My best enemy

I dedicate this book to my parents: Igor and Natalia, my wonderful mother and father, and Svetlana, my dear mother-in-law.

The animal is cowardly, timid, meek,
Why are you playing hide and seek with me?
You tremble, afraid of my attacks,
For my miserable skin.
Don't tremble.
I won't beat you with a spatula.

“Before digging a hole, first sawed these damn bars,” is the first thought that comes to my mind when I open my eyes.

White ceiling. And light. Unbearably bright. Wait a minute... I open my eyes... Or one eye?.. I grab my face in horror. On the left there is a bandage. What the hell?

I'm in a hospital, it's easy to tell by the smell of medicine and bleach. What? What did It do to my face? Panic seizes me. There are a thousand questions in my head. Will my vision return? What kind of surgery did I have? Where is everyone? Where is the doctor? I want someone to explain something to me!

I'm wearing loose pajamas. I recognize her. Obviously, my grandmother had already been to the hospital and brought my things. Changed my clothes. I try to get up. Failed attempt. But lying down I see nothing but the ceiling. I close my eyes, a strange sensation of my own body, as if it were made of stone - heavy and unable to move. But this does not last long, severe pain comes. My whole body hurts. My left arm is throbbing unpleasantly. I look at her. Two rough, uneven burgundy circles flaunt just above the wrist. Cigarette burns. I remember where they are from. I remember everything. I remember whose fault I ended up in the hospital. Although I really want to forget.

There is a disgusting taste of rotten meat in my mouth... I feel around with my hand. What am I looking for? Water... I should definitely have a water bottle in my backpack. But I don't see my backpack. I feel the smooth surface of the bedside table.

I'm relaxing. I’m trying to remember the last thing that happened before the hospital - I’m lying on the cold ground, the tops of the pine trees gently sway above me. Be sick. My heart is pounding. Uranium bombs explode in the stomach - a standard reaction to alcohol. What did they pour into me? I can see two pills that It threw into the bottle before it made me drink it.

I open my eyes. And again the white ceiling.

It did it. Monster. Not a human.

“I will destroy you,” the monster’s words, spoken in a soft, hoarse voice, are repeated in my head over and over again. These were the last words I remember. And then It threw burning coals in my face.

My mouth is dry. I run my tongue over my rough lips and listen to my sensations. What did they do to me? Raped? How should it feel when you lose your virginity? According to the stories - pain in the abdomen and perineum. But I don't feel anything. I slide my hand under my pajamas and run it between my legs. No sensations. I examine my hand - no blood. I feel my chest. She whines slightly.

I'm trying to sit up. On the third try I succeed. I look around, there are three hospital beds in the room, two of which are occupied. On one of them a woman sits and reads a book. Noticing that I sat down, she gets up.

“I’ll call someone,” she says and leaves the room. And he returns in the company of a nurse. And my grandmother. And moms. And stepfather. I blush - I’m not very pleased with such a large company now. But it’s good that they didn’t think of taking all their neighbors with them.

Grandmother and mother rush to me.

Tom, Tomochka, everything is fine with you,” they chirped and stroked my head. I turn away. For some reason it disgusts me to look at their worried faces.

What? What's wrong with my eyes? - I ask and grab the bandage with my hand. The voice comes out somehow weak and hoarse.

Don't worry, the eye is fine. Minor burn. My vision wasn’t damaged,” my mother’s voice breaks. She's about to cry. Her words calm me down. I'll see. - Tell us what happened to you? We decided that someone attacked you, and... - Mom was embarrassed. - And... That he could rape you. Therefore, when they brought you, they immediately examined you, otherwise you never know... But, thank God, this did not happen. Everything is fine…

Mom bursts into tears. I turn away from her and look at my stepfather.

“Why the hell did you bring her? - I ask him with my eyes. “The last thing I need right now is to watch other people cry.”

“Sorry,” he sends me an apologetic response with his eyes and shrugs.

I sigh. It would be better if they brought grandfather instead of mother. He would entertain me with his jokes and stories. Seeing my mother's tears is unbearable...

Water, I say.

They immediately put a glass in my hand. I down it in two gulps. But the nasty taste doesn't go away. My mouth is still dry, hot and disgusting. We need to figure out what to answer them. They are all waiting for my story. Who attacked me? They've probably already informed the police. And to school. And they will all have to explain something.

“Anything but the truth,” says an inner voice. “You can’t admit that Stas did this.”

The same Stas with whom we went to first grade together. And they sat at the same desk. With whom we picked strawberries together in the forest, and on clear evenings, lying on the roof of my terrace, we discovered new Universes in the sky. This boy visited us so often that he had already become a member of the family for my relatives.

“I don’t know who attacked me,” I shake my head. - I was going to go for a walk. Left home. The weather was good, and I decided to walk through the forest...

Forest? - Mom looks at me scared. - Why were you carried into this terrible forest? There are only maniacs there! Last year a girl was killed there! - Tears are flowing down my mother’s cheeks.

I just wanted to walk along the forest a little. I reached the river. And there was an unfamiliar company by the river. There were about five of them... Just guys. And they had a fire. They came up to me and asked something. I don't remember what I answered them.

Mom bursts into sobs again.

How long can I tell you? You can't talk to strangers!

Olya,” Uncle Kostya interrupts her sharply, “let her finish.” I continue to make up a story as I go, realizing that it doesn’t stand up to criticism; I’ve always had trouble with improvisation... But I couldn’t tell them the truth.

I thought they were pretty cute at first. They asked something, I answered something. And I wanted to leave, but...

But what? I'm frantically trying to think of something. But I can’t do it, and I start sobbing. My family thinks it's because of my nerves. That it pains me to talk about it.

“They attacked,” I pronounce with difficulty, “and then they forced me to drink some kind of rubbish so that I would probably pass out...

I fall silent. This moment looks rather implausible. If anyone had told me about this, I would have thought that the girl met some boys and got drunk. And then they dragged her into the forest and...

But this moment really happened. The picture is still before my eyes. Stas throws two pills into the bottle. “Will you drink it yourself or force it?” I refused. - "No? I won't force this crap into you. I'll give you the opportunity to choose. After all, you can’t deprive a person of the right to choose?” He looked so kind. Care and attention were visible in his blue eyes. And he put out the cigarette on my hand. The smell of burning skin drowned out the pain. "Well. Choose: either drink it yourself, or get a second burn.” I refused again. And he put out the second cigarette butt on me. "Think well. Do you think I enjoy hurting you? Make the right choice. It's in your best interest. I don't think you want to remember what we're going to do to you. So just drink this. And you'll end up on a rainbow. Well, what do you choose? In his left hand was a bottle of dissolved pills, in his right was another lit cigarette. I nodded towards the bottle. "Well done. Right choice. You can’t deprive a person of the right to choose, right? And remember. You did it, not me. I suggested you take a different path."

I have difficulty coping with the memories and gesture to show that I can no longer talk about this today.

“Everything is fine, daughter,” my mother strokes my head. - They didn’t have time to do anything to you. A couple of scratches... Marks on my arm... A burn on my eye, but that's okay. What happened at the end? Did they let you go? Did you run away?

I don’t remember, I’m lying. Let them think that my memory loss is due to shock. When they leave, I will think about my story and come up with a logical ending.

We'll contact the police. These bastards will be caught,” my mother hugs me and starts rocking me like a little girl.

Police? No! Never. But I don't tell my mom anything. After. I will tell her later that I will not write a statement.

How long have I been lying here?

They brought you in the morning. “It’s evening now,” the grandmother answers.

Okay, relatives. The patient needs rest,” the nurse says dissatisfied. - You already tormented her with your questions. Let's go home. Say goodbye. And I’ll go get an IV...

IV? - I say in horror. - For what?

Do not be afraid. There are vitamins there. Glucose. Let's wash your blood of rubbish. You will feel better,” she smiles encouragingly and leaves the room.

Grandmother and mother kiss me. They say kind words. They say goodbye to me. Uncle Kostya pats me on the shoulder.

We’ll come tomorrow, don’t be bored,” says mom.

They leave the room. I breathe out a sigh of relief. It’s not that I’m really depressed by their company, but now... Now I need to think about everything carefully. And for this you need privacy.

A nurse enters. She is carrying an IV with her. This thing looks a lot like a clothes hanger. Attached to the top is a glass bottle with a clear liquid and some other plastic bag. She wipes the crook of her elbow with a wet cotton swab.

Won't it hurt me?

“Like a mosquito bite,” she says.

I watch as the needle enters the skin. A thin tube stretches from a plastic bag towards my hand. Somewhere in the middle of the tube there is a small transparent cylinder from which clear liquid flows down drop by drop. For some reason the cylinder reminds me of an hourglass.

When there’s just a little bit left here,” she points to the cylinder, “turn the wheel.”

I nod. She leaves. I lean back on the pillow. I close my eyes. I have a lot to think about.

“The pit,” I say, but only a faint whisper escapes my lips. We discovered this hole back in the spring, when we were running away from Them. She was in the forest, nearby there were piles of garbage and abandoned buildings. What was here before? Someone's house? It looked more like an abandoned warehouse or industrial area. An asphalt road led to this place, all broken and overgrown with grass. No one has come here for many years.

The hole was partially covered with earth and concrete debris. An iron grate covered it from above. The thick bars of the grate crashed into the ground.

I discovered the hole by accident when I was running through an industrial area: my shoe caught on the grate, and I flew forward, painfully hitting my nose on the ground. I went back and looked at what I tripped over. She squatted down. I touched the iron bars. Strange thoughts were spinning in my head.

Romka emerged from the bushes - another of Their victims. Seryoga and Anton must be hiding somewhere in the depths of the forest. Together we make a wonderful team. All the victims of Stas and his monstrous company united into a club. Club of the flawed and wretched.

And all together we fled from Them. During the time we spent together, we formed a fairly well-coordinated team. We learned many things: how to run away, how to become invisible, how to merge with a wall, how to turn off your brain while you are being hurt. The last point is the most difficult. Everyone dealt with it differently. Seryoga taught me to switch off from pain. When Stas knocked out his front tooth and burned the skin on his side, he said that it didn’t hurt him because he turned off his head.

How? - I asked him. When Stas hurt me, I couldn’t think about anything but pain.

Words cut sharper than a knife. This saying was invented by vanilla people who have never really experienced pain. They know what a broken heart is, but they don't even know what a broken nose is. But a broken nose is much worse. There is nothing worse than physical pain. No moral suffering can compare with physical suffering. Such pain pierces your body right through, blinding and deafening. Changes are happening to your body. The temperature can jump to forty degrees and immediately drop to thirty-five. Sweat appears all over the body. You scream, but you can’t hear yourself because you’re deaf. And because from the pain you suddenly forgot how to speak. When they burn your skin, you squirm like a worm. The iron hand of pain squeezes your lungs like a vice. You can't breathe. All your senses are suddenly cut off, you feel only burning pain. And you hear laughter. Their laughter. They feed on your pain, delight in absorbing it from you.

We need to count,” Seryoga answered. - About myself. One-two-three... It usually ends when I reach eighty. But once I reached two hundred and fifty... If the count doesn’t suit you, then you can just think about pleasant things.

About pleasant things? - I asked him again.

Yes. About pleasant things. I usually think about squirrels. Squirrels - they seem nice.

I giggled. Seryoga always managed to squeeze a smile or laughter out of me, even in cases where this was impossible. For example, that time when he told me about squirrels, I was not at all laughing. The day before, Stas tried to drown me under a stream of scalding hot water, and the burns on my face throbbed unpleasantly. I needed to adjust my brain so as not to think about pain, and I turned to Seryoga for help.

They “love” Seryoga more than anyone. Maybe because he is the youngest of us. He's only thirteen. Or maybe they don't like his ear-to-ear smile. Now his smile is especially beautiful - his front tooth is missing. After Stas shoved his face into a concrete slab, Seryoga spat out a bloody clot along with his tooth. And then he smiled at us with a holey, bloody smile. He was not at all upset, but, on the contrary, was very happy about the hole. He learned to spit coolly and whistle masterfully.

I squatted and studied the bars. Roma also squatted down. Our eyes met.

Are you thinking the same thing I'm thinking? - I asked quietly.

His eyes widened in horror. I realized that we were thinking about the same thing.

But Roma suddenly jumped to his feet.

No. “I don’t think about anything,” Roma shouted, jumping up sharply. - Let's run out of here, they can appear at any second...

And we ran. I turned right, Roma turned left. We always ran in different directions. This made it harder to catch us.

Many times after that I returned to thoughts about Yama. Exactly. With a capital letter. The pit has become something of a household word for us.

Somehow we came to Yama again. She attracted us like a magnet. Roma and I sat at its edge. We looked at the iron bars. For construction waste in Yama.

“She could be the perfect trap,” I said quietly. Roma did not answer.

We could find freedom. We could learn to breathe deeply. We would stop having nightmares. Lips and eyelids would stop twitching. Hands are shaking. We would become ordinary people.

Roma just shook his head, grinning.

You speak beautifully... Write a poem.

But I saw that Yama attracted him in the same way as me.

But... These words remained simple words, and Yama remained an ordinary pit. And we began to live our normal lives. Life in short bursts. Life at war.

I watch as the last milliliters of liquid fall from the cylinder into the tube. I turn the wheel.

The nurse with a sharp movement pulls the needle out of me, sad memories take possession of me, I don’t even notice its appearance.

You need to sleep,” she says.

When will my bandage be removed? - I ask. I can't wait to see what my face looks like now.

“In a couple of days,” she replies.

When she leaves, I close my eyes. But sleep doesn't come. Memories appear and disappear in my head - about my family, about my childhood. About Stas.

All memories are incredibly vivid. They flash one after another, light up like lights on a Christmas tree garland.

Despite our strong friendship, we often hated each other as children.

“If only he had come across an orange candy, the most tasteless, in a pack of Skittles. And so that he does not pull out a single grape” - this was considered the worst curse that we could bring down on each other at that time.

And now we wish each other death.

How much people can change. And their attitude towards each other.

My dad always wanted a son. That’s how I started thinking when I was four years old. We were a happy full-fledged family. Me, mom, dad. And if you add to this the grandparents, then they are super-full. I loved my dad more than anyone. Maybe because he allowed me to eat chocolate before bed. Or maybe for completely different reasons.

Two-room apartment in Moscow. Fourteenth floor. Here we lived with our parents. And my grandparents lived in a small town near Moscow in a private house an hour’s drive from us. We visited them for the weekend.

Mom and dad met at the institute. At the age of twenty they got married, and soon I came along. My parents never graduated from college. Mom went on maternity leave, and dad, in order to feed his family, got a job in a store and began selling computers. Now my mother’s work is related to finance. I don’t know what dad’s job is now and how he lives in general. And I don't want to know. Grandma bakes cakes to order. Her house always smells of vanilla and caramel. Grandfather works as a security guard at a cottage village.

At the age of four, my mother began to push me off to my grandmother for the summer, and my grandmother, in turn, began to push me out into the yard so that I could play with other children. The first time I went to the playground near the house. She pulled out toys - a car, an airplane and a giant transforming robot. I looked at the toys of boys and girls and realized that all this time I had boys’ toys. The girls wrinkled their noses contemptuously. They almost told me in unison that they would not play with me until I took my doll outside. But the fact is that I didn’t have a doll. Mom later said that the dolls simply did not arouse any interest in me. I liked something that could be taken apart and that could be made to move. But then, during the girl conflict, I was seriously scared. I didn’t understand why my parents bought me toys for boys, and I figured it out myself: my parents really wanted a son, but they got a daughter. This thought was so firmly ingrained in my head that for a long time I didn’t specifically look at toys for girls in the store. I didn't want to upset my parents. I did everything to be like a boy... and so that mom and dad wouldn’t throw me in the trash as useless. I wore boyish overalls, begged my mother and grandmother to cut my hair as short as possible, and pushed dolls and dresses away.

I never managed to make friends with the girls. But I succeeded in making friends with boys. During that first long summer at my grandmother’s, I met Stas - he was one of the boys on our street. At first I didn’t single him out from the rest. Later, after a year or two, he became my best friend.

The animal is agile, nimble, sleek,

Where are you running without looking back?

Why are you shaking like you have a fever?

For your life?

Don't bother me with my spatula

I won't kill.

Robert Burns, "The Field Mouse Whose Nest Was Scattered by My Plow"

Chapter 1

“Before digging a hole, we first sawed these damn bars,” is the first thought that comes to my mind when I open my eyes.

White ceiling. And light. Unbearably bright.

Wait a minute... I open my eyes... Or one eye?

I clutch my face in horror. There is a bandage on the left eye. What the hell?

I'm in the hospital. I can tell by the smell of medicine and bleach. What? What did they do to my face?

Panic seizes me. There are a thousand questions in my head. Will my vision return? What kind of surgery did I have? Where is everyone? Where is the doctor? I want someone to explain something to me!

I'm wearing loose pajamas. I recognize her. Obviously, my grandmother had already been to the hospital. She brought my things. Changed my clothes.

I try to get up. Failed attempt. But lying down I see nothing but the ceiling.

I close my eyes. At first I feel like I'm made of stone. And then the pain comes.

My whole body hurts. It's hard to say what exactly hurts. It was as if I was a stone sculpture and suddenly I was broken into pieces.

My left arm is throbbing unpleasantly. I look at her. Two rough, uneven burgundy circles flaunt just above the wrist.

Cigarette burns. I remember where they are from. I remember everything. I remember whose fault I ended up in the hospital. Although I really want to forget.

There is a disgusting rotten taste in my mouth. I feel around with my hand. What am I looking for? Something that looks like water. I definitely need to have a water bottle in my backpack. But I don't see my backpack. I feel the smooth surface of the bedside table.

I'm relaxing. I'm trying to remember the last thing that happened before the hospital.

I'm lying on the cold ground. The tops of the pine trees sway gently above me.

Be sick. My heart is pounding. Uranium bombs explode in the stomach - a standard reaction to alcohol. What did they pour into me? Two pills flash before my eyes, which Stas threw into the bottle before he forced me to drink it.

I open my eyes. And again the white ceiling.

“I will destroy you,” his words, spoken in a soft, hoarse voice, play in my head over and over again. These were the last words I remember. And then he threw burning coals in my face.

My mouth is dry. I run my tongue over my rough lips.

I listen to my feelings. What did they do to me? Raped? How should it feel when you lose your virginity? According to the stories - pain in the stomach. But I don't feel anything. I slide my hand under my pajamas and run it between my legs. No sensations. I examine my hand - no blood. I feel my chest. She whines slightly. I'm trying to get into a sitting position. On the third try I succeed. I look around. There are three hospital beds around me, two of which are occupied. A woman sits on one of the beds and reads a book. Noticing me, she gets up from the bed.

“I’ll call someone,” she says and leaves the room. And he returns in the company of a nurse. And my grandmother. And moms. And Uncle Kostya. I blush - I’m not very pleased with such a large company now. But it’s good that they didn’t think of taking grandpa with them. And all the neighbors to boot.

Grandmother and mother rush to my bed.

“Toma, Tomochka, everything is fine with you,” they chirp and stroke my head. I turn away. For some reason it disgusts me to look at their worried faces.

- What? What's wrong with my eyes? – I ask and grab the bandage with my hand. The voice comes out somehow weak and hoarse.

- Don't worry, the eye is fine. Minor burn. My vision wasn’t damaged,” my mother’s voice breaks. She's about to cry. Her words calm me down. I'll see. – Tell us what happened to you? We decided that someone attacked you, and... - Mom was embarrassed, - and... That he could rape you. Therefore, when they brought you, they immediately examined you, otherwise you never know... But thank God, this did not happen. Everything is fine…

Mom bursts into tears. I turn away from her and look at Uncle Kostya.

“Why the hell did you bring her? - I ask him with my eyes. “The last thing I need right now is to watch other people cry.”

“Sorry,” he sends me an apologetic look and shrugs.

I sigh. It would be better if they brought grandfather instead of mother. He would entertain me with his jokes and stories. Seeing my mother's tears is unbearable...

“Water,” I say.

They immediately slip me a glass. I down it in two gulps. But the nasty taste doesn't go away. My mouth is still dry and hot.

We need to figure out what to answer them. They are all waiting for my story. Who attacked me? They've probably already informed the police. And to school. And they will all have to explain something.

“Anything but the truth,” an inner voice tells me. “You can’t say that Stas did it.”

The boy with whom we went to first grade together. And they sat at the same desk. With whom we picked strawberries in the forest together. And on clear evenings, lying on the roof of my terrace, we discovered new Universes in the sky. This boy visited us so often that he had already become a new family member for my family.

Current page: 1 (book has 27 pages total) [available reading passage: 18 pages]

Eli Frey
My best enemy

I dedicate this book to my parents: Igor and Natalia, my wonderful mother and father, and Svetlana, my dear mother-in-law.

Chapter 1

The animal is cowardly, timid, meek,
Why are you playing hide and seek with me?
You tremble, afraid of my attacks,
For my miserable skin.
Don't tremble.
I won't beat you with a spatula.

“Before we dig a hole, we first cut these damn bars,” is the first thought that comes to my mind when I open my eyes.

White ceiling. And light. Unbearably bright. Wait a minute... I open my eyes... Or one eye?.. I grab my face in horror. On the left there is a bandage. What the hell?

I'm in a hospital, it's easy to tell by the smell of medicine and bleach. What? What did It do to my face? Panic seizes me. There are a thousand questions in my head. Will my vision return? What kind of surgery did I have? Where is everyone? Where is the doctor? I want someone to explain something to me!

I'm wearing loose pajamas. I recognize her. Obviously, my grandmother had already been to the hospital and brought my things. Changed my clothes. I try to get up. Failed attempt. But lying down I see nothing but the ceiling. I close my eyes, a strange sensation of my own body, as if it were made of stone - heavy and unable to move. But this does not last long, severe pain comes. My whole body hurts. My left arm is throbbing unpleasantly. I look at her. Two rough, uneven burgundy circles flaunt just above the wrist. Cigarette burns. I remember where they are from. I remember everything. I remember whose fault I ended up in the hospital. Although I really want to forget.

There is a disgusting taste of rotten meat in my mouth... I feel around with my hand. What am I looking for? Water... I should definitely have a water bottle in my backpack. But I don't see my backpack. I feel the smooth surface of the bedside table.

I'm relaxing. I’m trying to remember the last thing that happened before the hospital - I’m lying on the cold ground, the tops of the pine trees gently sway above me. Be sick. My heart is pounding. Uranium bombs explode in the stomach - a standard reaction to alcohol. What did they pour into me? I can see two pills that It threw into the bottle before it made me drink it.

I open my eyes. And again the white ceiling.

It did it. Monster. Not a human.

“I will destroy you,” the monster’s words, spoken in a soft, hoarse voice, are repeated in my head over and over again. These were the last words I remember. And then It threw burning coals in my face.

My mouth is dry. I run my tongue over my rough lips and listen to my sensations. What did they do to me? Raped? How should it feel when you lose your virginity? According to the stories - pain in the abdomen and perineum. But I don't feel anything. I slide my hand under my pajamas and run it between my legs. No sensations. I examine my hand - no blood. I feel my chest. She whines slightly.

I'm trying to sit up. On the third try I succeed. I look around, there are three hospital beds in the room, two of which are occupied. On one of them a woman sits and reads a book. Noticing that I sat down, she gets up.

“I’ll call someone,” she says and leaves the room. And he returns in the company of a nurse. And my grandmother. And moms. And stepfather. I blush - I’m not very pleased with such a large company now. But it’s good that they didn’t think of taking all their neighbors with them.

Grandmother and mother rush to me.

“Toma, Tomochka, everything is fine with you,” they chirp and stroke my head. I turn away. For some reason it disgusts me to look at their worried faces.

- What? What's wrong with my eyes? – I ask and grab the bandage with my hand. The voice comes out somehow weak and hoarse.

- Don't worry, the eye is fine. Minor burn. My vision wasn’t damaged,” my mother’s voice breaks. She's about to cry. Her words calm me down. I'll see. – Tell us what happened to you? We decided that someone had attacked you, and...” Mom was embarrassed. - And... That he could rape you. Therefore, when they brought you, they immediately examined you, otherwise you never know... But, thank God, this did not happen. Everything is fine…

Mom bursts into tears. I turn away from her and look at my stepfather.

“Why the hell did you bring her? – I ask him with my eyes. “The last thing I need right now is to watch other people cry.”

“Sorry,” he sends me an apologetic response with his eyes and shrugs.

I sigh. It would be better if they brought grandfather instead of mother. He would entertain me with his jokes and stories. Seeing my mother's tears is unbearable...

“Water,” I say.

They immediately put a glass in my hand. I down it in two gulps. But the nasty taste doesn't go away. My mouth is still dry, hot and disgusting. We need to figure out what to answer them. They are all waiting for my story. Who attacked me? They've probably already informed the police. And to school. And they will all have to explain something.

“Anything but the truth,” says an inner voice. “You can’t admit that Stas did this.”

The same Stas with whom we went to first grade together. And they sat at the same desk. With whom we picked strawberries together in the forest, and on clear evenings, lying on the roof of my terrace, we discovered new Universes in the sky. This boy visited us so often that he had already become a member of the family for my relatives.

“I don’t know who attacked me,” I shake my head. – I was going to go for a walk. Left home. The weather was good, and I decided to walk through the forest...

- Forest? – Mom looks at me scared. - Why did you go into this terrible forest? There are only maniacs there! Last year a girl was killed there! – Tears are flowing down my mother’s cheeks.

– I just wanted to walk along the forest a little. I reached the river. And there was an unfamiliar company by the river. There were about five of them... Just guys. And they had a fire. They came up to me and asked something. I don't remember what I answered them.

Mom bursts into sobs again.

- How long can I keep telling you? You can't talk to strangers!

“Olya,” Uncle Kostya interrupts her sharply, “let her finish.” I continue to make up a story as I go, realizing that it doesn’t stand up to criticism; I’ve always had trouble with improvisation... But I couldn’t tell them the truth.

“They seemed pretty cute to me at first.” They asked something, I answered something. And I wanted to leave, but...

But what? I'm frantically trying to think of something. But I can’t do it, and I start sobbing. My family thinks it's because of my nerves. That it pains me to talk about it.

“They attacked,” I say with difficulty, “and then they forced me to drink some kind of rubbish so that I would probably pass out...

I fall silent. This moment looks rather implausible. If anyone had told me about this, I would have thought that the girl met some boys and got drunk. And then they dragged her into the forest and...

But this moment really happened. The picture is still before my eyes. Stas throws two pills into the bottle. “Will you drink it yourself or force it?” I refused. - "No? I won't force this crap into you. I'll give you the opportunity to choose. After all, you can’t deprive a person of the right to choose?” He looked so kind. Care and attention were visible in his blue eyes. And he put out the cigarette on my hand. The smell of burning skin drowned out the pain. "Well. Choose: either drink it yourself, or get a second burn.” I refused again. And he put out the second cigarette butt on me. "Think well. Do you think I enjoy hurting you? Make the right choice. It's in your best interest. I don't think you want to remember what we're going to do to you. So just drink this. And you'll end up on a rainbow. Well, what do you choose? In his left hand was a bottle of dissolved pills, in his right was another lit cigarette. I nodded towards the bottle. "Well done. Right choice. You can’t deprive a person of the right to choose, right? And remember. You did it, not me. I suggested you take a different path."

I have difficulty coping with the memories and gesture to show that I can no longer talk about this today.

“Everything is fine, daughter,” my mother strokes my head. “They didn’t have time to do anything to you.” A couple of scratches... Marks on my arm... A burn on my eye, but that's okay. What happened at the end? Did they let you go? Did you run away?

“I don’t remember,” I lie. Let them think that my memory loss is due to shock. When they leave, I will think about my story and come up with a logical ending.

- We'll contact the police. These bastards will be caught,” my mother hugs me and starts rocking me like a little girl.

Police? No! Never. But I don't tell my mom anything. After. I will tell her later that I will not write a statement.

- How long have I been lying here?

- They brought you in the morning. “It’s evening now,” the grandmother answers.

- Okay, relatives. The patient needs rest,” the nurse says dissatisfied. “You’ve already tormented her with your questions.” Let's go home. Say goodbye. And I’ll go get an IV...

- IV? - I say in horror. - For what?

- Do not be afraid. There are vitamins there. Glucose. Let's wash your blood of rubbish. You will feel better,” she smiles encouragingly and leaves the room.

Grandmother and mother kiss me. They say kind words. They say goodbye to me. Uncle Kostya pats me on the shoulder.

“We’ll come tomorrow, don’t be boring,” says mom.

They leave the room. I breathe out a sigh of relief. It’s not that I’m really depressed by their company, but now... Now I need to think about everything carefully. And for this you need privacy.

A nurse enters. She is carrying an IV with her. This thing looks a lot like a clothes hanger. Attached to the top is a glass bottle with a clear liquid and some other plastic bag. She wipes the crook of her elbow with a wet cotton swab.

-Won't it hurt me?

“Like a mosquito bite,” she says.

I watch as the needle enters the skin. A thin tube stretches from a plastic bag towards my hand. Somewhere in the middle of the tube there is a small transparent cylinder from which clear liquid flows down drop by drop. For some reason the cylinder reminds me of an hourglass.

“When there’s just a little bit left here,” she points to the cylinder, “turn the wheel.”

I nod. She leaves. I lean back on the pillow. I close my eyes. I have a lot to think about.

Chapter 2

“The pit,” I say, but only a faint whisper escapes my lips. We discovered this hole back in the spring, when we were running away from Them. She was in the forest, nearby there were piles of garbage and abandoned buildings. What was here before? Someone's house? It looked more like an abandoned warehouse or industrial area. An asphalt road led to this place, all broken and overgrown with grass. No one has come here for many years.

The hole was partially covered with earth and concrete debris. An iron grate covered it from above. The thick bars of the grate crashed into the ground.

I discovered the hole by accident when I was running through an industrial area: my shoe caught on the grate, and I flew forward, painfully hitting my nose on the ground. I went back and looked at what I tripped over. She squatted down. I touched the iron bars. Strange thoughts were spinning in my head.

Romka emerged from the bushes - another of Their victims. Seryoga and Anton must be hiding somewhere in the depths of the forest. Together we make a wonderful team. All the victims of Stas and his monstrous company united into a club. Club of the flawed and wretched.

And all together we fled from Them. During the time we spent together, we formed a fairly well-coordinated team. We learned many things: how to run away, how to become invisible, how to merge with a wall, how to turn off your brain while you are being hurt. The last point is the most difficult. Everyone dealt with it differently. Seryoga taught me to switch off from pain. When Stas knocked out his front tooth and burned the skin on his side, he said that it didn’t hurt him because he turned off his head.

- How? – I asked him. When Stas hurt me, I couldn’t think about anything but pain.

Words cut sharper than a knife. This saying was invented by vanilla people who have never really experienced pain. They know what a broken heart is, but they don't even know what a broken nose is. But a broken nose is much worse. There is nothing worse than physical pain. No moral suffering can compare with physical suffering. Such pain pierces your body right through, blinding and deafening. Changes are happening to your body. The temperature can jump to forty degrees and immediately drop to thirty-five. Sweat appears all over the body. You scream, but you can’t hear yourself because you’re deaf. And because from the pain you suddenly forgot how to speak. When they burn your skin, you squirm like a worm. The iron hand of pain squeezes your lungs like a vice. You can't breathe. All your senses are suddenly cut off, you feel only burning pain. And you hear laughter. Their laughter. They feed on your pain, delight in absorbing it from you.

“We need to count,” Seryoga answered. - About myself. One-two-three... It usually ends when I reach eighty. But once I reached two hundred and fifty... If the count doesn’t suit you, then you can just think about pleasant things.

- About pleasant things? – I asked him again.

- Yes. About pleasant things. I usually think about squirrels. Squirrels are kind of nice.

I giggled. Seryoga always managed to squeeze a smile or laughter out of me, even in cases where this was impossible. For example, that time when he told me about squirrels, I was not at all laughing. The day before, Stas tried to drown me under a stream of scalding hot water, and the burns on my face throbbed unpleasantly. I needed to adjust my brain so as not to think about pain, and I turned to Seryoga for help.

They “love” Seryoga more than anyone. Maybe because he is the youngest of us. He's only thirteen. Or maybe they don't like his ear-to-ear smile. Now his smile is especially beautiful - his front tooth is missing. After Stas shoved his face into a concrete slab, Seryoga spat out a bloody clot along with his tooth. And then he smiled at us with a holey, bloody smile. He was not at all upset, but, on the contrary, was very happy about the hole. He learned to spit coolly and whistle masterfully.

I squatted and studied the bars. Roma also squatted down. Our eyes met.

“Are you thinking the same thing I’m thinking?” – I asked quietly.

His eyes widened in horror. I realized that we were thinking about the same thing.

But Roma suddenly jumped to his feet.

- No. “I don’t think about anything,” Roma shouted, jumping up sharply. - Let's run out of here, they can appear at any second...

And we ran. I turned right, Roma turned left. We always ran in different directions. This made it harder to catch us.

Many times after that I returned to thoughts about Yama. Exactly. With a capital letter. The pit has become something of a household word for us.

Somehow we came to Yama again. She attracted us like a magnet. Roma and I sat at its edge. We looked at the iron bars. For construction waste in Yama.

“She could be the perfect trap,” I said quietly. Roma did not answer.

“We could gain freedom.” We could learn to breathe deeply. We would stop having nightmares. Lips and eyelids would stop twitching. Hands are shaking. We would become ordinary people.

Roma just shook his head, grinning.

- You speak beautifully... Write a poem.

But I saw that Yama attracted him in the same way as me.

But... These words remained simple words, and Yama remained an ordinary pit. And we began to live our normal lives. Life in short bursts. Life at war.

I watch as the last milliliters of liquid fall from the cylinder into the tube. I turn the wheel.

The nurse with a sharp movement pulls the needle out of me, sad memories take possession of me, I don’t even notice its appearance.

“You need to sleep,” she says.

– When will my bandage be removed? - I ask. I can't wait to see what my face looks like now.

“In a couple of days,” she answers.

When she leaves, I close my eyes. But sleep doesn't come. Memories appear and disappear in my head - about my family, about my childhood. About Stas.

All memories are incredibly vivid. They flash one after another, light up like lights on a Christmas tree garland.

Chapter 3

Despite our strong friendship, we often hated each other as children.

“If only he had come across an orange candy, the most tasteless, in a pack of Skittles. And so that he does not pull out a single grape” - this was considered the worst curse that we could bring down on each other at that time.

And now we wish each other death.

How much people can change. And their attitude towards each other.

My dad always wanted a son. That’s how I started thinking when I was four years old. We were a happy full-fledged family. Me, mom, dad. And if you add to this the grandparents, then they are super-full. I loved my dad more than anyone. Maybe because he allowed me to eat chocolate before bed. Or maybe for completely different reasons.

Two-room apartment in Moscow. Fourteenth floor. Here we lived with our parents. And my grandparents lived in a small town near Moscow in a private house an hour’s drive from us. We visited them for the weekend.

Mom and dad met at the institute. At the age of twenty they got married, and soon I came along. My parents never graduated from college. Mom went on maternity leave, and dad, in order to feed his family, got a job in a store and began selling computers. Now my mother’s work is related to finance. I don’t know what dad’s job is now and how he lives in general. And I don't want to know. Grandma bakes cakes to order. Her house always smells of vanilla and caramel. Grandfather works as a security guard at a cottage village.

At the age of four, my mother began to push me off to my grandmother for the summer, and my grandmother, in turn, began to push me out into the yard so that I could play with other children. The first time I went to the playground near the house. She pulled out toys - a car, an airplane and a giant transforming robot. I looked at the toys of boys and girls and realized that all this time I had boys’ toys. The girls wrinkled their noses contemptuously. They almost told me in unison that they would not play with me until I took my doll outside. But the fact is that I didn’t have a doll. Mom later said that the dolls simply did not arouse any interest in me. I liked something that could be taken apart and that could be made to move. But then, during the girl conflict, I was seriously scared. I didn’t understand why my parents bought me toys for boys, and I figured it out myself: my parents really wanted a son, but they got a daughter. This thought was so firmly ingrained in my head that for a long time I didn’t specifically look at toys for girls in the store. I didn't want to upset my parents. I did everything to be like a boy... and so that mom and dad wouldn’t throw me in the trash as useless. I wore boyish overalls, begged my mother and grandmother to cut my hair as short as possible, and pushed dolls and dresses away.

I never managed to make friends with the girls. But I succeeded in making friends with boys. During that first long summer at my grandmother’s, I met Stas – he was one of the boys on our street. At first I didn’t single him out from the rest. Later, after a year or two, he became my best friend.

I despised girly things so as not to upset my mom and dad. But I never managed to give up the only girlish passion - the love of fairy tales. Fairy tales ingrained themselves in my head, creating a whole fairy-tale world with dragons and princesses. It was because of my love for fairy tales that I learned to read very early. I was ashamed to ask dad to read Snow White or Sleeping Beauty to me - otherwise dad would suddenly decide that they didn’t need such a daughter and would throw me out. That's why I read fairy tales myself. But I still really liked it when dad read. I listened with pleasure to his books - about the brownie Kuzya, Uncle Fyodor, Emil from Lenneberga, Winnie the Pooh. Dad read to me a lot, but I selected only those books that, in my opinion, were more suitable for boys.

When I was very little, I had a strange daily routine - I liked to get up early in the morning, at four o'clock. And I definitely needed someone to be nearby. Mom categorically refused to get up so early, and dad had to. At this time, I needed to go for a walk or play. And sleepy dad played with me conscientiously. And he walked. We probably looked strange on the street - four in the morning, dad leading his daughter by the hand. Where are they going? For what? What a worthless dad! Decent parents have children who sleep at such a time!

My dad and I built castles from blocks and played railroad. And they launched a radio-controlled boat in the bathroom.

On the street, he picked me up in his arms and threw me high into the sky. Dad was very tall, I closed my eyes and imagined myself as a rocket being launched into space. And when I opened my eyes, my heart froze with fear - I was so high.

Dad had a large globe in his office. I loved this globe. Often in the evenings, dad sat me on his lap, I snuggled up to him, inhaling the smell of cigarettes and aftershave foam, stroking his smoothly shaved cheeks. And he showed me different places on the map, named different countries, seas and oceans.

“Show me what’s there, below us,” I asked my dad and looked at my feet. This question has always interested me: what if the ground beneath us suddenly gives way and we fall through? And we will come out to the other side of the earth. Where will we end up?

Dad pointed to the globe.

“Here we live, and here,” he pointed to the other side, “is the Pacific Ocean.”

“Ocean...” I whispered enthusiastically, looking at the bright blue area. This means that if we fall underground, we will end up in the ocean. But I didn't know how to swim! What should I do?

And that summer I asked my dad to teach me to swim. I already knew how to swim with inflatable armbands - but they are not always with me, and the ground can part beneath us at any second, and what will I do in the Pacific Ocean without armbands? I was so scared that for several more days I walked around the house in armbands, which greatly amused my parents. That summer I never learned to swim without support, although my dad was a good teacher. And I tried to be a good student.

Dad always looked at the neighbors' boys. He watched them play football, how they rushed along the street, hitting each other. Every time he passed them, he said something funny to them. He would affectionately pat someone on the cheek and treat the boys to apples and candy.

Jealousy was seething inside me. I asked my dad to teach me to play football, but he said: “Sometime later.” But I saw how his eyes sparkle when he sees the boys playing in the yard.

I did everything to look like a boy. I asked my mom to buy me T-shirts not with ponies and Barbie, but with Spiderman and cars. I secretly climbed into my dad's closet and put on his suits. I drew a mustache on myself with a black felt-tip pen. And then she ran into the living room, where my parents were sitting, and cheerfully shouted that I was not Tom, but Mister Twister. The parents laughed until they dropped.

But all this did not help. When I was six years old, my dad left my mom and me. I just collected my things and left in an unknown direction. I was waiting for him to return. I spent many evenings sitting by the window, peering at the road, shuddering every time someone passed by. Maybe it's dad? And dad finally showed up, a month or two later. Came to pick up the remaining things. He silently handed me a pack of gummies, collected his bags and left. Forever already.

I ate one gummy a day. It seemed to me that until the gummies ran out, dad was still nearby. And the marmalades are the last thread that connects me with him. In the end I had to choke on stone gummies. But dad never showed up. I carefully folded the empty, bright wrapper and placed it under my pillow. It seemed to me that in this way I still managed to keep a “piece of dad” to myself.

I came up with different reasons, tried to believe in them and somehow justify my father’s behavior. At the age of six, I believed that my dad was a good wizard who flew to the Magic Land to save its inhabitants from the evil sorceress. At the age of ten, I believed that my dad was an agent of a super-secret intelligence service, and he was given a responsible secret mission, and the fate of the whole world depended on his decision. At twelve, when I more or less began to understand the relationship between a man and a woman, I finally realized that my dad was an ordinary goat. And when I realized this, the colored jelly bean wrapper was mercilessly destroyed.

My mother was not alone for long. Soon after dad left, mom got Uncle Kostya. Uncle Kostya is the complete opposite of dad. Short and strong, with a bushy mustache and a huge potato nose, I immediately liked him. We became very good friends. Uncle Kostya became my friend, but he never became a father, although he never tried.

In our Moscow apartment, the windows of my room looked out onto a courtyard-well. I was only allowed to play in the yard. A concrete playground with a lonely basketball hoop, a parking lot, a couple of children's slides and a single tree - that's what made up my childhood world.

Everything changed when my mother began to send me to my grandmother. A small town is an hour away by car - and it’s as if you find yourself in another Universe. A wooden house painted blue with white carved patterns on the windows. The garden is a series of beds, rusty bins and gardening tools. In the center of the onion bed is a red wind spinner.

Usually my parents brought me to my grandmother only for the summer and on weekends. But when I turned six, my mother faced a serious problem. Which school should I send me to? How can I be taken away from her if my mother disappears for days at work? And she decided that it would be better for me to completely move in with my grandmother and go to study at a local school. There the air is better, cleaner, and it will be more interesting and safer for a child in a private house in his own garden.

I was just glad to move in with my grandmother completely, because Stas lived here. From September to May I dreamed that summer would come quickly! After all, in the summer Stas and I could play all day long. And now I will be with him all year round!

And so my mother moved me to my grandmother with all my things. The last pre-school summer had begun. I stood in front of my grandmother’s house, looking at the wooden walls painted with bright blue paint, and at the white openwork frames on the windows. I was only thinking about how I would tell Stas the amazing news: that now I would always live here, and in the fall we would go to the same school together and sit at the same desk. And now we will always, always be together. We will dream and make plans. How we will choose school backpacks together, go to school together, how we will spend vacations and holidays. Where will we go? We will carefully think through all this and write it down in a special notebook.

And no one knew that our “together” would end in exactly six years.

My best enemy

I dedicate this book to my parents: Igor and Natalia, my wonderful mother and father, and Svetlana, my dear mother-in-law.

The animal is cowardly, timid, meek,
Why are you playing hide and seek with me?
You tremble, afraid of my attacks,
For my miserable skin.
Don't tremble.
I won't beat you with a spatula.

“Before we dig a hole, we first cut these damn bars,” is the first thought that comes to my mind when I open my eyes.

White ceiling. And light. Unbearably bright. Wait a minute... I open my eyes... Or one eye?.. I grab my face in horror. On the left there is a bandage. What the hell?

I'm in a hospital, it's easy to tell by the smell of medicine and bleach. What? What did It do to my face? Panic seizes me. There are a thousand questions in my head. Will my vision return? What kind of surgery did I have? Where is everyone? Where is the doctor? I want someone to explain something to me!

I'm wearing loose pajamas. I recognize her. Obviously, my grandmother had already been to the hospital and brought my things. Changed my clothes. I try to get up. Failed attempt. But lying down I see nothing but the ceiling. I close my eyes, a strange sensation of my own body, as if it were made of stone - heavy and unable to move. But this does not last long, severe pain comes. My whole body hurts. My left arm is throbbing unpleasantly. I look at her. Two rough, uneven burgundy circles flaunt just above the wrist. Cigarette burns. I remember where they are from. I remember everything. I remember whose fault I ended up in the hospital. Although I really want to forget.

There is a disgusting taste of rotten meat in my mouth... I feel around with my hand. What am I looking for? Water... I should definitely have a water bottle in my backpack. But I don't see my backpack. I feel the smooth surface of the bedside table.

I'm relaxing. I’m trying to remember the last thing that happened before the hospital - I’m lying on the cold ground, the tops of the pine trees gently sway above me. Be sick. My heart is pounding. Uranium bombs explode in the stomach - a standard reaction to alcohol. What did they pour into me? I can see two pills that It threw into the bottle before it made me drink it.

I open my eyes. And again the white ceiling.

It did it. Monster. Not a human.

“I will destroy you,” the monster’s words, spoken in a soft, hoarse voice, are repeated in my head over and over again. These were the last words I remember. And then It threw burning coals in my face.

My mouth is dry. I run my tongue over my rough lips and listen to my sensations. What did they do to me? Raped? How should it feel when you lose your virginity? According to the stories - pain in the abdomen and perineum. But I don't feel anything. I slide my hand under my pajamas and run it between my legs. No sensations. I examine my hand - no blood. I feel my chest. She whines slightly.

I'm trying to sit up. On the third try I succeed. I look around, there are three hospital beds in the room, two of which are occupied. On one of them a woman sits and reads a book. Noticing that I sat down, she gets up.

“I’ll call someone,” she says and leaves the room. And he returns in the company of a nurse. And my grandmother. And moms. And stepfather. I blush - I’m not very pleased with such a large company now. But it’s good that they didn’t think of taking all their neighbors with them.

Grandmother and mother rush to me.

“Toma, Tomochka, everything is fine with you,” they chirp and stroke my head. I turn away. For some reason it disgusts me to look at their worried faces.

- What? What's wrong with my eyes? – I ask and grab the bandage with my hand. The voice comes out somehow weak and hoarse.

- Don't worry, the eye is fine. Minor burn. My vision wasn’t damaged,” my mother’s voice breaks. She's about to cry. Her words calm me down. I'll see. – Tell us what happened to you? We decided that someone had attacked you, and...” Mom was embarrassed. - And... That he could rape you. Therefore, when they brought you, they immediately examined you, otherwise you never know... But, thank God, this did not happen. Everything is fine…

Mom bursts into tears. I turn away from her and look at my stepfather.

“Why the hell did you bring her? – I ask him with my eyes. “The last thing I need right now is to watch other people cry.”

“Sorry,” he sends me an apologetic response with his eyes and shrugs.

I sigh. It would be better if they brought grandfather instead of mother. He would entertain me with his jokes and stories. Seeing my mother's tears is unbearable...

“Water,” I say.

They immediately put a glass in my hand. I down it in two gulps. But the nasty taste doesn't go away. My mouth is still dry, hot and disgusting. We need to figure out what to answer them. They are all waiting for my story. Who attacked me? They've probably already informed the police. And to school. And they will all have to explain something.

“Anything but the truth,” says an inner voice. “You can’t admit that Stas did this.”

The same Stas with whom we went to first grade together. And they sat at the same desk. With whom we picked strawberries together in the forest, and on clear evenings, lying on the roof of my terrace, we discovered new Universes in the sky. This boy visited us so often that he had already become a member of the family for my relatives.

“I don’t know who attacked me,” I shake my head. – I was going to go for a walk. Left home. The weather was good, and I decided to walk through the forest...

- Forest? – Mom looks at me scared. - Why did you go into this terrible forest? There are only maniacs there! Last year a girl was killed there! – Tears are flowing down my mother’s cheeks.

– I just wanted to walk along the forest a little. I reached the river. And there was an unfamiliar company by the river. There were about five of them... Just guys. And they had a fire. They came up to me and asked something. I don't remember what I answered them.

Mom bursts into sobs again.

- How long can I keep telling you? You can't talk to strangers!

“Olya,” Uncle Kostya interrupts her sharply, “let her finish.” I continue to make up a story as I go, realizing that it doesn’t stand up to criticism; I’ve always had trouble with improvisation... But I couldn’t tell them the truth.

“They seemed pretty cute to me at first.” They asked something, I answered something. And I wanted to leave, but...

But what? I'm frantically trying to think of something. But I can’t do it, and I start sobbing. My family thinks it's because of my nerves. That it pains me to talk about it.

“They attacked,” I say with difficulty, “and then they forced me to drink some kind of rubbish so that I would probably pass out...

I fall silent. This moment looks rather implausible. If anyone had told me about this, I would have thought that the girl met some boys and got drunk. And then they dragged her into the forest and...

But this moment really happened. The picture is still before my eyes. Stas throws two pills into the bottle. “Will you drink it yourself or force it?” I refused. - "No? I won't force this crap into you. I'll give you the opportunity to choose. After all, you can’t deprive a person of the right to choose?” He looked so kind. Care and attention were visible in his blue eyes. And he put out the cigarette on my hand. The smell of burning skin drowned out the pain. "Well. Choose: either drink it yourself, or get a second burn.” I refused again. And he put out the second cigarette butt on me. "Think well. Do you think I enjoy hurting you? Make the right choice. It's in your best interest. I don't think you want to remember what we're going to do to you. So just drink this. And you'll end up on a rainbow. Well, what do you choose? In his left hand was a bottle of dissolved pills, in his right was another lit cigarette. I nodded towards the bottle. "Well done. Right choice. You can’t deprive a person of the right to choose, right? And remember. You did it, not me. I suggested you take a different path."

I have difficulty coping with the memories and gesture to show that I can no longer talk about this today.

“Everything is fine, daughter,” my mother strokes my head. “They didn’t have time to do anything to you.” A couple of scratches... Marks on my arm... A burn on my eye, but that's okay. What happened at the end? Did they let you go? Did you run away?

“I don’t remember,” I lie. Let them think that my memory loss is due to shock. When they leave, I will think about my story and come up with a logical ending.

- We'll contact the police. These bastards will be caught,” my mother hugs me and starts rocking me like a little girl.

Police? No! Never. But I don't tell my mom anything. After. I will tell her later that I will not write a statement.

- How long have I been lying here?

- They brought you in the morning. “It’s evening now,” the grandmother answers.

- Okay, relatives. The patient needs rest,” the nurse says dissatisfied. “You’ve already tormented her with your questions.” Let's go home. Say goodbye. And I’ll go get an IV...

- IV? - I say in horror. - For what?

- Do not be afraid. There are vitamins there. Glucose. Let's wash your blood of rubbish. You will feel better,” she smiles encouragingly and leaves the room.

White ceiling. And light. Unbearably bright. Wait a minute... I open my eyes... Or one eye?.. I grab my face in horror. On the left there is a bandage. What the hell?

I'm in a hospital, it's easy to tell by the smell of medicine and bleach. What? What did It do to my face? Panic seizes me. There are a thousand questions in my head. Will my vision return? What kind of surgery did I have? Where is everyone? Where is the doctor? I want someone to explain something to me!

I'm wearing loose pajamas. I recognize her. Obviously, my grandmother had already been to the hospital and brought my things. Changed my clothes. I try to get up. Failed attempt. But lying down I see nothing but the ceiling. I close my eyes, a strange sensation of my own body, as if it were made of stone - heavy and unable to move. But this does not last long, severe pain comes. My whole body hurts. My left arm is throbbing unpleasantly. I look at her. Two rough, uneven burgundy circles flaunt just above the wrist. Cigarette burns. I remember where they are from. I remember everything. I remember whose fault I ended up in the hospital. Although I really want to forget.

There is a disgusting taste of rotten meat in my mouth... I feel around with my hand. What am I looking for? Water... I should definitely have a water bottle in my backpack. But I don't see my backpack. I feel the smooth surface of the bedside table.

I'm relaxing. I’m trying to remember the last thing that happened before the hospital - I’m lying on the cold ground, the tops of the pine trees gently sway above me. Be sick. My heart is pounding. Uranium bombs explode in the stomach - a standard reaction to alcohol. What did they pour into me? I can see two pills that It threw into the bottle before it made me drink it.

I open my eyes. And again the white ceiling.

It did it. Monster. Not a human.

“I will destroy you,” the monster’s words, spoken in a soft, hoarse voice, are repeated in my head over and over again. These were the last words I remember. And then It threw burning coals in my face.

My mouth is dry. I run my tongue over my rough lips and listen to my sensations. What did they do to me? Raped? How should it feel when you lose your virginity? According to the stories - pain in the abdomen and perineum. But I don't feel anything. I slide my hand under my pajamas and run it between my legs. No sensations. I examine my hand - no blood. I feel my chest. She whines slightly.

I'm trying to sit up. On the third try I succeed. I look around, there are three hospital beds in the room, two of which are occupied. On one of them a woman sits and reads a book. Noticing that I sat down, she gets up.

“I’ll call someone,” she says and leaves the room. And he returns in the company of a nurse. And my grandmother. And moms. And stepfather. I blush - I’m not very pleased with such a large company now. But it’s good that they didn’t think of taking all their neighbors with them.

Grandmother and mother rush to me.

Tom, Tomochka, everything is fine with you,” they chirped and stroked my head. I turn away. For some reason it disgusts me to look at their worried faces.

What? What's wrong with my eyes? - I ask and grab the bandage with my hand. The voice comes out somehow weak and hoarse.

Don't worry, the eye is fine. Minor burn. My vision wasn’t damaged,” my mother’s voice breaks. She's about to cry. Her words calm me down. I'll see. - Tell us what happened to you? We decided that someone attacked you, and... - Mom was embarrassed. - And... That he could rape you. Therefore, when they brought you, they immediately examined you, otherwise you never know... But, thank God, this did not happen. Everything is fine…

Mom bursts into tears. I turn away from her and look at my stepfather.

“Why the hell did you bring her? - I ask him with my eyes.