Sitting in the room and listening to every step and every sound around me, I was gradually coming to terms with it..
I simply resigned myself to the fact that I was stuck. And there was no strength left anymore. Whatever happens, happens.
Once, long ago, I thought that I had already forgotten how to feel.
But it turned out that fear is not one of those feelings that are easy to get rid of.
Enjoyment of life, happiness, even a simple interest in it disappeared far more easily than this nightmare, which, as it turned out, had never gone anywhere.
I could not say exactly what would happen next.
The plan was simple and without excess: to find a quiet place. Alaska. Some kind of job. Minimal contact. To live quietly. and without unnecessary expectations. Perhaps it would become quieter there. Perhaps, with time, I would want to feel something again. Or perhaps not.
Even then, standing alone and having reached the edge, I did not take the step.
I could not. I was afraid.
Not because of hope. Rather because of the habit of continuing to live, even when no meaning is visible.
Several days passed.
I decided that it was worth calling Derek.
This time I did not go far from the motel.
I found inexpensive plane tickets and looked over housing for the first while. Without excess — just a place where I could wait things out and not draw attention.
Then I used the work phone and dialed Derek.
"Hi, this is Mirey," I said right away, so that he would not be wary of an unknown number.
"Hi," his calm voice sounded almost reassuring.
"Were you able to do what I asked?"
"Yes. I gathered everything. I didn't see anyone else. And yes, your sister has already arrived. She isn't very talkative, so she's sleeping on the couch," he reported without unnecessary comments.
"Good. It will do her good," I answered evenly.
I still had not decided what to do next. The boarding school simplified many things, but there was still a year and a half ahead.
"Will she be able to stay with you over the Christmas holidays?" I asked cautiously.
"I don't think I'll have any problems. But she might," Derek remarked.
He was right. With her character, surprises were a habitual matter.
"She arrived suspiciously quiet. She asks little, talks little," he added.
Strangely enough, I put that aside for later.
"I'm at a motel right now. Will you be able to bring my things here?"
"I think there won't be a problem."
"Then this evening." I paused. "And don't forget the envelope."
"I remember," he confirmed. "How are you?"
"I was on the roof," I said.
There were too many people around to speak in more detail. Just the fact.
"It's good that you're calling me now, after all."
"Am I pathetic?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
"No," I heard his breathing in the receiver. "You're doing great."
The words struck harder than I expected. Somewhere inside, something unnecessary rose up, but I cut it off immediately.
I dictated the address and said that I would wait as soon as he was free.
On the way to the motel, I bought wine and a couple of snacks.
I thought that when he arrived, we could simply sit and drink — like before.
Who knows, perhaps for the last time.
I knew that he finished around six, and the drive here took time. Estimating when he might arrive, I lay down and almost immediately fell asleep.
A knock at the door tore me out of my doze.
At first I wrote it off as anxiety — lately it had often been feeding me extra sounds. But the knock repeated.
I went to the door and looked through the peephole.
Derek.
I opened it at once. He came in with a small bag in his hands.
"Hi," I said with relief.
Seeing him felt like something close to salvation.
"I didn't see anyone on the way. I think everything's clean," he said, closing the door.
He walked into the room and glanced around quickly. I took the bag from him. His gaze stopped on the single table where the wine and snacks were standing.
"You prepared," he noted with a faint smile.
"We can have a glass," I answered just as evenly.
The crash behind me was so violent that I did not immediately understand what had happened.
Reflexively, I turned around.
The door had been kicked in.
He was standing in the doorway.
Theron Vescari.
Behind him — security.
I closed my eyes.
Not out of despair.
But to find that very mask — cold, even — the one he deserved.
"Did I interrupt?" his cold-blooded voice hung in the air like a noose.
I instinctively stepped forward, shielding Derek with my body.
Not because I was brave. Because I did not want to drag him into this. I did not want him to become part of my story. But it seemed it was already too late.
Theron came closer, casually pushed me aside as if I were a piece of furniture, and shifted his gaze to Derek. Then to the table with the wine.
"So this is what you disappeared for," he smirked.
"Leave," I ground out.
"Answer me. You just vanished because of him?" His voice tightened without rising even a tone. This was no longer the Theron I knew. Or, on the contrary, exactly him.
"There is nothing for us to talk about. Get out," I held myself steady, almost mechanically.
I was sure of that for exactly one second.
He pulled out a gun and shot Derek in the leg.
The sound was dull. Almost quiet.
Derek collapsed to his knees in surprise, stifling a groan, immediately clutching his thigh. Blood surfaced quickly.
"Maybe now we'll talk," Theron said calmly, aiming the silenced pistol at him.
I froze.
Thoughts vanished. There was only one thing left: I could not allow Derek to suffer for me.
Theron looked at me. Then back at Derek.
"You don't look like lovers," his gaze slid, catching on details. "Who are you to each other?"
I was silent. Any word could make it worse.
"Mirey, it's all right," Derek said quietly, as if trying to keep me from making a mistake.
"Speak," Theron repeated, shifting the barrel closer to Derek's head.
I saw the blood. Too much blood.
"Send him to the hospital first. Then we'll talk," I said.
It was not an ultimatum. I was simply testing where exactly his boundary lay.
Theron looked at me for a long time.
I saw him weighing things. Not emotions — decisions. Me. Derek. The outcome.
I was not going to run. And he knew that.
As well as the fact that if he decided to, two bodies would not be a problem for him.
"Send him to Amy," he ordered, holstering the gun.
I exhaled. Quietly. So that it would not be noticeable. So, it was still possible to negotiate with Theron.
"I'll come see you," I said to Derek as a guard helped him up and led him out of the room.
I looked at the doorway, at the security.
Theron nodded. They left.
The door closed — or rather, what was left of it.
I went over to the bag and began unpacking the things. Calmly. Checking what Derek had brought. Almost everything according to the list.
"Speak," Theron repeated. His voice was different now. Working.
"What exactly interests you?" I asked dryly, continuing to look for the envelope.
"What kind of relationship do you have with that man?"
"We are close when it is lonely. That's all."
"More specifically."
I froze. For a second.
"We support each other so as not to give up."
"More specifically," he stepped closer.
"We both have suicidal tendencies," I said evenly.
"Suicide…"
He did not finish the word. Everything was visible on his face — surprise.
"How long?"
"Three or four years."
"I will take care of you," he said quietly.
I laughed. Briefly. Nervously.
"You?"
I turned toward him.
"You never chose me. Not even now. You still want to make her your wife. You did not give her up."
He was silent. That was enough.
"You knew what she was going to do. And you allowed it. You always allow her everything. So spare me your protection and just disappear from my life. The way I disappeared from yours."
I found the envelope.
"You never had feelings for me. You love her. And you used me. Even the tie — an alibi. Isn't that so?"
He looked straight at me. With that same confident gaze.
"I admit it," he finally said. "You're right. About everything. You always read me too well. Every step of mine."
He stepped closer.
"But now I want you not as lust. But as a person beside me."
"No!" I shouted. "Theron, this will never be real."
You know, I've read so many of these novels and stories. There it's always one — broken, the other — healthy. That's not us. You're a twisted collector who will always want another beautiful one: either for the collection or because she's special. And I'm broken. We both have problems. This won't work. We will simply destroy each other.
For a moment I remembered all his touches, all his embraces when we slept, and stepped aside — he was too close. Even that feeling was unhealthy. Especially after everything he had done.
"Let's just disappear from each other's lives," I said and stepped away, continuing to pack my things.
"Your life is mine, don't forget," he finally said.
That was what I had thought. What I had hoped we would never reach. But as he had said, I had always known how to read him.
I stepped up and held out the envelope to him.
"Then take it. End all of this already," I said, standing with my head held high.
He would no longer make me play by his rules.
He opened the envelope. The bullet fell into his palm. He did not take his eyes off it.
"I am not a good guy. Yes, I have problems. I admit that. You don't really think you can tell me 'leave' and I will leave, do you?" He put the bullet into his pocket. "I chose you. You don't have to believe me or listen to me at all. But you have no choice. You are mine."
I took a heavy breath, understanding that the verbal battle was not yet over.
He stepped closer and leaned down to my ear.
"I will prove it. Just watch and resign yourself," he said, almost touching me.
He was so close that I could see the fatigue on his face. I wanted to answer him about his naivety, about many other things, but I did not have time.
He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.
"Pack the things and clean everything up," he ordered, carrying me out of the room.
By the elevator I protested:
"Put me down. I'll walk myself."
He set me down only when the elevator doors closed. I stubbornly looked at him, understanding that arguing now was useless.
He suddenly hugged me. Tightly.
"I thought I was going to lose my mind," his words were barely audible, like a hidden confession.
"Don't lie," I answered into his shoulder.
"I'm serious," he said, guiding me out of the elevator by the shoulders.
"You lost your mind when you shot Derek for no reason," I reminded him of the fact he seemed to have already forgotten.
He ran a hand through his hair, and when we stepped out of the motel, we immediately got into his car.
"I'll take care of him," he finally commented on my words. "Apparently, I really have lost my mind," he added, squeezing my hand and pulling me toward him.
Theron Vescari
It was noisy in the office. Too noisy — considering that Amy and Derek were there.
I came in, and they immediately fell silent.
"How is he?" I asked, looking him over.
By outward signs — as if nothing had happened. An everyday incident, no more.
"Everything's fine. It feels like he was just grazed," she smirked, fastening the bandage and dressing.
"This, of course, looks cool and expensive, but do you even have a medical license?" Derek commented calmly.
His manner and expressions were the same as hers. As far as I remembered, Mirey did not have a brother. But he was frighteningly similar to her.
"Boss, could you hit an artery next time?" Amy said sarcastically, tightening the bandage a little more than necessary.
"Leave us," I said to her.
Without unnecessary words, she went out and closed the door.
Derek was pulling on his pants and was not embarrassed at all by my presence. He barely paid attention to me.
"Do you have feelings for Mirey?" I needed to know everything precisely.
"That depends on what kind of feelings interest you," he answered.
"Romantic."
"No." He finished with his pants and looked straight at me. The look was a challenge. "Ask a better question."
"About what?" I grew wary.
"Whether Mirey has feelings," he did not avert his gaze.
"And what is the answer?" In truth, I did not want to know it. I would change it. It did not matter what she felt now.
"Most likely, there never were any," he confirmed my fears. "You were playing. And she was too. Don't think that if she agrees or goes with the flow, it means something to her."
I knew it, but tried not to think about it.
"What kind of relationship do you have?" I decided to change the subject. I knew that if I dug deeper, I would not like the truth.
"We are like pendulums for each other," he spoke exactly the same way she did. "We burn only because each of us forces ourselves to keep burning"
"And if one goes out?"
"The other will go out too," he confirmed my fears again.
"So if you do decide to do it, she will also give up?" It was disgusting to realize it. His influence on her was too strong.
"I gave my word that I would never be the reason for her fading," his voice remained calm and even. "And what about you?"