After the bath, in which I spent at least an hour, I come out wrapped in a towel. At first, I don’t want to, because there’s nothing under it, not even underwear, but then I remember there are no options. It would be worse if Vlad brought something of his straight here.
I look around the living room in surprise. Empty: no easel, no paints, no signs that anything was here at all. But there is one distinction; on the sofa lies a stack of gray clothes. I walk closer and read the note on top: “To Yuliana.” I set it aside and take the stack, heading to the bedroom. There, I quickly get dressed. Vlad gave me a t-shirt and sweatpants. They’re big, but I’m still grateful.
Sitting on the bed, I ponder. I need to call my father again and ask him to come pick me up. Considering how Saint ended our conversation, I’m in for some scolding, which I haven’t received in a long time. Moreover, I didn’t fulfill Dad's condition. Hesitating, I reach for the phone and scroll through the short list of contacts, dialing Mom. Hope, as they say, dies last. What if Dad isn’t home?
Mom answers immediately. Her warm voice caresses my ears and my child’s heart.
— Hi, sweetheart.
— Mom, — it comes out tearfully, and I can’t manage to contain my emotions.
— What? What happened? Did someone hurt you? — she asks anxiously.
— No, no… — I wipe away the unexpected tears. — I need to come and get some things. I can’t just walk around in this red dress…
A short pause gives me time to calm down. The tears, panic-filled and full of fear, dry up. I don’t need to explain to Mom why I’m scared to go home.
— Dad is at work, — she whispers. — You can come over.
I nod. I know she will probably get scolded for not informing him. But I can’t do otherwise. Fear touches my throat with a familiar sensation.
— Okay. I’ll be there soon, — I reply just as quietly.
After the call, about ten minutes pass. Thanks to the built-in map on my phone, I find the address where Saint lives and call for a taxi. Yes, it’s embarrassing to leave such a house dressed like a homeless person, but there are no options. The red dress looks even worse.
A few minutes later, my phone notifies me of the arrival of the car. I leave the apartment, not locking it behind me. There are no keys, nor is there the man himself, so I have no choice.
Swallowing the feeling of discomfort, I head downstairs and quickly run past the guard room to get into the taxi. The driver makes no comments, only asks for the address, and skillfully merges into the flow of cars. After about forty minutes, we stop in front of our house’s fence. I pay for the ride with my card and step outside. I immediately notice that Dad's car is in the yard. A lump forms in my throat, cutting off my breath. I turn sharply, but the taxi is already gone...
I clench my fists and bite the inside of my cheek. I need to go into the yard and then the house. I must…
Determination leaves me with every step. I desperately try not to let fear win in this silent struggle as I approach the house. Pointless. Unfortunately, pointless. As soon as I find myself at the front door, something squeezes my whole body, making me shrink, freeze on the threshold.
I exhale. I inhale. Gathering more oxygen. A chill runs down my spine, even though it's summer outside. I don't hear the singing of birds or the sound of the wind. I don’t see the blue sky or the sun’s rays. Right now, there is a black fog in front of my eyes.
I don’t even get the chance to reach for the doorknob before the door unlocks. My father stands before me. Angry. His hostile gaze scans me from feet to head. Irritation flashes in his green eyes. He adjusts the collar of his shirt and looks me in the eye. Nothing interferes with him as he silently kills, despite being the same height as me. On the contrary, this leaves the impression that I’m becoming smaller, swiftly, because that’s what he wants.
— Hi, — I whisper quietly. Volodymyr Dykyi raises an eyebrow in a mocking arch. — …Dad, — I add.
— Hi? — he asks roughly. — You hung up the phone!
— I know, — I quickly mumble, justifying myself, — it was just V…Timur…
— What? — he interrupts.
— He… — I start to stammer. I can’t gather my thoughts. They’re tangled. Vlad stands before my eyes, his mystery, the scent of the forest and paint. In my nerves, I forget that I’m with Timur…
— He figured out you can't even be a woman and chased you off? — he roars angrily.
Before I can even gasp, my father already drags me into the house. Gripping my wrist, he shoves me towards the kitchen. My legs tangle from panic. I fall onto the tiled floor. I quickly get up, but slip again. The soles of yesterday's shoes aren’t meant for escape. I grab the door handle of the two-door refrigerator and get back up. I dart into the corner, hiding behind the island in the middle of the room.
— Dad… — I plead softly. I ask him not to hit me. He’s never done that before. — I’ll do everything, — I toss out desperately.
My father blocks the archway between the kitchen and the corridor. His green eyes flash with stronger anger.
— You should have done it already! — he snaps.
— But you didn’t say anything about… about this. You only… the fiancée, to live with him. Nothing about any relationship…
— I knew you were incompetent, Yuliana, but not this much, — disappointment laces his tone. As if he had hopes and I let him down. — Timur Dobryi should be singing your praises. He should want to do everything for you! What is so hard to understand? Or did you think you could do whatever you want now because you don’t live here? — he scoffs. — Let me remind you, — he begins to move towards me. He circles the island with the wooden countertop, trailing his palm on it. The house is supposed to be perfectly clean and tidy. No cleaners; Mom does everything. Because he wants it that way. — You’re still my daughter. With Timur, you’re nobody until that boy comes and asks! Your task, Yuliana, — he spits my name, — is to entice him.
I nod. I shake my head so intensely that I feel a pulse in my temples. I focus my gaze on Dad. He’s already right in front of me, close. He grips my shoulders and squeezes them. Deliberately hard.
— I understand, — I whisper.
A sneering smile curls his lips. Disgusting. He’s disgusting. Hatred and fear for this man mix into a cocktail.
— Wolfie, — Mom’s voice comes from somewhere in the corridor. — Darling, let Yuliana go, — she speaks with a trembling voice. — Timur will see the bruises, dear.
Dad weighs her words and releases his hands. He turns to Mom and snaps:
— If you intervene again, I’ll lock you up, Sofiya.
— Apologize to her, — I plead with him. I know he could cause harm. Physical harm. It’s happened before… — Daddy, I’ll do everything, just don’t be angry.
Volodymyr sighs, as if we both have exhausted him.
— Sonya, pack some things for your daughter to Timur. The ones I bought.
Mom nods intensely. Dad leaves us alone in the kitchen; we hear the front door slam, and only then do we exhale in relief. The tremor of fear remains. My hands, traitorous, betray our state.
— I’m sorry, sweetie, — Mom pleads tearfully. — He wasn’t here, — she whispers. — I thought you would make it in time.
— It’s okay, — I answer more calmly. I immediately pull myself together; I should see this wild fear in her eyes. I walk over to the woman and sink into her warm, loving embrace. — Everything is fine.
— Those things, — Mom kisses my temple, — are revealing.
— It’s nothing. I’ll take something from what’s in the closet…
The hugs become tighter. I cling closer, just like in childhood, when Dad used to scold me for everything in the literal sense of the word. And again, my spirit feels better. It’s as if Mom knows how to pull out from the depths that pain caused by Volodymyr Dykyi. I sniffle, but I don’t allow any more to come out. It’s hard for her too. Sofiya Dyka has lived this way for twenty-two years.
The suitcase packs quickly. Of course, I have to take all the things Dad bought, but under them, I hide my familiar clothes and shoes: jeans, shorts, t-shirts, sneakers, trainers, autumn boots. Mom watches this all with sorrow. Her eyes widen when I take my sketches from under the bed and shove them between the clothes.
— What is he like, this Timur? — she asks sadly.
— Good… — I’m not sure if I’m asking or stating; I don’t know myself. In the restaurant, the man seemed quite polite. It was Vlad who threw indecorous remarks; Timur was reserved. But that doesn't matter, because I live with Saint, not Dobryi. Yet, Mom doesn’t need to know this. Not because I don’t trust her. I just don’t want to endanger her.
— Sweetie, I beg you, if you can, break free, okay? Don’t think about me or your brother. You know our Timur is getting more than we do, so he’ll grow up and be able to leave too. You don’t have to worry.
— What about you? — I pause in the middle of the room, squeezing the underwear in my hands. — Will you break free? There won’t be me, then Timur, it will just be you left. Dad will unleash all his anger on you, Mom.
— Calm down, dear, — she smiles and looks at me warmly, — everything will be fine.
— No. — I cut her off. — I'm not leaving you. And neither is my brother. Where is he, by the way?
I continue to pack my things. Several times I look around the room to ensure I’ve taken everything I need.
— Yuliana, — she pleads, — it's necessary. You need to fix your life, break free from Dad's oppression, understand? You’ve got a chance; take it.
— I won’t leave you, — I stubbornly say.
— Timur is at football, — Mom sighs. — He’ll be back soon.
I nod in response to her words. I look around again and realize I’m packed. I don’t want to leave. Not because this is my home, but because I’m scared to leave Mom. And Timur. Yes, his father doesn’t touch him, but who knows what will happen next… So, I sit on the bed next to her and wrap my arms around her neck.
— Everything will be fine. I’ll get us out. Honestly. I’ll set us free. One day, Volodymyr Dykyi won’t have any influence on us.
I hope it will be so. I believe Vlad will keep his promise. Mom sighs skeptically, but still says:
— I believe you, sweetie.
— I need to go, — I say as calmly as possible.
— Take care of yourself. And call, alright?
— Definitely, — I reply confidently.
I pull out Vlad's business card, dial the number, and wait for a few short rings. Mom looks at the suitcase, tears standing in her warm eyes, and a smile is evident on her lips. She’s happy I’m leaving this house, which has become a prison for us. She’s glad I can break free, even just for a while.
Finally, Saint answers.
— Yes, Yuliana.
— Hi, — I’m not surprised he knows my number. — I’m home. You said to call…
On the other end, there’s a loud exhale.
— Not surprised, — a low voice responds. — I said for Timur to take you there and to pick you up.
— Oh, — I say in shock, — I didn’t… I didn’t understand, — I stammer, expecting that Vlad, like my father, would say that I’m incompetent.
— Don’t worry, — he replies calmly. — I’ll send Timur now.
No goodbyes, no words of “bye,” Vlad simply hangs up. Surprised, I place the phone in my bag and wonder why I didn’t catch on to “pick up-drop off” immediately. I thought Timur would come here to take me to Vlad's apartment. His behavior made me feel like I should sort this matter out myself…
— What?
— He’ll be here soon, — I say briefly and embrace Mom again.
So we wait for Timur Dobryi's arrival in my room, both of us building our plans for the future concerning just us.
Time flies quickly. Timur arrives in about half an hour, and immediately calls to say he’s by the gate. I jump to my feet, kiss Mom, and grab the suitcase. Sofiya walks me to the porch. She doesn’t go any further. Concern is evident in her eyes, but she won’t allow herself to meet Timur without Dad’s consent. If she finds out I’ve meddled in his affairs — it’ll cause a scandal. So I wave my hand to her, put a smile on my face, and walk to the car on my own. Timur’s is also black, but not matte like Vlad’s; it’s glossy and from another brand. It also looks like a sports car, but the character is different.
The man steps out of the vehicle, opens the trunk, and, after a brief greeting, tosses in the suitcase. Then he unlocks the door for me and invites me to sit down. He doesn’t comment on Saint’s clothes, just smiles. Probably more out of necessity than desire.
As soon as we drive away from the house, Timur asks:
— Have you signed the agreement with Vlad yet?
— No, — I reply instantly.
He nods and focuses entirely on the road. Secretly, I examine his unfamiliar facial features. Once again, I notice his interesting appearance. Undeniably pale skin and dark hair attract attention. But what stands out most about him is this calmness. As if the person is always in complete control of themselves. It seems he’s never raised his voice at anyone.
The man senses I’m looking. He glances over briefly and smiles. His gray-blue eyes hide secrets. They are the depths of a well. Within are confidence in his strength and power, the same confidence I noticed in the restaurant.
Curiosity about who he is almost screams at me to ask. I force myself to keep my tongue behind my teeth. It’s unlikely he’ll answer. He’ll limit himself to saying he’s not the enemy, and that’s all. Like, more insight isn’t necessary.
— Found something interesting? — he suddenly asks.
I startle at the surprise. The silence in the car has become so familiar that I’ve automatically shut off from external irritations.
— What are you talking about?
— You. — he hums shortly. — Observing.
I clear my throat. I urgently search for something to respond with, but nothing sensible comes to mind.
— Did you decide something about your studies? Maybe you have dreams… — he slowly asks.
I bite my lip. I exhale quietly, so subtly that Timur doesn’t even notice.
— Yes.
— What are they?
I shake my head. I can’t make my mouth speak. I can’t admit that I adore painting.
— What are you studying for? — he asks as if he doesn’t want to know himself.
— Marketer, — I say right away. That’s easier. The name of the specialty doesn’t force me to open up to a stranger.
— Do you like it?
— No.
— I won’t ask why you chose this field, — Timur throws out. — We have arrived.
I look in surprise at the tall glass building. Indeed. We’ve arrived. The man almost immediately exits the car and retrieves the suitcase. He waits until I get out too and only then strides into the foyer. He wisely carries the suitcase himself, perhaps to ensure I won’t run away? I step in behind him. I look at his broad back in a black jacket and suddenly catch myself thinking that I desperately wish to live differently. Not to conform to rules set by other people. But simply to be free and have what I have. To paint when I want. And what I want. And how I want. To express my emotions and vision of the world on paper…
When we exit the elevator, Timur breaks the silence between us:
— If you want something, Yuliana, then say it. The world can’t give anything to the mute.
He leaves the suitcase by the apartment door and disappears into the elevator. I watch him disappear and mentally scream about what I want. About dreams. About the wish to take my mom and brother away. To paint. To live. To not be the incompetent Yuliana who exists only for the whims of my father or that Vlad with Timur… but does anyone hear?