20. He’s not the man with whom I can cheat on myself

October 18, 2006

Milana was sobbing into her pillow. She had not had a diary since thirteen years, when Kamila had «accidentaly» read her written confessions, after which Milana had to endure unknown people quoting the diary behind her back.

There was nothing special in it: no horrible secrets, that is to say. But there were thoughts and feelings, that very part of the heart one doesn’t want to expose in public. The Achilles’ heel, which can lead to a downfall. It’s easy to hit the weak spot, and every strike is effective. Not leathal, perhaps, but very painful. One time was enough, I’m a quick learner.

Now she really wanted to talk to someone, to spill out her soul. And so she whispered her loudest thoughts into the pillow. The thoughs that made it hard to breathe, that burst out in sobs and torn meaningless words.

You’re right, Novikov. Partly. But I’m not a bore, I’m what I should be. And maybe you’ll understand it someday. Or, maybe, not.

Candidness is a trump card in this world. Life is a game, where everyone thinks themselves to be winners, when actually we’re nothing but cards in somebody else’s hands. You show your trump card to someone, you open your soul, and they gain control over you. Control limited only by the scale of your scincerety.

I cannot afford to be contolled by someone, who cannot even control his drinking, whose own life is like a party with a belated hangover. I’ve been to parties, and I know how nasty wake ups can be.

Sooner or later everyone experiences the sobering realisation. For Novikov, probably, it will come later.

‘Or never,’ she sobbed. ‘Asshole.’

She liked him. Very much. She even wanted to give in to the temptation and play by his rules. But the problem was, he had no rules.

He’s not the man with whom I can cheat on myself.

‘I want to contol something in my life,’ Milana muttered, whiping her tears. ‘He’s still an idiot. Show-off. Can’t even win me in style. 15 years old and already a fucking playboy. But he’s got a hell of a trouble with studies… and he can’t drink… and he’s a dissipated, licentious… Damn it, why did I fall in love with him of all the people?

Milana got up from her bed and went into the bathroom.

‘Enough’s enough,’ she said sternly to her reflection. ‘Red eyes like a rabbit. Fucking Beauty Queen.’

Tears dried and thoughts arranged, she sat down at her table and took her maths textbook.

Tomorrow there’s a test that I must pass. I rule my own life, and you’re just too infantile. You’re not my type. That’s all. No more tears. Study hard, not think about Novikov, make the iPod louder to turn off all feelings and desires.

Fuck! How awesome History was. Brains off!
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Contents. Part 1