Chapter 2
I woke up hungry. This nasty, gnawing feeling overcame my fatigue and forced me to tear myself away from my coveted pillow. The cottage was silent; the whole gang had safely gone to bed only by three in the morning, having previously celebrated the birthday of one of the girls in the group with enviable fervor.
Trying very hard to make no noise and barely breathing, I went down to the first floor and darted into the kitchen. Today we were vacationing at Maxim’s country house, not Azamat’s. It was more spacious here, there was enough room in the bedrooms for everyone, but I still felt out of place. Actually, on the way here, I had mentally prepared myself to spend the night with Aybazov, but again I felt shy in the presence of so many people. I knew in my head that half of them would do just that—literally have sex behind the wall, but I still couldn’t suppress my embarrassment. So I slept with other girls in the room, and not with my boyfriend.
I didn’t turn on the kitchen light; the open refrigerator provided sufficient illumination. I just needed to quickly satisfy my hunger and return to the bedroom; I was desperate for sleep. Due to my lack of discipline, I had long since forgotten about proper sleep, preferring noisy gatherings.
None of the magnificent food on the shelves appealed to me; I loved simple, straightforward fare. My eyes weren’t drawn to the abundance of exquisite delicacies after the celebration. So I quickly whipped together a simple cheese sandwich and bit into it.
And at that moment the space flashed brightly.
I reflexively closed my eyes.
A second later, I snapped them open and met a pair of light green gazes. Sterile, as far as emotion was concerned. Absolutely not.
Kirill opened the door wider and pulled out a bottle of water, showing not the slightest interest in me. As always, though.
I, frozen like a statue, watched him silently. The piece of sandwich felt stuck in my throat, refusing to go in or out. I wanted to die of shame just imagining it: me in the dark, like some kind of thief, destroying someone else’s supplies. Even though I’d been invited along with everyone else, I felt like I was on the receiving end. And the only reason I didn’t try to justify myself was because I felt intimidated in Astakhov’s presence.
Incidentally, he took what he wanted and just as silently moved toward the exit.
And he didn’t forget to turn off the light behind him.
Holy shit.
Like… left everything as it was? And I’m just a decorative element. Inanimate, no doubt.
I don’t know why the situation affected me. Nothing terrible had happened, after all. But after Kirill left, I suddenly lost my appetite, and my guts resented the way he treated me.
Slamming the refrigerator shut, I stuffed the sandwich in my mouth, since my conscience wouldn’t let me throw it away, and scurried into the room.
Fortunately, a deep sleep had driven all worries about the silent incident in the kitchen from my mind.
The next day, arriving back at university tired and drained from staying up all night, I chided myself for my carelessness and irresponsibility, but it didn’t help me much. We had a final exam in economic theory. The good news was that it was the last one, the bad news was that the end of the exam period was just around the corner. And while I’d managed to pass the entrance exam with minimal scores, a full-blown apocalypse of tests and exams… I doubt it
. Because I’m completely talentless and unteachable. No matter how hard I tried to sit down with the course materials and get my head around it, nothing worked. The information simply wouldn’t stay in my head, and I didn’t know what to do with it.
“So… so,” our supervisor suddenly entered the room, gesturing for everyone to hurry and gather their things, “Arsenyev is sick, you’ll be moved to the next room now, you’ll be taking the test under Oleg Pavlovich’s supervision…”
The reaction from my classmates was astonishingly unanimous—groans of despair. I was genuinely shocked, because I’d been hoping to at least peek at something from the cheat sheets, like everyone else. But… Oleg Pavlovich’s name alone dashed those hopes. He was one of those teachers with whom it was impossible to cheat. Meticulous, strict, and extremely demanding. He probably had the highest number of retakes at the university.
Amidst general discontent, we streamed uncoordinated into the nearest room. The older students were already there, busy with their regular classes. And our group looked like noisy gypsies, trying to get the “best” seats.
Naturally, given my sluggishness, I was one of the last to sit down. When there wasn’t much choice left.
Hysteria was pounding inside me. Oleg Pavlovich’s podium was looking right at me. What cheating? It would be good not to shit myself out of fear under that menacing gaze from under those thick, unkempt eyebrows.
I’m a real coward. It was characters like these that made me freeze. Just by their appearance. And even if I’d studied, I’d have forgotten everything in an instant.
We were ordered to hand over our phones, and then the tests were distributed. The setup process lasted maybe five minutes, during which I was still breathing. I only had to glance at the sheet of paper in front of me—that was it. Even the physiological need to breathe was dulled by a primal terror.
Of course, I didn’t know a single answer.
And for half an hour I hypnotized the letters before my eyes, panicking to the point of suffocating spasms.
Suddenly, ten minutes before the end of class, a crumpled piece of paper landed on the desk next to my hand. I instinctively tucked it under my palm while the beast known as Oleg Pavlovich scolded a student caught cheating somewhere behind me. Then I spun around, searching for my benefactor.
Frankly, I expected to see one of Charlie’s Angels.
But not… Astakhov, sitting behind me with an impenetrable expression. Turns out it was his group of seniors.
My genuine bewilderment must have lasted too long, because Kirill raised his wrist and tapped the face of his watch a couple of times with the index finger of his other hand, irritably implying that I was an utter idiot wasting precious minutes.
My numbness lifted instantly. I instantly forgot about my strange savior and, looking around like a frightened rabbit, carefully unrolled the tiny sheet of paper. The answers to twenty-five questions were written on it, tiny and clearly written. That, damn it, was the entire test! And I didn’t doubt for a second that they were correct. Astakhov is one lousy genius.
My fingers only stopped shaking after I stormed out of the classroom. The whole time, I felt like I was about to be caught and reprimanded. I still couldn’t believe I’d managed to… trick the Cerberus-like teacher.
“What kind of vampire did you meet?” Zhanna materialized next to me, touching my shoulder.
“Huh?
” “Where did you go, I said, lost all your blood? Paler than death.
” “Ah…”
Her eloquence was off the charts.
“Hey… Matryoshka, over, over!” Her eyes, heavily lined with black eyeliner, narrowed.
I shook my head, as if to say, “It’s all right.” And waved goodbye to the girls, who kept their distance, avoiding my partner. A caustic thought flashed through my mind: they still don’t know about the dress theft and the dirty trick. I wasn’t even going to tell them, I was afraid to even let myself think about it. Morality isn’t my strong suit, so the question remained in my head: how should I feel about what happened?
“Hi,” a grip around my waist was iron-clad, and I jerked in surprise, but Azamat held me tightly. “How are you feeling?”
It seems my appearance hasn’t left anyone indifferent.
“That’s exactly what I was saying,” Zhanna chimed in, snorting.
The two of them stared at each other searchingly. Aybazov quickly and keenly assessed the girl’s toned figure, the provocative tattoo on her neck, and the direct, unblinking gaze on her skinny, model-like face.
I hurried to introduce them, suppressing a strange feeling of unease within me.
The topic of my paleness and mood lost its relevance, and Azamat declared straight away:
“I’m expecting you tomorrow, remember?” Forgetting my boyfriend’s birthday would be, to say the least, rude. “Bring a friend… friends,” he quickly corrected himself. “It’ll be fun. As always, you know.”
Then Aybazov pecked me on the cheek and said goodbye, citing the need to get ready for the party.
There was an awkward pause. The sudden invitation still rang in my ears. And it wasn’t just politeness; Azamat had really invited Zhanna to join us.
“You… want to go?” I managed to choke out.
“Why not?” she shrugged indifferently.
For some reason, I didn’t like that. But all I said was,
“Great.”
However, for someone who genuinely couldn’t care less, the next day my partner was a bit too quick to catch me in the university hallway and start grilling me:
“Where is the meeting? What time? How are we going to get there?”
I hoped Zhanna would reconsider. Why would she need a gathering of strangers? We hadn’t mentioned Aybazov’s birthday the entire previous day. And now it was ironic to see such interest.
Although… who was I kidding? She looked Azamat over in return, noting his expensive designer clothes, his presence, and… how could she pass up an opportunity when she was officially invited? Obviously, this gathering would be richer than the ones Zhanna was used to.
Her possible presence unsettled me.
And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to admit it out loud.
By seven o’clock, we had entered the grounds of the rented country cottage together. The rest of the evening proceeded smoothly, save for my incomprehensible internal groans. To my shame, I couldn’t shake the thought that Zhanna would pocket something in this opulent house, too. So I tried to keep my partner’s movements in check.
There were a ton of people, half of whom I’d never seen before and felt a little lost among them. My status as Aybazov’s girlfriend imposed certain constraints on me. It was all very sudden.
I hardly drank or smoked, shying away from the gazes of his fellow countrymen and relatives. That, I suppose, was why I was so nervous. At some point, I realized I desperately needed a nicotine fix and retreated to the kitchen alcove, sighing as I pressed the filter of my cigarette to my lips. I enjoyed a few puffs, watching the catering staff at work; they were very diligent.
Then Zhanna found me, perched next to me, and lit up too.
“How did you end up in this crowd?” she asked thoughtfully.
Well, yes, the level and vibe here were higher, much higher than my usual circle in life, so I understood the question perfectly.
“We met at the beginning of September at a club; they were hanging out with friends, and I was celebrating my eighteenth birthday. Things just kind of spiraled, we started talking to Azamat, and he later took me along.
” “And what’s he like? Isn’t he a bit harsh for you? His temperament, his character? A nationalist, whatever you say.
” “Oh no,” I laughed at the thought of Aybazov being rude or demanding towards me. “Definitely not.
” “What about sex? I doubt he’s not that into it either.”
I burned my fingers, almost dropping my cigarette. I quickly stubbed it out on the first saucer I came across and involuntarily bit my cheek.
“F-ck…” my interlocutor drawled, sensing the piquancy of the situation from my reaction. “Matryoshka, are you serious? You still haven’t given it to him?!”
I wanted to hide from that burning condemnation in his voice and the wary bewilderment in his blue eyes.
“Well, it just so happened that…
” “Are you out of your mind? You’re keeping a guy like that on dry rations and you think that’s okay?”
Skepticism was overflowing. Now that my own thoughts had been voiced by her, I realized with a caustic bitterness that this was sheer nonsense. Zhanna was right, not me, who had been putting off sex for so many months. It was ridiculous to think that anyone had been faithful to me or anything like that.
I was tempted to justify myself, but I barely held my tongue, feeling like a fool.
It was stupid to dump on her the list of my attempts to sleep with him, and I had even put on especially beautiful lingerie today so I could finally do it.
Rubbing my shoulders awkwardly, I bleated,
“Shall we go dancing?”
Of course, they looked at me as if I were a complete idiot. As if I couldn’t think of anything smarter to offer.
And that was true.
Around midnight, most of the guests had left, meaning there was no need to limit ourselves any further. The fun picked up steam when the usual core of people who knew how to let loose remained. For the next hour and a half, we danced until we dropped, drank freely, and enjoyed obscene contests. Max, on a dare, downed an entire bottle of tequila in just forty seconds, to general boos. Insane.
I shook my head so hard in amazement at this stunt that I eventually felt dizzy from the alcohol. I had to seek refuge in the fresh air.
It was freezing outside, and my short, thin dress was treacherously chilling my body, but I stubbornly stood there and breathed deeply.
There were two of the gang’s biggest losers—me and Astakhov. The guy sat motionless in a wicker chair by the wrought-iron parapet, staring straight ahead.
A peculiar type. Arrogant and haughty. An outsider among the crowd. I always had the impression that we were all in his way. As if Kir didn’t give a damn about this—parties, noisy gatherings, and drinking bouts. And that made me even less sure about the need for his presence among us.
Too smart.
Too stuffy.
Too snobby.
A real Kai. He didn’t even feel the cold, sitting on the terrace in just a thin sweatshirt. All this time. Alone.
I looked away from him and squeezed my eyes shut.
Why did he help me yesterday? This… this is so unlike Kirill’s nature. He’s as much of a philanthropist as I am a shot putter. There wasn’t a shred of concern or sympathy in his actions; it looked more like he’d gotten bored during class and tossed me a handout. Incidentally, I never thanked Astakhov, even though I had a hundred opportunities today.
My bones shivered, my consciousness cleared enough to sense it was time to go back inside.
The hands of the living room clock showed just after two. The ranks of partygoers had thinned, mostly couples had retreated. Actually, I, too, had resolutely set out to find my boyfriend. My blood was boiling with anticipation; I was definitely not going to back down today. There was going to be sex. And it didn’t matter that we were not alone; it was time to get rid of my inhibitions. And I was quite relaxed after a few glasses of strong wine.
I had to fumble around to find Azamat. Only about ten minutes later was I informed that he had taken a room on the third floor. I went up there, carefully smoothing my hair and straightening my dress. I quietly opened the bedroom door, intending to surprise him—me.
I was just late.
Someone had already given him a similar gift.
Someone with their legs wrapped around Aybazov’s lower back, his bare backside exposed as he thrust vigorously.
Someone moaning with every movement of Azamat’s and scratching his back with long, acid-green nails.
The shock of it all left me motionless for about ten seconds, staring at the live porn before me. My throat went dry, I felt a cough coming on, and only then did I come to my senses, abruptly leaving the bedroom. Just as silently as I’d arrived. They couldn’t see me; Aybazov was “working” with his back to the door, and the girl behind him couldn’t see anything at all.
Somewhere on the landing between the second and first floors, I suddenly realized whose nails I’d just seen on my boyfriend’s back.
The revelation brought a treacherous weakness in my knees, and I collapsed right on the steps, never even reaching the couch.
It was painful to accept this reality. My temples throbbed with tension, as my skull was exploding with chaos.
“So you finally caught me,” Maxim said, landing awkwardly next to me, his voice unnaturally drawling. “Here, take this.”
I glanced briefly at the bottle of amber liquid in his hand and leaned my head against the railing, blinking back hot tears. So everyone knew who Azamat was with. That was even more humiliating. It was enough to make a desperate squeal escape my aching throat. I barely managed to keep from sobbing, clenching my teeth with all my might. The last thing I needed was to cry in front of this demon.
“Alcoholic Max won’t give you booze for nothing,” the drunken rich kid’s talent for rhyme awakened, and he celebrated the event with a cheerful chuckle. “Take it, take it, it’ll feel better, I promise.”
The guy shoved the cool glass into my hand. I immediately raised the bottle to my mouth and took a generous swig, choking on the tart, burning taste.
“What a moron,” he tsked, “who drinks whiskey like that?”
I wiped my wet mouth and sniffed. Then I drank again. Same thing—in one gulp. I barely knew what I was doing. I’d never drunk myself senseless, never lost myself in alcohol. Now my moment has come.
Just don’t cry.
“Veronica the Birdie…” Maxim looked me intently in the face. “You’re a beautiful girl… no joke. But stupid, damn it, to the point of insanity…
” “Your sincerity disarms and captivates, Max.”
“Yeah, I am… Hey, do you want to start a vendetta?” I stared at him unblinkingly. “Fuck?”
God. For. What. To. Me. This.
“You…” I couldn’t find the words, seeing that he wasn’t joking.
“Got it, got it,” the rich kid smirked wryly, raising his hands up as if genuinely surrendering. “‘Max, go fuck yourself,’ right?”
I nodded quickly.
And jumped up, running away from this lunatic.
I ran out into the street, amazed at my own speed, and took another sip of whiskey under the bright streetlights of the terrace. The lights were off on the terrace itself. Which didn’t stop me from noticing Kirill sitting in the same pose.
He was gazing so respectfully into the darkness with his heavy gaze. And something malicious, poisonous, and pernicious was throbbing so heavily beneath my ribs in unison. I was bursting with a new, unidentified feeling… the urge to do something nasty. To screw up. To do something nasty…
that without thinking, I headed toward Astakhov.
I set the bottle down on the low table and the next second found myself on his lap,
pressing my lips to Kir’s in a kiss that was spontaneous for both of us.
A jolt of electricity shot through my scalp.
My body’s reactions were astonishing.
My blood tingled, the knot in my stomach unraveled to a weightless lightness, and my skin broke out in goosebumps.
I really enjoyed it.
And I don’t care about the consequences.
I peeled myself off and whispered unequivocally right into Kir’s half-open mouth:
“Have you had virgins?”
