The authorities are gone for a long time, so I decide to clean up the remnants of my classmates' night out. It takes me a while, but I find the pantry where everything I need is located and return the room to its original state. Then I go to the workshop. I no longer want to sleep, so I decide to paint a little. I find a blank canvas, take my paints, and set up the easel in front of the window. At first, I don't know what to paint. The pencil for the sketch hovers in the air, and then my hands begin to live their own life. It is not me who is painting — it is my heart. Each stroke is clear, confident, sharp, and somewhere smooth, and in an hour, a sketch of a couple emerges before me, suspiciously resembling me and Vlad. The girl in the painting has the same tense shoulders and a slightly bewildered gaze, searching for at least a drop of hope in a sea of despair and fear. She is standing facing forward, as if looking directly into my eyes. Behind her is him — the Saint. Squinted eyes, a curve of the lips, every feature of his face — all his. The man holds her by the shoulders — the girl is a copy, squeezing her slightly with his fingers, demonstrating to the world that she is under his protection. With him — she is safe. And it doesn't matter that it seems as though she is covering him with her own body, for if he takes a step, their positions will change.
I smile, examining the sketch. I continue more enthusiastically. I like that the sketch is coming out more alive in the end. It feels as if the girl and the man in the painting will come to life any moment and step out into the world...
Perhaps the fatigue from the sleepless night takes its toll, as I only have enough strength left for the sketch; I don't have enough to continue with the paints. So, I put the canvas against the wall and return to my own bedroom. I fall asleep quickly, despite the desire to wait for Vlad and find out the details of his conversation with Dicky. I imagine what is happening there. He is probably trying to tear everything around apart. However, I am sure that the brothers will put him in his place. After all, he is no longer in charge at “AMB,” and blackmailing us with his mother or my little brother won't work; they are safe.
***
I wake up when it is still dark outside. My head no longer hurts, and I generally feel much better than in the morning. I slowly get out of bed and leave the bedroom for the living room. I expect that Vlad is already home. So much time has passed; he should have definitely arrived. However, the apartment is quiet. I wander through the rooms and do not find the Saint anywhere at all. For some time, I feel deceived. He promised to come and tell me everything, but he hasn't appeared at home. Then I remember that he mentioned staying overnight... He did say that he doesn't come here often. Yes, that was earlier. And yes, I have not forgotten that between us everything is not real, but he left such a warm kiss as a farewell; did he really not want to return?
Time passes slowly. It stretches thickly and languorously. I have time to think again about everything that has happened since the moment we first met at the sunset when he and Timur began to bring their plan to life. It seems that it would have been better if none of this had happened; then there wouldn't be this uncertainty, fears about the future, danger, but I immediately realize that this is foolishness. This is how the brain and heart try to protect themselves from pain because they are waiting for the Saint, hoping that in the end, he will change his attitude and thoughts... He won't leave. He won't go. He won't crush.
When the clock strikes two, I decide to call Timur. He was also at the shareholders' meeting, so he must know where his brother is. My hands are trembling as I decisively dial the number for the Good and listen to the ringing for a few minutes. No answer. I call Vlad, but the same silence answers me.
Another hour drips by. I get nervous, though I don't even understand why. Perhaps it is a self-assurance that something has happened, but I cannot calm down. I go to the workshop, and as soon as I look at the paints, I realize — nothing will come of it. My mood isn't right. I step into the kitchen, but I feel uneasy there too. So, in the end, I remain in the living room on the couch. I deliberately avoid going to Vlad's bedroom. He never let me into his own space, and I can’t allow myself to enter where his personal things are again. The workshop and the paintings are enough.
Outside the window, the wind rises. Despite the fact that everything is shut, I can still hear its noise, and lulled by nature’s lullaby, I fall asleep. However, I wake up to a noise. Something falls loudly to the floor and shatters with a crack. Startled, I almost jump on the couch. Nothing is visible; the light is off. But I can hear quiet cursing in a low voice.
I spring up. I go towards the noise and quietly call out:
— Vlad?
At first, no one answers. I'm scared that I forgot to lock the door since Vlad never locked them here at all, but then I hear:
— Go back to your room, Yuliana, — the steady voice of the Saint. Even too steady...
— The light... — I start, but I don't manage to finish.
— To your bedroom, Yuliana! Now! — he sharply commands.
At first, I want to run away upon hearing the notes of anger in the normally calm Vlad's voice. But then I decide that I must be able to step over this obedience. I am no longer the Yuliana who was controlled by Dicky. No longer clumsy. No longer weak and characterless.
— No.
In response, laughter rings out.
— You dug this hole yourself, — he mutters.
I finally turn on the light. What I see is shocking. Vlad... drunk? His shirt is unbuttoned, and I'm not sure if he lost his jacket somewhere. Leaning against the wall with his shoulder, hands in his pockets, head bowed, but looking at me from under half-closed eyes. The blue color is so deep, dark, sharp. It seems if you get closer, his gaze will wound you.
— Did you drink? — I ask surprisingly calmly.
He snorts:
— I did.
— Why? — my voice is oddly hoarse.
— Why? — he raises an eyebrow sarcastically and smirks. — Yes, there were reasons.
— Won’t you tell me?
— I won't.
I sigh. I want to yell at him for this, but I remain silent. I just watch.
— Is that why you didn't answer?
I take a step forward.
— I don’t know where the phone is. “Paradise” is quite a place. Why does it draw you so much?
— Were you at “Paradise”? — I ask in shock.
— I was.
— Why? — I ignore the “you” part. There's something more important.
— Sometimes it seems to me that I'm like you, — he responds, just not to my question.
— Nineteen?
— You guessed.
— What were you doing at “Paradise”? — I repeat and step even closer.
Finally, he looks directly at me. But that gaze makes me want to flee. To hide. To disappear. I don’t know where to escape from him.
— I was watching you.
— Watching me? — I ask, surprised.
— I had to know what you were doing.
I instantly turn red. What was I doing there… I was kissing Anton. God… Why did he go there? He was supposed to be sorting things out with the shareholders and Dicky. What did he forget in that bar?
— Did you find out? — my voice drops.
— And do you want to share, Yuliana? — he asks sternly in a deep voice.
He detaches from the wall and steps towards me. I'm short of breath. I'm not afraid of him; I just... something like this has never happened between us before. I'm not sure how to react properly.
— No.
— Are you sure?
— Sure.
— I would have listened, — he presses on and stops a step away. — I would have found out why my wife is kissing a pimpled student!
— He doesn't have pimples, — is all I can reply.
My body starts to tremble. I'm gasping for breath. Fear, that same faithful companion which has been bothering me a little less since Vlad's appearance in my life, has come back again.
— And still… — he says. And I... am at a loss.
— It was an accident, — my voice breaks.
Something in his blue changes. I can’t tell if he's angry or actually furious. Is that kiss so important? Does it change anything? For him, it shouldn't matter! Vlad said he'd need to attend events with him, but nothing like that ever happens. He said to live! To enjoy freedom. I know it’s no excuse, but… there aren’t any others, considering that I’m punishing myself for that kiss as well.
— Or was it for other reasons?