I left, leaving the guy alone in the apartment. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might burst out of my chest, and it tightens with anxiety, but I know there's no other choice. Every step from the door to the taxi feels like a struggle, as if my legs have turned to lead. I get in, and the car speeds off, taking me to the place Ivan has designated.
There's no turning back now. All that's left is to move forward. And I'm ready to face him head-on. I need to solve this problem urgently, before it escalates into something bigger and it becomes too late. My fingers drum nervously on the window, and my thoughts are a tangled mess.
The place we arrive at is dark and dangerous. One of the most notorious neighborhoods in our city, like something ripped straight out of a crime film. Narrow streets, peeling walls, graffiti screaming of despair. The air is thick, saturated with the smell of dampness and something rancid. I know this area—I've been here a couple of times, but it has never evoked anything in me except disgust and anxiety.
Getting out of the car, I head toward a specific building, my legs carrying me forward almost on their own, even though every cell in my body screams for me to turn around and leave. But I can't. Not now. Not when he's at stake.
Approaching apartment number forty-four, I stop. The number itself gives me a bad feeling. In some cultures, the number four symbolizes death. And here, as if on purpose, there are two of them. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the trembling in my hands, and knock on the door. Each knock of my knuckles against the wood echoes in my temples, as if warning me of danger.
A young guy opens the door. His face is unfamiliar, but his eyes hold a mix of wariness and curiosity. He silently looks me up and down, as if assessing whether I can be trusted. His gaze slides over my hands, as if searching for a weapon, then settles on my face.
"Ivan's waiting," he finally says, stepping aside to let me in. "Come in, beautiful."
I step inside, feeling the cold air of the apartment wrap around me. My heart continues to race, but I know there's no turning back now. All that's left is to move forward.
The apartment is dimly lit, with only a faint lamp illuminating the room. Posters hang on the walls, their colors long faded, and empty bottles and cigarette butts litter the floor. The air is thick, saturated with the smell of tobacco and something else I can't quite place. Ivan sits in the corner of the room, on a couch, leaning back with a hand-rolled cigarette smoldering in his hand, clearly filled with something illegal. His face is shadowed, but I can feel his gaze on me. He's calm, too calm, and that scares me even more. His buddies, as cocky and self-assured as he is, sit around like a pack of hyenas ready to pounce on their prey.
"You came. So, you're not afraid to come here alone? Where's your little puppy?" Ivan smirks, and his buddies start laughing as if it's the funniest joke in the world. Their laughter is rough, unpleasant, as if they're reveling in my humiliation. I feel anger rising inside me, a hot wave surging up my throat, but I hold myself back, clenching my teeth.
"Hello to you too. I come to talk. He doesn't know I'm here."
"Ooh! Won't you get in trouble for sneaking around behind his back?" Ivan continues to mock, his eyes gleaming with pleasure, as if he's savoring my discomfort.
"This is just between you and me. Don't drag him into this."
Ivan slowly rises from the couch, his movements smooth, like a predator who knows its prey is already trapped. He steps closer, and I catch the smell of tobacco and something else, sharp and unpleasant, as if he carries an aura of danger with him.
"Between you and me?" He takes another step forward, his eyes cold, with something dangerous lurking in them, something that makes me shiver. "Sorry, but last Friday, it became his business too. See? Still hurts," Ivan points to the bruise under his eye.
Yes, my boy really did a number on him. The bruise is vivid, purple and yellow, like a reminder of that night when everything went wrong.
"I apologize on his behalf. He won't do it again," I try to smooth things over, though I feel my words sound hollow and useless.
"You can shove your apologies on his behalf up your ass, got it? I don't need them. I want payback!" His voice grows louder, sharper, and there's a rage in it that makes me shrink inside.
"Maybe we can come to an agreement?"
"And what exactly can you offer me in return?" Ivan smiles, but it's more like a predator's grin. His eyes gleam, as if he already anticipates what I'll say and is savoring my helplessness.
"Myself," I exhale, feeling the word burn my lips and my insides tighten with fear and despair. My voice trembles, but I try to hold it together, even though my legs are already giving way.
"In what sense?" He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but still skeptical. His gaze slides over me.
"I'll fulfill your wish. You wanted me to sleep with you, didn't you? I'll do it."
"Well, would you look at this little girl, ready to spread her legs for some guy," says the guy standing next to Ivan. His words are crude, mocking, and they make me feel even more vulnerable, as if I'm standing there naked, defenseless.
"Yeah, maybe you'll even give him a blowjob right now, since you're so eager?" suggests the second guy, his voice dripping with filth and mockery, as if he's enjoying the humiliation.
I stand there, feeling the ground slip from under my feet and my insides clench with fear and disgust. But I know there's no way back. I try not to even look at them. Let them hurl dirt at me, laugh, mock, say whatever they want. I don't care. The only thing that matters is that Ivan agrees, does what I propose, and leaves. I don't care if he spreads it all over town afterward, if everyone knows what I've done for Max. It's because of me that my Botanik crossed paths with him, because of me that he got into a fight, and now I have to fix it. Even if it means enduring their mockery, their filthy words, their gazes that feel like they're stripping me bare. Even if it means sharing a bed with him.
Ivan begins to slowly circle me, like a predator sizing up its prey. His eyes slide over me, appraising, as if I'm an object to be bought or sold. He pretends to think, shaking his head from side to side, but I know there's nothing to think about. All he wants is power, control, the feeling that he can do whatever he wants with me.
I stand there, fists clenched, feeling my nails dig into my palms. Inside, I'm boiling with anger, disgust, fear, but I can't let it show. I wait. Wait for his answer, knowing it will be vile, humiliating, but I have no choice.
He stops right in front of me, his face so close that I can feel his breath, thick with the smell of alcohol and something else, sharp and unpleasant. His eyes, cold and calculating, look at me with an expression that says he already knows I'll agree to anything.