye.”
Already on the way out of the karaoke bar, I gave in to weakness and looked back.
Azamat was gone.
Kirill was there. There. In the same pose. With the same dispassionate, direct gaze. A few moments of visual connection through the thickness of the dim space, and I lowered my head.
* * *
“Oh, don’t worry about it, Lord, so what…” Mira lamented, hugging me, “you’ll pass in January! It happens to everyone!”
Well, yes. It certainly didn’t happen to them. They all studied well. I was the only one in the group who failed the economic theory test. The very same one whose assessment Astakhov had helped me pass.
I wondered, sinfully, if it wasn’t Kirill’s evil aura? Like an evil eye? Later, when the initial emotions had subsided, I realized the stupidity of that conclusion. What kind of Kirill was he if I hadn’t done anything to pass?
“One failure won’t do any harm. The department will help, we have a world-class mentor. Just study a little and then come take it,” Alena chimed in.
“Yeah, while the rest of you are on vacation…” I was barely holding back my tears.
We trudged down the hallway toward the cafeteria, the girls somehow convinced that something hot paired with something sweet would perk me up.
And then, a couple of meters from my destination, Aybazov materialized in front of me.
Sasha glared at Mira and Alyona, and the three of them moved on without me. I’d had to endure a lot of “I told you so” when the reason for my breakup with Azamat became known. Passions ran high because Zhanna was always right in their faces, and this couldn’t help but spark a flurry of indignation.
It seemed the girls were more worried than I was.
My already-down-on-his-luck mood prevented me from reacting appropriately to my ex-boyfriend’s appearance.
“Want to come with us?” After greetings and the usual inquiries, Aybazov repeated his recent invitation.
I honestly didn’t understand why I’d given in to him, considering he had a girlfriend and I’d only been with the group for a few months. But I was… flattered by the attention. Especially on such a terrible day, when for the first time in a year and a half of school, I failed a class.
In dire need of warmth and support, feeling vulnerable and worthless, after two minutes of persuasion, I agreed.
But that evening, as I stepped onto the grounds of the familiar cottage, I felt embarrassed and regretted it. The mere thought of how I looked to the guys… like a slut, darting from one guy to another.
Naturally, no one said anything like that to my face. They greeted me warmly and joyfully. Over the past month, changes had occurred within the gang. One of the merry fellows had dropped out, and a couple of new girls had appeared, one of whom, Angelina, was Maxim’s half-sister. That’s what I understood at first, when she was mentioned in passing. And then I realized she was nothing to him; Max’s father had simply married her mother.
The tension from being with my old friends gradually eased, my spirits lifted, and I even drank a beer while chatting with my friends. Every now and then, I caught Aybazov’s gaze.
It was strange to be on the other side of the fence. Seeing Zhanna hug him possessively, immersed in her role as hostess. So free, uninhibited, easygoing. Perfect for him. The guys had long since accepted her and were friends.
Of course. She wasn’t a reserved teenager like me.
It was hard even for myself to admit that I was wildly jealous of Azamat. And utterly envious of Zhanna. Because I missed the atmosphere of those gatherings, which were no longer mine…
The nauseating thoughts soured my mood again. The second bottle of beer came into play.
I still don’t remember when I was left alone on the couch, but my former partner suddenly sat down next to me.
“What are you upset about, Matryoshka?” she asked offhandedly, as she knew how. “You’re acting like a stupid teenager. And you didn’t even sleep with him.”
She lit a cigarette. In the house. Which confused me, since Aybazov forbade others from smoking indoors. A small voice inside me sarcastically noted that Zhanna was his girlfriend, and she was special.
“It’s like betrayal…” I mumbled, not daring to openly confront her; I didn’t have the guts.
She laughed. I grimaced, taking a gulp of tobacco smoke, thick and acrid.
“Kindergarten,” came the verdict. “Do you even know what you want? You’ve been tormenting your boyfriend for three months, and now you’re making me feel guilty.” Well, there was a spark between us, what can we do now… Stop acting like a pouty person. Peace?
Zhanna lifted her pinky finger and held it out to me. This touching gesture was touching. Plus, in my slightly dazed state, the comparisons to a dumb kid seemed entirely fair. After all, I had been avoiding her this whole time. But in reality, I didn’t want to be a dumb kid.
“Besides,” she released a bluish cloud, adding, “I know you slept with Kir. I saw you lock yourself in the bedroom…”
I froze at these words, clearly grasping the main point.
“You know… just you? And Azamat? Doesn’t he know? The guys?
” “No. Everyone was drunk, no one noticed. Kai didn’t say anything, and I didn’t bother either.”
The discovery brought both relief and confusion. I was sure everyone knew…
But my train of thought was interrupted by screams and the sound of breaking glass. We both turned toward the sound and stared in shock at the fight between Max and Kirill.
Both of their clothes were covered in horrible blood stains…
