Craved (Twisted Book 2) (22 page)

‘I think you should stay here.’ Natalia speaks first. ‘She may need your help. Don’t worry, I can manage on my own. Besides, I planned to quit the club in a couple of weeks anyway. And no one knows, with this baby on the way, when I’ll have the chance to visit Mom again.’

We book Natalia’s flight, then call our manager to explain why we aren’t going to come to work. Natalia sleeps over at my place. After a restless night we get up, completely whipped, and drive to Natalia’s accommodation. I help her pack and take her to the airport. We hug, hardly managing to hold back our tears, and Natalia disappears into the crowd beyond the security checkpoint. I walk back to the parking area and call Lena. She doesn’t answer. I curse and send her a text:

Where the hell are you?

Call me back.

It’s urgent.

Dad has passed away.

43

Disregarding Natalia’s several calls a day reporting on the funeral and other issues, which end up with her insisting on me taking a break from work, I decide that on the contrary, being busy could help me to cope with the pain during the day and to sleep better at night. When I do nothing, my mind gets suffocated with grief over Dad and with fears for Lena. That’s why, as soon as I step into the club, I walk around non-stop, without giving myself even a minute’s break. It seems that if I stop even briefly, unbearable thoughts will get their way and wear my consciousness down.

I get off the stage after my show, and drop onto the chair in the changing room.

‘The corner booth on the right. They’ve called you for a table dance,’ the waitress announces and leaves as quickly as she arrived.

Eight people, including a few female clients, greet me with praise.

‘Julia, that was a very naughty show!’

‘You are so beautiful!’

‘Will you give us a table dance?’

‘These girls are in a strip club for the first time. Give them a steamy show!’

I begin, grateful for the distraction, presenting the full range of my moves and tricks. The women bashfully giggle. The men laugh out loud, while peeping at their girlfriends’ reaction. The second song begins and I take off my panties. The female spectators squeak and look away. Except for one, the pretty blonde. At first, she checks out her boyfriend’s reaction and then, when she attests that he is truly into my entertainment, she springs to her feet and walks away. Her boyfriend shouts, ‘Honey! Where are you going?’ but doesn’t follow her, staying to enjoy the rest of the dance.

I finish, accompanied by loud clapping. The blonde returns and with the same acidic manner drops back onto the couch.

I get off the table, put on my panties. As I look for my bra I realize that the blonde is sitting on it.

‘Can you please pass me my bra?’ I smile, ignoring her stare full of hatred.

She smirks, pretends that she hasn’t heard me and assumes the cross-legged position.

Still half naked, I straighten my shoulders, step closer, and ask her again, in the same polite manner but louder this time, ‘You are sitting on it. Can you please pass my bra?’

The whole table is watching us in silence. Her boyfriend fidgets but also keeps quiet.

The blonde, after a dramatic pause, to make sure she has everyone’s attention, pulls my bra out from under her ass and dashes it in my face.

A wave of humiliation, followed by self-pity, distorts my expression. ‘Why did you do that?’ I finally say, feeling that it’s not just my bra but all the unfairness of the world that’s been thrown into my face.

What did I do to her? I don’t even know the bitch.

She gets up, her face made ugly with the same smirk. ‘Because you’re a fucking dirty stripper!’ She walks away, shoving me out of her path. I step back, losing my balance, and awkwardly drop down on my ass on the table.

On a normal day I would likely have disregarded the fine for fighting in the club, made sure that I got a good payoff for the money spent on the fine, caught the bitch and shown her how to respect ‘fucking dirty strippers’. But not this time. I cover my face and, forgetting that I’m still half naked, ignore the apologetic cheer-ups from her frightened friends along with the curious and intruding eyes of other girls and patrons. I start weeping like a little girl.

Strong hands lift me up. I open my eyes – it’s Alan. He picks me up and carries me to the changing room like a bride. I put my arms around his neck, hide my wet-with-tears face, and cry even harder, smearing my mascara over his shirt.

It’s so nice to be taken care of like that at least once in a while. Sweet.

‘Julia!’ Alan yells, puts me on my feet as soon as we are in the changing room and steps back. ‘What the hell was that?’

Crap, I'll get fined one way or another.

‘You shouldn’t be here after what happened to your father.’ Before I can object, he heads to the door and adds, ‘I don’t want to see you here for at least a week! My clients come here for fun, not for mourning.’

44

Another two weeks go by. I’d taken a week off as Alan had ordered, and am already back at work. Natalia has decided to stay in Ukraine for longer, as Tom wanted to meet our mom and could only do this in a month’s time. So, she’ll wait for him and they’ll fly back together. She calls me every day with ‘I don’t get it. How’s that even possible? I can’t even look at some foods, the ones that used to be my favorite,’ or, ‘Oh, I have this perverted urge to eat green fruits. Sour apples and plums are on top of my list now!’ She also reports on our Mom’s state, saying that except for some moments, when Mom got emotional at the funeral or while packing Dad’s clothes and other belongings after that, she is doing pretty well.

At least Natalia had a good result according to our plan. My part, which was helping Lena: not so much.

I walk into a bar. It’s one of those smelly, dodgy open-in-the-mornings-as-well places on Long Street. I look around trying to adjust my vision – from the bright, sunny street to premises with almost no windows. The place is empty, except for one last-stage alcoholic man, sitting at the bar and staring at a half empty glass of beer, the tired-looking barman and my sister in front of the countertop game machine sipping a glass of white wine.

For two weeks I’d tried to reach her. I called her thousands of times and sent her a bunch of texts. I begged and accused and threatened – I tried it all. Today, she finally responded with a short text, asking me to come and meet her in this bar.

I walk towards the bar counter and sit down next to her.

She sees me but doesn’t stop playing. ‘Oh Jul! Thanks for coming, let me quickly finish this one.’

I pin her with a heavy look, but she doesn’t even notice.

She drags me to this shithole to talk and now some stupid game is more important?

‘Can I have a bottle of still water and a cappuccino, please,’ I say to the barman and go and sit at the table.

Mark is furious. And I understand why. But unfortunately, there is nothing we can do about Lena’s state, no matter how depraved it is, or how willing we are.

The barman brings me my order. The cup has a lipstick stain on it. I make a face, push it away and check the glass. It’s dirty too. I pick up the bottle and take a few gulps.

Lena finishes her game and comes to sit in front of me. She is definitely drunk and most probably high too. She looks horrible. Her jeans and T-shirt are wrinkled and dirty. Her hair is matted and there are earth-colored rings under her eyes. She’s lost a lot of weight too.

Fucking living-on-the-street-junkie.

‘Thanks for coming.’ She sips from her glass. ‘I believe Mark’s already spoken to you. He is angry at me, huh?’

‘What do you think? How come a few weeks after rehab you were back on drugs?’

‘I know Jul, but do you know how difficult and sad it is to live with the knowledge that you’ll never be able to have kids?’

‘Oh God! You’re starting with this again? How are the drugs supposed to help you get pregnant? You know what’s really sad? Dad died, and you haven’t called Mom once! That’s fucking sad.’

‘Oh God, I am a horrible person... I’ll call Mom.’ Her voice quivers, but it sounds so fake that I can’t help rolling my eyes. ‘Jul, I need help. Can you give me some money, please?’

‘I don’t have money.’

‘Oh yeah? And what about your new car?’ She nods towards the only dirty window, where I’d parked outside. ‘You have the money for that… I heard about your new rich boyfriend.’

‘He isn’t my boyfriend. I work hard to earn this money. And it’s none of your business how I spend it.’ I look straight into her eyes. ‘Besides, you know, it’s not about the money. Me giving you money equals me buying you drugs equals me contributing to your probable death.’

‘Maybe I don’t deserve to live. I am a bad, bad person. I should die. And you are the first person who should want that.’

‘Don’t even try it. I am an addict myself. Remember? I know all the tricks you are trying to pull. So what? You cheating on your husband or your abortion story or you falling for addiction are not reasons to deserve death.’

‘If you knew, you would want me to die.’ She continues the drama, and I roll my eyes again.

Lena’s eyes spark with anger.

‘That day you were raped...’ She picks at the wine glass. ‘I came back from school, they were still busy with you. I got scared and left. I went one flight of stairs up. When my fear settled, I still didn’t move to help you. I knew if Sergey had to find out that I knew, he’d never marry me. I was in love with him and I wanted to get married so badly that I was ready to pretend that I never saw it. That it never happened. Even after seeing you in hospital, knowing how much damage they’d done to you...’ She looks me in the eye. ‘If he’d wanted to marry me you’d have had a brother-in-law who had raped you.’ An ugly smile finishes her sentence. ‘Do you want my death now?’

The painful memories flood my mind, boiling my blood and burning from inside. I sit back and turn away, unable to stand her stare.

‘I don’t know if you’ve made that up, or if it’s for real – it’s fucking sick. In any case,’ I search my bag, pull my wallet out, ‘you’ve got what you called me here for.’ I throw a few hundred-rand notes on the table. ‘Hope it was worth it.’ I leave.

45

Another few days go by. I march the club’s floor through the nights and sleep, mostly, through the days. I try not to let the thoughts about the past enter my mind, but heaviness and persistent feelings of unfairness eat me from inside.

Despite all my predictions, Lena calls me again.

‘Jul, I need your help.’ Her jumpy voice suggests withdrawal. ‘I am so sorry. I want to quit, but I need your help. Mark doesn’t believe me any more. He doesn’t even want to speak to me. I seriously want to stop. You know how it is? No one understands me better than you.’

‘What do you want? I have nothing to offer.’ I cut her off.

‘Oh please Jul.’ Lena starts sobbing. ‘Mark has thrown me out onto the street. I have no place to go. Please, my poppy-seed.’ Her sobbing gets louder and more desperate.

I stay quiet for a moment. The desire to hang up and never answer her calls again is powerful and legitimate.

After all she’d told me last time, I owe her nothing.

‘Where are you?’

‘Oh God, poppy-seed, thank you. Can you pick me up at Mark’s house? I am at the gate.’

Half an hour later I arrive at Mark’s place. Lena is sitting on the curb. She looks worse than when I saw her last. She is wearing the same clothes and her hair shows she hasn’t showered for at least two weeks.

What has happened to my dreaming sister and her beauty?

‘Jul, oh gosh. Thank you for doing this for me. I know I’ve let you down.’ She leans towards my side window and I frown at the sour smell of alcohol and dirt that she gives off.

‘Are you planning on getting in? Or do you want to stay here all day?’

‘Mark is so mad he wouldn’t even let me in to pick up some clothes.’

‘Gosh! Why on earth would he be angry? Could it be that his cheating, drug-addict wife stole money from him?’

She ignores my remark. ‘Could you ask him? He will definitely let you in.’ Her voice is pleading.

I grit my teeth but get out of the car.

When I ring the doorbell, Mark opens right away.

‘Come on in. Your sister can stay out!’ He’s raging.

‘Hey, do you mind if I grab some clothes for Lena?’

He steps aside, showing me to the bedroom. I walk down the passage; he follows me.

‘You think you can save her? I’ve tried many times... It’s like she’s turned into a monster.’ His voice is filled with pain and frustration.

I don’t respond and start throwing Lena’s clothes into a suitcase. He’s right, and I have nothing to say.

‘She will use us and continue her addiction as long as we help her. You think you’re helping? You only make it worse...’

‘What do you think I should do?’ I lose my cool. ‘The whole situation is driving me mad. But she’s my sister, Mark, and she needs my help.’

Mark stands at the door, watching me pack.

‘I miss her so much...’ he mumbles, and his eyes fill with tears. ‘But some monster took my Lena away from me.’ He covers his face and his quiet sobbing thunders in my ears.

I knew he loved her, but I didn’t realize how much this has affected him.

I go to him and hug him. ‘Look, I used to be into drugs too. Badly. Hopelessly. I made a lot of mistakes. But it took one person to believe in me and help me to get out. And look, I am back on track. It’s because my sisters didn’t give up on me that I’m out of that nightmare.’ I get back to the suitcase. ‘She’ll stay with me for a while. Maybe go back to rehab. Lena will be back, believe me.’

He wipes his face and takes a few deep breaths, trying to stop sobbing.

‘I should have picked Natalia. She is the only normal person in your family.’

We laugh. He walks me to the door.