Nota bene: the chapter features mature content!
I'm on the subway. Having watched enough Kolbjorns, Festholmens and Meilighets, I dozed off a little, swaying in the wagon. I deliberately chose the farthest Ikea from home in order to stay longer somewhere outside the apartment confinement. And, after aimlessly killing several hours to buy only a candle and two frames, I am reluctantly heading home.
At first, I didn’t even notice her: the girl is sitting across from me. I, to my shame, did not immediately realize that this was actually a girl. She looked like a young, skinny boy in men's clothes. It seemed to me that even for a guy she was dressed in an old-fashioned way, a bit like a kid from the nineties with slight hints of rock in accessories.
I was watching her with great curiosity. In truth, there was nothing beautiful or attractive about her, but she attracted my eyes like a human magnet. Looking up from the phone, she slid a couple of times over me and other passengers with unseeing eyes, as it often happens when you are not interested in something, and your brain is simply filtering what you see. I watched her posture and body movements: the girl seemed to be trying to play a man, and I did not understand whether that was natural behavior for her or she just wanted to prove something to someone. She spread her legs (like those annoying men who seem to do this on purpose without leaving free space for women sitting next to), her body is relaxed, not a single constrained movement. She is clearly not one of those good girls who will modestly place their hands on bashfully closed knees.
“Two more stations and I’m leaving the wagon,” I thought with relief, but to my disappointment I realized that I was sitting just like that, with my hands delicately placed on top of my laps.
Most likely, I would have forgotten about her as soon as I got off the subway, if at the next station three girls hadn't fluttered through the opened door. One of them, the tallest, stood out strongly against the background of her friends. She was a real stylish tomboy with a short, bleached pixie. She was wearing trendy unisex clothes and had cool piercings in her ears and nose. Two of her short female friends, resembling birds of paradise, with crimson strands in their hair, looked like her faithful straight escort. They chirped something merrily, feeling super cool in the company of their lesbian friend, but tomboy did not listen to them, for she noticed that one I had already been watching for several stations in a row.
Pixie just didn’t know how to wriggle out: she was spinning this or that way, shooting her glances, then stupidly play with her hair, forgetting that it was short! In response to all of her passes, the rocker behaved in a masculine manner, grinning wryly and lifting her chin, evaluating her appearance like a man.
I suddenly felt sick. I am like some tiny space debris, which all its life was dangling independently and calmly in the depths of space, but suddenly found itself within the limits of their gravitational field. It was as if I had involuntarily witnessed the beginning of beautiful, blossoming love or the foreplay that would end in their one-night stand... Before, I would not have paid attention. I often found myself in a similar situation, but usually they were a guy and a girl. I got used to it. What can I say: I permanently live in the situation of the fifth wheel!
But now I was so embarrassed. But why? I was convinced I had developed immunity over the years of friendship with Danya and Dasha, but today the fifth wheel had a flat tire and it quickly deflated.
It hurts so much. None of the girls during all this time noticed me, did not appreciate my appearance. Am I so ugly? Unattractive? Or should I have a “hedgehog” haircut and put on dad’s clothes to become visible to them? And, and, and to hell with them! Not a single one is worth a little finger on the hand of the witch who saved me, she is hundreds of times more attractive than these two and without all these lesbian stuff…
I don't understand why it bothers me so much! Where do all these obsessive thoughts come from? I blush and sigh nervously. Most likely, she will never return so you shouldn't even think about it.
All the way home I was angry and depressed: "depressed", "emotional" or whatever the witch had called me? Every word is a common truth. Ha, I should probably write it down and put it in the frame that I bought!
The apartment was quiet. I threw a bag of "valuable" purchases on the chest of drawers in the hallway and went into the dimness of empty rooms.
My body seems to melt under her lips, her fingers slide down again...
I wake up with a groan, bending over in my back with my cheeks glowing hot. I'm almost at my peak, but she is not around, of course. I bite my lower lip to the blood, soundlessly pounding my fists on the mattress with anger. I put my hand in the panties, but, as always, I cannot satisfy myself: as if I cannot relax, catch a wave, concentrate on her image.
I would like to snuggle to the wall, but the stupidly placed bed does not give such an opportunity. Everything here practically belongs to Dasha. I understand somehow belatedly that everything here is in Dasha's style too, and not according to my taste and preferences. Surely, it probably would not look so stylish if I were in charge, but it would be more comfortable, more pleasant...
I'm angry as hell again: a nasty physical feeling of dissatisfaction fills my entire body. And I start moving furniture in the middle of the night. Fuck! To hell with this... I’ll do it in my way! If Dasha doesn't like it, let her take the bed out, for I'd rather sleep on the floor than according to her European feng shui!
First, I move the bedside table (this is the easiest task), then I grab the laced-looking iron headboard of the white bed.
“Heavy sh..! Soooo, pivot, pivot, pivot, pivot...” I was saying to myself just like Ross in the episode when he bought a couch.
“Can I help you?”
Your mother ffff! She almost scares me to a heart attack, and I believe that Dasha’s medicine definitely will not help my panic.
The bed separates us. She is so close and at the same time so far away.
“Did I scare you? Well, I'm sorry,” the witch smiles, and her beautiful eyes seem to flicker in the gloom. “Silly, I told you to wear an amulet, so nobody would hunt you down. She quickly turns around the bed and takes me in an unfriendly embrace.
“What took you so long?” I'm tense, because I'm a little bit scared when everything is finally happening in reality.
“I've been running around on business that doesn't concern you,” she says, frowning, but her eyes are smiling. “So, you were waiting after all? That’s good! It's time to be grateful for saving your life.”
I, too, frown and remain silent. She takes my chin, “I would give a lot to find out what is on your mind now...”
“Oh, please! Don’t pretend to be that guy from Twilight. You can read my mind perfectly!”
“Why do you think so?” the witch is surprised, but she does not let go of my chin, holding it with her strong, tenacious fingers.
“You found out where I live, but I was just thinking about it!”
She laughs genuinely, releasing me for a second, “I do not know how to read minds, I can only identify the places to which people are emotionally attached. I tricked you into thinking about home, and if you had thought about some other place, the mirror would have connected us with it. I also emotionally tied myself to it so I was able to get back to this very room.”
I never get tired of being surprised and at the same time admiring her appearance: she is wearing all the same kind of stretched sweatpants with protruding threads at the seams, but she changed her T-shirt to another baggy one with Andy Warhol’s Campbell's Soup Can print (and she has already managed to put a stain on it somewhere). Hmmm, here it is, the power of beauty, if I put all these clothes on, I would look like a hobo, but on her flexible, athletic body everything looked stylish, like on a model in hipster clothes. The only difference is that she is not pretending to be a cool hipster, but she’s just being herself.
“What if I removed the mirror or broke it?” I seem to be trying to distract her.
“Seven years of misfortune for you,” the girl says in all seriousness, “but I would find a portal nearby. Mirrors are excellent guides, but not the only ones of a kind.”
The witch takes me by the hips, but I don't know what to do and freeze. I understand that she’s feeling my fear, “What are you afraid of?”
“I fear that you’ll kill me,” I answer honestly, blushing.
The girl leans her body close to me, so close that I feel her nipples on my breasts, and whispers right to my ear causing goosebumps all over my body, “And you are absolutely right to be afraid of it…”
Comments (1)
See all