Wild and Violent. You Had Too Much Freedom

The woman ended up in the same fitting room with me; we shouldn’t have been cramped, but for some reason I felt short of breath, and my back instantly broke out in sweat.

“Oh,” she smiled, nodding meaningfully. “Gorgeous.”

Only now did I realize she was holding three hangers of shirts – black, dark blue, and light blue. All three were from the very brand whose boutique I’d refused to go to before.

Anticipating all my objections, she shook her head, hanging the clothes on the free wall hooks.

“No refusal. I want you in a shirt,” she said and disappeared behind the curtain, leaving me silently blinking, staring at my reflection.

Thank God, I’m the only one so spoiled – I heard the vulgarity in her phrase.

All three fit me perfectly, I liked all of them. With the very last one, the black one, I wanted to spend a little longer fiddling around, carefully buttoning all the buttons, including the ones on the cuffs.

Whether it was from thrill or clumsiness, I just couldn’t fight the row on the sleeves, for I had to do everything perfectly.

“I’ll ask you again – can I take a look?” her voice came from behind the curtain.

Grinding my teeth in frustration, I growled, much harsher than I intended, instantly embarrassed, “Yes!”

When I raised my head, Stella, having got inside, was looking at me with wide eyes, carefully approaching to arm’s length.

“What’s wrong?” she asked delicately.

“I can’t,” I replied plaintively, looking away.

“What is it?”

But I didn’t need to answer: she was already lifting my right hand up to eye level, having deftly handled two buttons. She did the same with my other hand.

“Beautiful,” she smiled, touching the row of fittings fastened on my chest below the collarbones, and I opened my mouth in confusion.

My heart was about to jump out of my chest from her strange action, and I felt a sudden flush of heat. I met her gaze, and she was so close that my head was starting to spin.

I froze, feeling her brush my hair away from my face without touching my skin, and there had never been a more delirious moment in my life.

I suddenly thought that she would kiss me – and I was already prepared for anything – but she quickly pulled away, as if nothing had happened, smiling softly and looking me up and down.

“Did I understand correctly – are you tired already?” she asked, breaking the awkward silence.

I nodded, nervously tugging at the hem of my shirt.

“You can just go like this, it suits you very well. We’ll take whatever you like?”

I agreed again, eager to get out of this ill-fated fitting room as quickly as possible.

Then, with our bags in hand, we headed off to buy shoes.

Erik’s boots were too big for me – in his size fourteen I felt like I was wearing skis, but I didn’t complain: my old, torn sneakers were also far from suitable for my feet.

I didn’t even know my size, and I’d never bought shoes before … It’s strange that I even had the chance to go shopping. Even if I ever imagined shopping, it certainly wasn’t like this.

I was pleased – and I was afraid to admit how much … And I was also grateful. This is rare – I’m not used to such an attitude.

“Why don’t you buy something for yourself?” I asked, indifferently surveying the selection of men’s shoes at yet another boutique. “I mean, not here,” I glanced around, “but in general.”

The stranger touched my elbow, pointing to the thick-soled, high-topped boots, and I shrugged one shoulder.

“I rarely like anything,” she said in that same timbre that stirred my every cell, “but when I do – it surely isn’t going anywhere from me. Don’t worry – I just haven’t seen anything interesting yet.”

“Okay, then,” I tried to smile.

“These ones, please,” the woman turned her attention to the salesperson, who was waiting for her to finally speak, “and these ones. We have to start somewhere. What’s your size – a ten?”

I nodded hesitantly – she probably knew better.

“After we’ve chosen the shoes, we’ll take a coffee break,” she reassured me.

I rolled my eyes, but sat down on the ottoman.

Two stores later, we finally found something we both liked. Two pairs, actually. And she got the size right – I wouldn’t have guessed it myself.

Walking in my new shoes was much more pleasant, and I even started to feel better. Especially since she promised to buy me coffee.

Having dropped our things in the car, we ran to a coffee shop we picked, and both of us, without outerwear – me in the new shirt and jeans, no longer with tags, and she in a thin, loose blouse tucked into high suit pants, with a tiny bag over her shoulder – sat down at a table in a cozy corner, like a blissfully flying young couple.

How strange and unfamiliar it is to observe the world from a different perspective. This is the same New York, after all. The very one – cynical, dirty, deceitful; colorful, like an enticing wrapper of a useless, disgusting-tasting candy.

When I came out of my thoughts, I found that the waiter and Stella were staring at me expectantly.

Not immediately realizing what I needed to do – the stranger, as always, had given me a false idea of freedom – I bleated, “Latte.”

“And a cappuccino,” the woman added, giving the waiter a smile.

He understood and retreated.

I hid behind the hair that had fallen over my face again, feeling her gaze fixed on me. I had almost gotten used to her close look, but my restless nature was itching to ruin everything.

“I’m thinking,” I began slowly, “that despite the fact that you washed and dressed me, I remain the same as I was.”

She folded her palms on the table, leaning forward slightly toward me. Two rings glittered on her slender ring finger.

“What were you like?”

She always asks questions that I have no answer to – either too difficult or almost impossible!

“As if you yourself don’t know what I’m talking about,” I muttered, regretting that I had even started this pointless conversation.

I am a fool such as the world has never known.

“Don’t you see, I’m not going to forcibly change you!” Stella leaned even further over the table, trying to meet my gaze.

I snorted, biting my lips until they bled.

“Look at me,” she asked.

I stubbornly remained silent, turning away.

“Please, look at me.”

It was only because I discerned a tremor in her gentle voice that I looked up at her. She was pale – probably almost as pale as me – and very worried. I felt sick of myself.

“You know, you know perfectly well – I’ll ruin everything. It’s all for nothing – I’m not capable of anything good!” I spoke heatedly, and she got even more frightened. “You shouldn’t have started all this – I won’t be a homebody, I won’t be of any use for you!”

I nervously threw my hair back with my hand, and the stranger grabbed my wrist, which was now above the table.

“I can’t give you what you want,” I breathed out.

“You have no idea what I want,” she shook her head.

“And you don’t know what I want!”

“Because you don’t know it yourself!”

Swallowing defeat in the verbal battle again, I sat up abruptly, and she released my hand as I leaned back in my chair.

My eyes closed tiredly, and from under my lowered eyelashes I watched as the waiter placed our coffee from the tray on the table.

After Stella sipped her drink, I moved. I placed four sugar cubes in the cup and patiently stirred the sugar with my left hand, while she kept her eye on my fingers.

She probably noticed this morning that I’m left-handed.

And I noticed that her husband is left-handed.

“I hope you still have the energy to look for your jacket?” she said, as if nothing had happened.

I raised an eyebrow – I thought she’d get angry and send me back where she took me from. So, I’m unconsciously pushing her to do this!

“Of course,” I lied. “And you?”

When will I ever figure out how to address her …? When will I ever figure out anything at all?

12. Good Ear

Whether I was stalling, or whether we were both picky about my outerwear choices, we returned home late. The cuffs occasionally jingled behind us, forgotten on the ceiling handle, but they no longer bothered me – it was even funny how our relationship had changed in these twenty-four hours.

Or it hadn’t …?

I tried to remember all the shopping we’d made today, seemingly necessary but overwhelming: three T-shirts, two pairs of jeans, two hoodies, three shirts; two pairs of shoes, a jacket, a belt, gloves, not to mention underwear and socks.

Maybe I was a doll being dressed up and put in a dollhouse, but right now I didn’t mind at all.

I’d sold myself out. Yes, I’d sold myself out, and I didn’t regret it one bit.

On the way back, we grabbed some food from the restaurant. I wasn’t sure I’d be hungry by the time we got back to the apartment, but the idea of a cozy dinner was inspiring.

Then the stranger showed me the library in Erik’s study, and I spent about half an hour reading Jack London stories, my feet up in a chair in the warm light of a lamp, while the stranger was doing something at the computer open on her lap.

A flood of pleasant memories came over me: I rarely thought back to the orphanage in Vienna for a good reason, but the meager library, where I often spent time reading everything in sight out of boredom – from old textbooks to stupid popular novels – was one of them.

Perhaps I ran away from the orphanage because there was nothing else to read …?

The woman in the next chair yawned without taking her eyes off the screen, and I glanced at her through the pages of the book.

“What time is it?” I asked, clearly able to make out the face of the antique clock above the study entrance.

“Half past nine,” she replied.

“Does he … Erik … always come home this late?”

Stella placed her laptop on the table and stretched, raising her slender, clasped hands. The silky fabric of her blouse accentuated her seductive silhouette, and I couldn’t help but admire her, even though there was nothing erotic in my thoughts.

Or was there …?

I got frightened by my own suspicions, and with an effort of will, I switched my attention from the stranger to the book.

“It’s not that late,” she answered my question with a smile. “But he doesn’t always leave for the whole day … From time to time.”

I nodded, satisfied with the information. He simply works late and irregularly – there’s nothing strange about that; not all representatives of the human race work from nine to six.

“Do you go to work?”

I looked at her again, and the woman had no longer touched the computer, even the lid was closed.

“No.”

“So you’re home all day?”

Well, I have to know what awaits me if I intend to spend this week here!

“Not all day,” she tilted her head slightly to the side, catching my gaze, “I usually can’t sit still. If you want, I’ll take you with me, or you can take a break from me.”

She spread her hands with a smile, but I remained serious. I guess I was just tired.

As if hearing my thoughts, she said, “You seem even more thoughtful than you were during the day. Do you want to sleep?”

I shrugged, setting the book down on the table and straightening my legs.

“Perhaps. I haven’t figured it out yet,” I sighed. “But you’re right, I should be sleeping.”

“You can take the book and read it in bed.”

So I did, taking Jack London and his characters with me, and she, approving of my choice, wished me goodnight.

Already lying in bed under the blanket in just my underwear, immersed in a bookish world where the working man Martin had fallen in love with a bon ton girl, transforming himself for a higher purpose, I listened from time to time to what was happening in the home. Judging by the sounds, Stella had taken a bath shortly after I left, and then she’d walked up and down the stairs several times, stepping carefully – probably so as not to wake me. Only after midnight, when the stranger had gone to the bedroom, did the front door open, letting in the head of the family.

I had long since become accustomed to my exceptionally good ear, and more often than not it had saved me in a variety of situations, but now I cursed the ability to hear through walls.

Because, upon returning home, Erik headed to his wife. And instead of, for fuck’s sake, going to bed, he decided to fulfil his marital duties!

I didn’t immediately understand what was going on: at first they were quietly purring pleasant nonsense to each other, happy to see each other, but then the ambiguous fuss soon turned into quite unambiguous groans of impatience.

Of course I’ve seen people having sex; of course I’ve heard people having sex! But it has never happened this way … this wildly and terrifyingly for me.

I covered my head with the blanket, but still couldn’t get rid of these unbearable images that popped into my thoughts, recreated on the basis of the sounds I heard.

I covered my ears with my hands, I bit my fingers to switch my attention to the pain, but it was all in vain; I literally saw him caressing her, how he hovered over her, moving inside her, and how she scratched his shoulders, arching her back …

The way sweat glistened on her bare breasts, collarbones, and neck. The way she whispered his name with just her lips.

I realized with horror that I was aroused myself.

And moreover – that I wished I were in his place.

I hated myself for it, trying to find another explanation, while the torture continued excruciatingly long … Come on, seriously, stop!

Enough! Please, enough!

But they seemed to be mocking me, not wanting to stop what they were doing – the man was no longer holding back his demanding gasps and groans between kisses, while Stella remained almost silent, and I could only hear her rapid breathing and trying to take air into her lungs.

It was only when they moaned in unison, exhaling, and he, echoing her, came to his senses in her arms, that I whimpered louder than I intended.

I kept shivering, and through the silent sobs that rolled over me, I realized they had heard me.

Or they hadn’t …?

He had. She hadn’t.

13. Hilarious

Three days passed in their home: I couldn’t even believe that now in the mornings I’m cooked breakfast, during the day – mostly in the company of the stranger – I’m taken for walks and entertained, and I spend the evenings with the book in the warm and cozy bed.

They no longer had sex around me.

And I also tried to avoid Erik, even though I had no objective reason to. He reacted to me adequately, if not to say friendly, although he did not intentionally try to become friends with me, keeping his distance, besides, I recognized Stella’s husband as a very interesting and witty interlocutor.

But there was something frightening about his appearance – either he moved like a predatory beast, or I knew that, if something happened, I wouldn’t be able to cope with him …

For the umpteenth time, I caught myself feeling jealous of her. Possessive, as if she shouldn’t spend time with anyone but me.

I knew my feelings were foolish and naive, and I was ashamed of them.

I no longer refused invitations to go for a walk in Battery Park or have dessert – simply because it was great to mess around in her company.

She gave me personal space, and at some point I could say I wanted to be alone – and the stranger would just nod and leave me to my thoughts – or silence.

This morning, she brought me a box with the phone and keys. I didn’t immediately find what to say – and simply thanked her.

I wasn’t sure I’d dare leave the home on my own, and the communication tool with my current attachment was unnecessary, but something told me she had, first and foremost, deprived herself of the temptation to chain me up.

She enjoyed taking care of me – I got it almost immediately, even if I didn’t believe it – and I made my decision. I would let her do it until one of us decided to quit the game.

Moreover, the dialogue overheard between the hosts gave rise to some reflections.

Returning from the kitchen, chewing on the move the candy from the glass bowl on the bar, I stopped at the entrance to the living room, not daring to give away my presence.

“… I never realized until now,” the stranger’s husband said quietly, “what all this means to you. We’ve been together for so many years, and it’s just … so natural—”

He chuckled, maybe smiling, and the woman stirred on the sofa, apparently staring at him questioningly.

“You remember – by the way, it wasn’t that long ago: Leigh joked that it was time for us to have kids … Well, you won’t believe it … but I agree with him.”

“What …?” Stella breathed out.

“We’ve never discussed it – and you know perfectly well why …” He hesitantly broke off his sentences, catching his breath, in an uncharacteristic manner. “But … if we suddenly had a child, I’d say I’m ready for it.”

There was an ambiguous silence, which I would have interpreted as shock on the stranger’s part.

“Are you serious?” she finally managed to say.

Her voice sounded more baffled than joyful.

“I wouldn’t joke … like that. I’ve always avoided the subject … But after your … Victor showed up,” he deliberately emphasized my name in the middle of his sentence, “it was like someone punched me in the nose, and it dawned on me.”

She was silent again, and I, standing behind the wall, was afraid to move, lest, as usually happens at such moments, a single creaking floorboard should confuse those speaking.

“I realized you’d wanted a child for a long time, and I was a blind egotist, thinking only of myself. And also – since things have turned out this way: if this boy were our son, I wouldn’t mind. Of course, if only we could persuade him to behave more calmly and fatten him up a bit … But otherwise, he’s hilarious.”

I was dumbfounded, and I guessed Stella was too.

Hilarious …?

Does it matter that I’m already fourteen and unlikely to change? Or is this not about me, but about some abstract child whose place I mistakenly took? After all, really, all she needed was an object to direct her love and care toward!

Erik is away from home all day – and he doesn’t really talk about where he goes or for how long; some things – Stella often picked up calls these days – don’t occupy her thoughts or time completely … Naturally, she’ll want to give a part of herself to someone.

That someone turned out to be me. Did I deserve such a gift …?

“Everything happens at the right time. Your confession took me completely by surprise,” the stranger said, judging by the sound, resting her head on her husband’s shoulder. “I don’t even know what to do with this information. And as for Victor …” She smiled, and I felt a strange flush of fluster rise to my cheeks. “When you get to know him better, you’ll agree with me – he’s adorable.”

She said it sincerely.

I suddenly thought that if they had adopted me, I wouldn’t have run away.

“I believe you,” Erik replied with a sigh. “But I admit, I’m a little jealous of him.”

It was said with a smirk, meant to hide his true feelings, but if he really sees me as a rival, then he clearly has some self-esteem issues. A hunted minor weakling couldn’t possibly come between him and Stella, could he?

My fantasies are out of place here – the gap between us is too great, I can only drag someone to the bottom, but not make them happy.

Soon I had to enter, as if nothing had happened, the living room, where Stella and Erik were sitting close to each other on the irregularly shaped sofa, still leaning back on the pillows.

I twirled the candy wrappers in my hands, they looked at me with serious faces, but smiling eyes, and I even felt a little uneasy.

When I walked further and sat down on the edge of the sofa on the stranger’s side, she, continuing to prop up her husband’s side with her sharp shoulder, said, “I’m inviting you both to dinner this evening. Don’t you dare to refuse.”

Erik gave a stifled laugh, and I just stared at her in confusion from under my hair that had fallen over my face.

“Where do I fit in? I have the whole day free,” I shrugged. “Where are we going?”

This is probably not the way to ask … But curiosity got the better of etiquette.

“The steakhouse near Central Park. I’ve been there with Kaftz a couple of times, and we liked it.”

Kaftz, aka Kaftzefoni, was some mate of hers – or business partner, perhaps – who was constantly calling with questions, as if nothing could be resolved without her involvement. Erik, as far as I could tell, knew him and wasn’t at all jealous, even though I’d personally detected a clear, undisguised interest from this phone guy in the occasional informal conversations I’d overheard … Perhaps I’m paranoid and see a catch everywhere, but if I were him, I wouldn’t appreciate the increased attention paid to my own wife!

“Okay,” Erik said curtly, curling his fingers over the fabric of her blouse on her forearm, his amber eyes casting a glance at me.

“Table at seven. I’ll be back a little after six, and then we’ll go right away.”

“Are you going somewhere?” I asked, completely idiotic.

All I needed to know was that.

“Yes, it’s about the bar … I’ll tell you all about it over dinner,” she smiled softly at me, and my heart began to beat unevenly somewhere in my throat.

“I got it,” I concluded.

I’m either left home alone or with Erik. Well, the day has come when my stranger goes about her business – I really shouldn’t impose myself on her, should I?

After some time, she did indeed leave, and I, already confidently finding my way around their apartment, wandered aimlessly from the kitchen – with sweets and tea – to the room upstairs and returned to the living room, making sure that the yellow-eyed man was concentrating on something in the study.

My attention was drawn to the complex blueprints spread across the wide oak table, the pile of papers with notes, and the house of cards built in the corner, but I didn’t bother asking questions; I felt like if I walked right up to Erik and shouted something in his ear, he wouldn’t even notice.

Then I circled around the grand piano, carefully opening and closing the lid of the black and white keys, not daring to sit down on the stool with curved legs, but still, my restless nature took over: I poked my finger at one of the keys on the right side of the keyboard, and the sound, clear and high, spread throughout the room, resonating against the walls and windows.

“Stella said you wanted to learn to play,” the voice said behind me, and I cautiously pulled my hand back.

I turned around.

“That’s what she said …?”

Actually, that’s not exactly what I meant, but she must have interpreted my interest in the instrument in her own way. She was right, though – intention was precisely what was behind the intrigued glances I cast at the grand piano.

“If you want, I can show you something,” Erik said calmly, looking down at me, crossing his arms over his chest.

Should I agree or refuse? A stubborn, proud voice inside me kept telling me there was a catch, but I pushed it deep down, giving in to childish curiosity.

“Go ahead,” I nodded.

And he actually began to explain it to me.

At first I was puffing and frowning, and we both carefully, adjusting to each other, figured out what to start from.

He wrote notes on a lined sheet of paper, explaining what a musical staff, treble and bass clefs, rhythms, measures, durations were, and on the one hand, my head was starting to swell from the abundance of new knowledge, but on the other hand, I noticed with satisfaction how he was changing his opinion about me.

I caught on quickly – but at the very beginning he doubted that I could read.

“I, of course, have no idea how to teach music, but the main thing, as I believe,” the man said in a mentoring tone, “is to see the correspondence between sounds and that soulless ‘math’”, that’s how he dubbed the formalized method of notation, the musical language, “which defines the coordinate system.”

I understood what he meant, but it seemed we wouldn’t get to real music anytime soon. My spatial awareness, which had come in handy for playing guitar, strained a bit, but it managed to line up the semitones, recreated by the black-and-white keyboard, arranged in a row.