Nota bene: the chapter features mature content!

I wanted to go outside and breathe some fresh air, for the place had an impression of a sepulcher. Only a tiny cut on my finger, I got when collecting the pieces of the broken cup, reminded me about a folk creature in my kitchen.

My face was still red, swollen, and hot. I washed it in the sink, watching the lukewarm water recklessly running through my fingers.

If not the morning events, I would probably call upon Sylvester. He and I were the only singletons among our friends that made us more available for each other to meet quite often, while the rest of our school and uni squad were either in serious relations, married or simply tired after a bunch of really adult responsibilities thus prefer the company of cat, bed and Netflix. Surely, there was a high chance Sylvester wasn’t alone, chilling with one of his numerous girlfriends, usually sexy ladies with long hair, duck lips, and glowing makeup. Chose a trending photo of beautiful young women on any popular social media, and you’ll get an average portrait of Syl’s date (that was real magic!). Going to my parents was not, by all means, an option too.

The dull walls of the apartment are oppressing me now. If I stay here longer, I will start suffocating, no doubt. Feeling the consequences of restless night of self-confessions, morning adventures, and kitchen craziness, I sluggishly put on my short puff coat, as the warm denim jacket seems to be drenched till kingdom comes. My glasses are not seen anywhere; I must have left in one of the offices I have recently visited. But that is fine: it’s not so gloomy outside, and I can see almost perfect during the daytime.

I bitterly laugh at my own reflection: in a winter coat I look like a cabbage that somebody placed on two thin sticks. “And that’s the person who cannot imagine her best friend with hot girls, considering him too nerdy. The only lackluster mouse in da house is you.” I touch my shoulder-length hair that, ironically, resembles the fur colour of little field mice I fed. “No wonder she left you,” I poignantly informed the reflection and angrily slam the door.

I need some coffee and a cheesecake to please my soul and stomach. I was about to go to the nearest coffeehouse out of habit when realize it is the one where Doris works. I turn abruptly and head to the historic city center where one can find lots of pretty cafes and restaurants. It is a weird feeling to go there alone or not to have someone who is waiting for me there. Though, the idea is great. I can lose myself in a crowd of tourists and locals, to become a part of the human mass without being noticed. Besides, I can relax while going some window-shopping.

But no sooner I reached the place, when heard a telephone call. The ID of the caller is unknown: and it’s not so surprising, I have sent tons of CV emails to different companies, and now I’m constantly receiving similar calls.

“Hello, I’m listening!” I said, pretending to be interested in the conversation.

“Good day! My name is pshhhhh and I represent a company which khrrshhh. We found your CV very interesting and want to agree on a date for your interview,” said a woman’s voice.

I can’t hear her distinctly because of some interferences, but my stupid meekness prevents me from asking to repeat her name and the name of the company.

“That’ll be great. What time is convenient for you?” I ask her, suppressing my sigh of dissatisfaction. To return to reality after something unbearably fantastic is like a torturous tide wave of depression. “I did everything wrong, and she left me. Now go to your bloody interview; that’s all you have!” I despise the painful flashbacks in my head.

“What about in half an hour? Our office is in the old city.”

“In half an hour? I’m sorry, I’m already out and not properly dressed for the interview,” I was stunned how soon they want to see me. The conversation is suspicious, and something indefinable creates uneasiness.

“That is not a problem. We could talk in a relaxed atmosphere,” her pleasant voice was soothing.

“Alright,” I agree with a heavy heart: I have no makeup on, my face must be still slightly swollen, and I was wearing sweatpants. That’s gonna be the quickest interview in the history of mankind.

“I’ll send you the exact address.”

I should probably postpone the meeting till tomorrow, and properly prepare for it (to know where the hell I’m going to, at least). But the stingy feeling of losing something I never actually possess, made me a real wreck of a human, and don’t care whether to have one more useless talk with a complete stranger in a dull office in sweatpants or not.

The office is situated in the old city or, as we also call it, the historic center. One part belongs to fancy famous boutiques, cozy cafes, and restaurants that have been existing since, I think, the Big Bang; another one hosts elaborate old mansions that look like creamy wedding cakes. The interior seems to be untouched, but the signs with the firm’s logos and abbreviations can be seen on almost every door.

I find the address in no time, for I have already been to the nearby building. I toss my head: hello the Groundhog Day! The name of the company is something-something and Co. I don’t even bother to memorize it, knowing it’s the first and the last interview here. I see the resembling logo and enter the mansion front door.

To my great surprise, there is no security, reception desk or any office sounds. The mansion looks like a real mansion, both outside and inside. I stay in disbelief for a second, “What if the interview proposal is just a stupid dodge or prank, and now I’m in someone’s real house?”

Checking myself, I make some sounds:

“Hello? Is anybody here?”

“Come on in!” I hear the familiar female voice from the distance. I look around to find an antique-looking clothes tree with some patina and wide “claws”, “paws”, and “pegs” like a real branchy tree. In the right hand corner, there are marble stairs leading to the second floor. Certainly, the voice came from above; that’s why I leave my “cabbage” coat and start ascending.

I’m in a dark lounge in front of three closed doors. The interior and the atmosphere remind me an old fairytale my parents and grandparents used to read me when I was a child. I am like a brave warrior on a noble stud who is reading the prophetic words on the boulder: if you go to the right, you’ll find your demise; if you go to the left, you’ll lose your horse; and if you go straight down the... “OK, stop that nonsense!” I command myself.

My choice falls on the middle door, and it’s clear why: it was slightly open, and I could see amber light pouring through the narrow door crack.

My interviewer is a woman in her early thirties. She is slim and attractive; arrogant and self-confident in her manners and posture. “Syl would probably have to sell his soul to get this woman in his collection; none of his tricks would work here,” I notice with pleasure.

She stands up to great me, and I am admiring her elegant clothes: a white V-necked blouse that’s tucked in a slim, high-waisted pencil skirt. She stretches her delicate hand with an expensive golden watch, and I slightly shake it, smelling her sweet-peachy perfume.

She smiles tenderly, stretching her coral red lips, “I'm so glad you could come! I hope it wasn't too much trouble? Would you like some tea or coffee?” she says it like I am her bosom friend.

“No, thank you,” I’m murmuring (I’m sick and tired of crazy tea parties today!)

She is laughing like a Tinker Bell as if having overhead my thoughts. No one ever was so genuinely happy to see me during the interview.

“Marina,” she says my name, sitting on her chair. “May I call you Marina?”

I nod, still under a strange impression of her smile. I am trying to catch every gesture she is making like a kid who’s watching a magician’s performance for the first time.

“Tell me about you, Marina,” she sexually bites her lower lip, ”I want to know everything.”

And I’m telling and telling her about my achievements and education. But she starts asking me personal questions. I’m drowsy, very drowsy. I’m telling her all about my childhood, and family, and friends, my favorite colour, and movie, and what not. I’m like in a dream and don’t feel anything strange about doing it. I’m telling her about things neither my parents nor Sylvester knows. She seems so nice and trustworthy, so I eagerly want to please her. I don’t want her beautiful smile to be washed away from her angelic face because of my disobedience. Why, why on earth I was so sad today? I don’t even remember. Life’s so perfect when she’s near.

“You are an amazing human, Marina. Do you know about it?”

I’m speaking softly something vague in turn. She undertakes some cat moves and already at my chair. I’m losing an eye contact with her for a second maybe, and it makes me realize what have I just done, and who was the reason of my sadness. But it is too late; I am drowning.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you,” she’s whispering in my ear, touching it slightly with her plump lips. She’s bending over me, “Soon you’ll be perfectly fine.”

“I’ll be fine,” I’m repeating her words obediently. Her cold necklace is brushing my collarbone.

She’s so close (I wish Doris could be as close to me as this woman). I’m closing my eyes, for I don’t want to see hers, scary and pitch black. I feel a painful kiss on my lips like a real wasp’s bite; I moan in her mouth and faints.