Panic. It is what pushes me beneath the surface of the water. All sounds abruptly disappear. I am in a vacuum. I can only hear my heart thumping. Its sound echoes in my head, pulses in my temples, constricts my throat. I don’t remember how I end up on the ground. I’m just sitting on the damp grass, feeling the pressure rising. Everything before my eyes swirls, the cars in the clearing become like smeared spots, so I close my eyes. Only the phone exists in this reality. Heavy, cold, like a stone in my hand.
I force myself to look at the messages again. I scroll to the beginning and, puzzled by the very existence of these texts, I read:
“Hi, Vlad. I miss you terribly. What I did was a mistake. I thought it was the right decision, but after so many days apart, I see I was wrong. I want to talk. Make up. I am fine with any existence, as long as you are by my side. Shall we meet at home in an hour?
Yours, Yuliana.”
“You asked, I’m waiting for you.” — a message after twenty minutes.
“Yes, but blindfold yourself and wait for me in the workshop,” — someone replied immediately.
I can’t breathe. The oxygen is simply running out in my lungs, and the air around is unbearably poisonous and burning.
I didn’t write this. I didn’t write it, I know for sure. I didn’t drink that much to forget how my fingers typed the text. After Katrin brought me inside, I didn’t go out at all. I either quarreled with Milana or played a game… It's strange that my classmate just disappeared.
— Yuliana? — a voice calls from somewhere behind.
I slowly turn around. It feels like everything around exists only in my imagination and is utterly unreal. Milana stands in the doorway. Seeing my expression, she immediately sits down beside me, on the grass, and anxiously asks:
— What happened? You look so pale…
Silently, I place the phone in her hands and hoarsely utter:
— Read.
Milana quickly glances at the screen and says:
— If you’re hinting that I wrote this because I asked you about your phone, you’re mistaken. I called you after the argument, wanting you to come out to me and we could talk alone. I calmed down after being nervous, so… — she shrugs. — I realized I was rude. But you didn’t answer, so I had to go back inside and immerse myself in the game.
I scrutinize her blue eyes. She’s not lying; she isn’t lying.
— Who then? — I ask quietly.
— Katrin? — she guesses. — Do they know each other? Maybe she wanted to reconcile you two?
I cover my face with my hands and whisper:
— Where is she then? The phone was here, outside, and she’s not…
— Yuliana, listen, I really don’t know. Do you want to go to your place? Yes, — Vlad’s sister suddenly stands up, — let’s go! You’ll see that there’s no one there, or Vlad is there, and everything will be settled. What do you say?
I look up at her. I don’t want to go anywhere. The anxious premonition squeezes my heart with sharp pain. Subconsciously, I know… God, I know where Katrin is.
— She likes him, — I state resignedly. — She’s infatuated with Vlad. When she stayed with us, she sneaked into the workshop even though she had no right to. She said she was in awe of the Saint, — I add quietly, — she was even at his exhibit.
— Get up! — Milana says roughly and firmly, but even that doesn’t help. It feels like I’ve turned into a puddle and can’t gather myself together.
— Why?…
— We’re going! Come on!
— We were drinking.
— Everyone here was drinking! Right now! Everything will be fine! Wait. — The girl calls someone. I hear her saying that she urgently needs a driver because it’s a matter of life and death. Then she barks and says her brother must be polite. A few seconds later, she has to explain that this is for her sister-in-law, who just happens to be related to him, from which I conclude that on the other end of the line is Dobry. — Finally! — she exclaims and hangs up. She sits down beside me. — A driver will come soon, he’ll take us. In the meantime, I’ll call Vlad.
— No need, — I say.
— Yes, we need to. — She decisively cuts me off, finds the Saint’s number in her contacts, and presses call.
Rings after rings. Long, anxious, even eerie. It gets even worse. Vlad doesn’t answer, and I imagine everything except something normal.
— Milana, hang up, — I plead.
— His sister is calling him, — she insists, — he must answer.
But Vlad doesn’t answer, not on the first call or the fifth. Instead, a driver from “AMB” arrives. Without saying anything to our guests, we get into the car and give the address of where to take us. Suddenly, my phone rings. It’s Timur.
— Yes.
— What happened? Why do you need a driver? You were supposed to have a party!
— I… — I look at Milana, but she shakes her head. — I urgently need to go to Vlad’s apartment. I forgot… something.
— Is everything okay? — Dobry doesn’t even hide the worry in his voice.
— Yes, everything is fine.
— Yuliana, are you sure? We started this acquaintance with a desire for revenge, but I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re part of the family anyway.
I let out a heavy sigh. Tears well up in my eyes. Before I can even respond, Milana grabs the phone from me:
— Of course, she’s part of the family, she’s our sister-in-law, Timur!
I don’t hear what he replies, but a moment later, the girl is completely calm. She hangs up and hands the smartphone back to me.
— What did he say? — I ask sluggishly.
— That he wasn’t going to argue with me. It’s good that we have such a “Dobry,” — she snorts. — And great that it’s not for everyone.
After a while, the car stops in front of Vlad’s house. The driver asks if he should wait for us. Milana replies that if we don’t come back in half an hour, he can leave.
As if nature is mocking us, we barely reach the front door when a terrible downpour starts. It takes just a few seconds to get almost completely soaked. Milana curses, and I follow her silently. Inside, everything twists because I subconsciously understand what might be happening in Vlad’s apartment. I know Katrin, but I don’t know how the Saint will react to her presence in place of me. Of course, if it really was her who wrote…
Before the door, my body begins to tremble. Fear makes me helpless. Milana sees it, so she takes my hand. She is the one who unlocks the door; she steps into the dark corridor first. For a moment we pause — everything is quiet. Then the girl whispers:
— Let’s go, just don’t turn on the light.
Step by step, and now before us is the workshop door, slightly ajar, a strip of dim light visible beneath it. And then I hear Katrin’s voice, sweet, filled with desire and passion:
— You’ve always been my idol. Because of you, I went to art school. You inspired me. Come on, touch me.