Author: Darkenaz

“So, how do I look?” Mandy pulls aside the curtain of the dressing room, revealing her top model figure. She poses in a low V-neck T-shirt and beige tight pants.

“Good.” You look hot, just like in the last twenty outfits. I would give anything for a body like that. I feel like she’s intentionally trying to annoy me with her displeasure. My arms are almost torn off from the garments still waiting to be tried on or put back on.

“Just good? You think good will impress Alan on Saturday? Give me that black top.”

I’ll hold out the full stole, indicating that she should help herself, because I don’t have any free hands. She immediately spots the moodiness behind my gesture.

“What’s the matter? You’re so grumpy today.”

“I forgot to do the dishes yesterday and my mother is going to kill me.” I say, even though it’s only one side of the coin.

“Have you not had the washing machine repaired since then?”

Seeing my expressionless face, she changes her tone:

“Oh… I’m sorry… Yes, you mentioned that after your Dad’s accident, your Mum became even stricter.” She continues in a much quieter voice, mimicking sympathy.

Who knows, maybe she really wants to feel sorry for me. But it wasn’t her father who killed himself. She has no idea how I feel.

“Give me those.” She takes the pile of clothes from me, and a few pieces fall off the top, their hangers clattering to the floor of the shop. I’m about to bend down to pick them up, but she is stopping me: “Leave it, I’ll manage! Go and try on some something pretty! It always makes me feel better.”

You might. It must be a real joy for someone who could be on the cover of any fashion magazine to admire herself in the latest trendy clothes.

She’s just trying to be nice, but I would like to slap her in the face. Why?

“Maybe some other time… To tell you the truth, I’m getting a bit worried about this dishwashing thing and what I’m going to get for it… So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to…”

“Sure, you can go” She smiles.

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. All right, get going! See you at school tomorrow!” She winks at me.

The urge to start running from the maze of dressing rooms and racks is strong, but I force myself to remain calm and step out of the automatic doors at a normal pace into the white-lit aisle of shop windows. All around me, noisy young and middle-aged people freshly released from work bustle about, eating in the dining hall, shopping in snaking queues. Some show fatigue on their faces, but the majority are enjoying themselves, chatting and laughing, while I blink in bewilderment, trying to make my way to the exit as quickly as possible amid the waves of people.

As I exit the mall, I take a deep sigh of relief from the afternoon rush-hour petrol fumes. It’s like bathing in the pink light of the sunset for the first time after ten years in prison. But my happiness vanishes as soon as I head for the bus stop. Dread creeps under my skin. If I get on, I’m not going to a dungeon, but straight to the gallows.

Yet I’m on my way.

As I stroll through the valley of glittering glass, high-rise luxury hotels and office buildings, my thoughts bury me deeper and deeper.

You should try on “something pretty”! The last thing I need…

I remember how Mum and Dad bought me the most beautiful clothes for every possible occasion in the naive hope that one day I would wear them and become like them. Normal. What my mother wouldn’t give to have a daughter like Mandy! Who wears make-up, dates, plays sports, is social; a meaningful member of society. Someone she could talk to about nails, shoes, the scandals she read on the internet, instead of “you’ll die alone” and “you’ll be a garbage man” being the only common topics. An endless arsenal of schemes, tricks and restrictions have been deployed to steer me in a direction they think is better. They made me do chores, forced me to share garden parties with their friends, took away my pocket money so I wouldn’t spend it on books, cut off the electricity, took away my laptop… They didn’t even notice that the only result they achieved was an impenetrable wall between us.

Or maybe they just didn’t want to notice.

David was the only one who understood me. That’s why I’m wearing his sweatshirts instead of all the other expensive clothes. I feel safe in them. It’s like when we used play ROTA, watch TV shows, read Harry Potter…

My heart clenches.

I have no idea why, I thought we would spend more time together after Dad died.

But no. Thanks to Sophie.

The last time I saw him was a month ago when I asked him to return my books to the library. I didn’t ask him to take anything out for me; the grief was paralyzing me. I didn’t feel like doing anything. Especially not to go out. I wanted to cease to exist.

How could I wish that he would not return home? On that day…

If it wasn’t for school and Mandy, I’d probably still be curled up in my room.

The domes and huge windows of the library shine out from the bustle of vehicles.

Gosh, when did I get here?

What would Dad say?

My throat constricts, my stomach clenches into a ball.

I relive the terror as I hide erotic fantasies from him under the bed, in the closet, and then, when he finds them, he beats me with them. I feel the hard corners of the cover between my ribs.

I couldn’t be the daughter he wanted me to be.

The weight of failure nails me to the asphalt.

Still… Everything that I am, that I’ve tried to lock away for a whole summer, trusting that time would eat it up, grows weary. Go on, do it! Get inside.

No. I have to go home, do the dishes and study.

That’s what he’d want…

But he’s dead. He’s not here to scold me, beat me, judge me. And beating myself up won’t bring him back.

A hot tear rolls down my cheek. I wish I could be someone else.

But I’m not.

I step across the threshold, fists clenched, trembling.

I breathe a sigh of relief. For the first time in years.

Freely.

The door closes behind me, cutting me off from the outside world. As the noises of the street fade, my conscience fades into silence. I’m lost in the smell of old papers. The mahogany furnitures, the calm of the peach-coloured walls, releases my cramped muscles.

I am home.

Full of new life, I step inside, pass the lending desk and the snack bar, and climb the cream-colored marble steps. As if out of habit, I stroke the shiny, worn wooden railing. I used to get out of breath and had to stop for a rest on the first floor, but now I reach the second floor at the same pace, without effort.

The orangey-pink of dusk flickers through the dome, casting a warm hue over the carved pine tables and the ferns hiding in the corners. At other times, a crowd of students, local and foreign alike, used to study here, engrossed in their textbooks and laptops, but now only two girls and a man read and take notes. It is unusual, yet I like that the large, Gothic interior is so empty.

I walk to the door of the left-hand section. Slowly, savoring every step. Once inside, I tiptoe between the floor-to-ceiling shelves, careful not to disturb the peace that has settled in. I run my fingers along the spines of a few books, soaking in the timeless dignity they exude. My eye catches a title.

Classicist architecture?

I frown. There should be something else here. It’s been so long since I’ve been here I’d forgotten where to find fantasy books? No, there’s no way. I’ve made the trip here hundreds of times.

A soft murmur rings in my ears from across the room. On the other side of the aisle, a tall, dark figure appears in the company of a library cart. The black-clad man’s slim, muscular silhouette is sharply outlined by the light streaming in through the large, arcaded window, his white hair almost glowing as it reflects the fading rays of the sun. He takes a few books off the cart to place them in the gaps between the books on the shelf. His movement is continuous, yet unhurried. Rather, it is measured. I can see the deep respect he has for his work. His long fingers grip the covers loosely, as if he fears his touch might damage the old, weathered copies.

Not like my parents, who throw them on the ground and kick them without a remorse.

Like they did to me.

I am overwhelmed with pain. My gaze clings completely to this stranger, as if the mere sight of him could make my past unhappen. My consciousness is filled with his broad shoulders, his narrow hips, his strong arms. He is packing. Puts one book after another in its place. The pain in my chest gradually dissipates. It’s as if he’s putting my shattered soul back together with the books, strengthening my hope that I’m not the only degenerate monster in the world.

Déjà vu comes over me.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him, where does he look so familiar? The black outfit, the long white hair…

Of course! Metamorph’s elf warrior!

No way… My cheeks heat up with recognition. Suddenly it occurs to me that who knows how long I’ve been staring at him. I quickly take down a book and pretend to read, but he’s so immersed in his work that he doesn’t even notice me.

I push my glasses up.

Yes, exactly like him. Except he’s not wearing armor. It’s better that way; his tight black turtleneck lets me see the rise and fall of his abs with each calm breath.

How many times I’ve watched this character for hours, longing, wondering what it would be like to snuggle up to him, to touch him. I imagined her strong arms holding me safe from my parents’ war.

And now here he is. In a library. With me.

As he moves on to the next row, he gets out of my sight. I instinctively move with him. I take down a book again.

Communication and body language.

I really am lost, yet I don’t regret it.

I pick up the book, absorbed in the stranger’s harmonious being, the play of light on his long hair. His face is symmetrical, proportionate. His steps are flexible, yet confident. He knows exactly what he is putting where and why, never wavering for a moment, never turning back. He’s a determined, independent man who is satisfied with his work and himself. Someone I can look up to. With him, I’d never have to be afraid again. My heart fills with warmth.

He’s moving on. So do I. Another book.

Evolution and Taxonomy of Terrestrial Plants – I open it with trembling hands, pretending to read.

The tiny vestige of my common sense beckons me to put it back and leave, for what I am doing is vile and indecent. But I cannot. Towards him, I feel a strong attraction like never before. Every cell in my body trembles to be one with him.

It’s as if he just senses it, moves towards me.

Maybe he’s just packing up this way, or maybe he’s going to someone else’s… I look around quickly, but there’s no one here.

He’s coming to me.

I have to get out of here. Now.

Come on, move!

But I just stand and watch. He’s getting closer, gifting more and more tiny details to my aroused imagination. Neat and elegant. Not a hair on his turtleneck, not a dandruff, not a crumb, as is usual with dark clothes. Just as perfectly black as his eyes. That calm, understanding look… I want to be lost in it foreverlooms over me. As he blocks the light, his shadow falls on me. My heart has never beaten so fast.

“Hello.” His deep voice shivers down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck rising with desire.

“Can I help you with anything?” He smiles. Not with cold politeness, like the people who usually work here, but with sincerity. As if I really matter.

I can feel my panties getting wet. I squeeze my trembling legs together, even though I want to open up to him more than anything.

“N… no, thank you.”

Did I really say that?

Of course. A flawed, abnormal girl like me doesn’t deserve a nice smile or any help. I’m waiting for him to turn around and walk out on me.

But he doesn’t. Glances at the books in my hand:

“Classical architecture, psychology, taxonomy…”

Oh, my God, I took all this off and forgot to put it back?

“I’m interested in many things.”

Especially in you.

I gulp with a dry throat.

“Actually, I was looking for Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I couldn’t find it where it used to be. But I came across these and I couldn’t resist.”

What am I saying?!

“The youth section was moved to the ground floor in June.”

Seeing my uncertainty, he adds:

“Come, I’ll show you.”

As he walks past me, I am hit by the scent of his perfume. Sweet and spicy. Cinnamon, cardamon, cedar. A sense of peace and security spreads through me.

“Of course you can wait here, I’ll be happy to bring it up for you.”

I realize that I’m still standing in one place, so I hurry after him.

I’ve been following a lot of people in my life. Trailing my dad on hikes, Mandy in the mall. I could barely keep up with them; with my short height, my fatigue, I was a constant burden. This man is also taller than me, by a lot, and though he never once looks back at me, he steps half as much as his stature would allow. It’s as if I belong to someone. To him.

The thought is mesmerizing. Just like his long, shiny hair. I watch as the strands separate in a perfect arc, then touch his back with every step. I’m amazed that it’s so neat, even at the end of the day. Shining in the off-white glow of the lamps like the natural, healthy hair of shampoo ad models, never subjected to the damage of dyeing or bleaching. Which, of course, is impossible. Especially since his eyebrows and eyelashes are black.

As the minutes tick by, the hypnosis of the rhythmic undulation dispels my logical thoughts. I no longer care what makes it so beautiful, only to be able to touch it. How would it feel? The way he leans over me while his hair falls forward? On me, around me, on my body?

I come to when he bends down and takes the book I came for off the shelf.

Even kneeling like this, he reaches my breasts.

I blush.

How high would I reach for him in the same position? I want to get this nonsense out of my head, but the more I try, the more it gets stuck. That’s not even the most disturbing thing, but that I would be willing to actually kneel down in front of him. Gladly. I wouldn’t mind if he doesn’t even touch me, I’d be honored if he would just let me to…

“Here.” He holds the book out to me.

His hand is even more attractive up close than from a distance. It’s like something out of an anatomy book. His almond-shaped nails are even, short curves framing his long fingers, his skin is fair and smooth. As I take it, I shiver so that I involuntarily touch him.

I wince and drop the book.

How can I be so clumsy?! I burn. With shame and desire at the same time. Quick as lightning, I bend down and pick it up. For a moment, our heads are on the same level. Wish I could kiss him…

“Thank you!” I mutter, and hurry away.

I run through the corridor, I don’t stop until I reach the bathroom. I slam the door behind me, not giving a damn about the silence of the library. I drop the books on the hand-washing counter and lean against the cold  sink.

I stare into the mirror. My face flushed, I gasp for breath. My panties are so wet, it’s like I’ve been watching porn. Am I soaked? Luckily I’m alone, so I quickly run my hands down my trousers. It’s dry.

What the hell has gotten into me?

His hand… It was a split second, yet I relive it over and over again. Big, warm, silky, firm. The kind of hand that’s not hard to imagine would be there to protect me forever.

He’d reach under my shirt…

I wince down there. Desire sweeps through me with intense, unquenchable agony. The open door of the nearest toilet tempts me to lock myself in and…

I wash my burning face. The cold of the water sobers me up a little.

He is a stranger. A complete stranger. Older than me, by a lot. Thirty, maybe. He must have someone; a mistress, a wife, a family, a child… And I’m only eighteen in a month… I’m reading young adult books. And then… I have Bill.

Who I’ve never spoken two words to and never even touched.

My hopes are shattered, replaced by bitter, grinding pain. Loneliness. Shame.

Not even a nerd of my age wants me. Because I am not enough. Fat. A nobody.

My neck tightens with a stifled cry, a silent, inarticulate howl of helplessness.

This is reality. The unvarnished fact from which I escape again and again into books and erotic videos. Into my imagination…. Because life is too horrible to exist in.

Still…

That one second…

In vain I try to suppress it, in vain reason and utter hopelessness… I want nothing more than to touch him again.

And I hate myself for it.

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I storm into the house, out of breath, my eyes searching for signs that Mum has come home. Her shoes are not here, nor her sweater, nor she herself. Thank goodness! I sigh. If she were here, she’d ask me where I’d been and I’d have to confess. And I’d have to listen all evening to a lecture about my miserable life of isolation that awaits me. No, under no circumstances can she find out about the library. It’s convenient that Dad just lies there thinking about his problems; he doesn’t give a shit what I do. I secretly wish he’d scold me again if that’s all it would take to get him back to his old self.

I open the fridge and grab out a food container of cabbage casserole to heat up. I deliberately don’t get it out on a plate, so I have less dishes to wash. The dishwasher broke weeks ago, and my Mum and Dad seem to be purposefully not calling a repairman just to screw with me.

As the food swirles in the microwave, its delicious smell leaks out. After a few bites, I pull a foreign piece of hair out of my mouth. As I chew, the gristle of minced meat cracks under my teeth, while elsewhere it’s soft from all the fat. I no longer crave it. Mandy tells me that I must have been fattened up like this by our cook at home… good joke, we don’t even have a maid. Which sucks in a three-story house. But that’s just the way it is with “bourgeois”; cheapskates. And the kid needs to learn how tough real life is…

I go into the pantry for a bag of chips and a bar of chocolate. I need a snack for studying, and because I’m hungry and can’t cook. I stuff the loot into my bag, sling it over my shoulder and retreat to my room.

However, when I reach the turn of the stairs, a strange urge pushes me to keep going to the second floor. I stop in front of my parents’ bedroom. The door is ajar, the blinds are down, Dad is sprawled on the bed, and though I can only see his feet from the hallway, icy fingers of fear caress the back of my neck. I touch my face where he hit me yesterday. Only the memory hurts now.

How did it come to this? It seems like yesterday that Dad, Mum, David and I were spending all day hiking in the mountains or going to the cinema, studying the constellations, playing badminton, board games… we were having fun. Our laughter rings in my ears. Especially Dad’s deep, happy voice. I hated these programs. Because they were compulsory, and I wanted to be in my room with David, playing videogames. Yet, now I would smash my computer with my own hands if it meant I could have just one of those moments back. Even if he doesn’t understand me. He never did.

But what about me? Do I understand him?

What do I know about losing parents, about the feeling of having no one to turn to. When all the responsibility is yours and there’s a whole layer of society watching what you do with it. When you inherit so much money out of nothing that you don’t need to work anymore, yet you don’t know what to do with all that time you have. With the pressures of loneliness and expectations…

“Dad…” I say, barely audible. “I just… I just want you to know that I’m not mad at you for yesterday. And for the ones before. I know, I’m just a kid who can’t understand your problems… But I’d be happy to listen.”

Silence.

“Of course, I understand if you don’t want to talk. You don’t have to, it was a stupid idea.” I say. “I just wanted to… Do you remember when I was going to the lookout and I was hysterical about being tired and you put me on your shoulders? Or when we were picking mushrooms? I miss the woods, the nature, the fresh air, the walks… I was thinking we could go out this weekend, if you feel like it. I think it would be good for you, too. What do you think?”

The bed’s creaking. My knees buckle up, ready to flee, but I swallow hard, pulling myself together. I have to hold on. I can’t run away. Not now.

The light filtering in through the crack in the door draws a narrow, yellow stripe across his pajama-clad form. I force my guilt-stricken eyes to look into his stubbled face. His gaze is veiled. Perhaps from tears. I wait for him to say something.

He closes the door. Then he locks it.

Every part of me is rebelling against this rejection. So much so that I reach for the handle and then…

Those pale, lifeless eyes…

My tongue sticks like a dry sponge to the roof of my mouth. There’s not a door between us. But an endless, unbridgeable chasm.

But why?!

Because you are not enough.

With bitten lips, I fight back tears, rush down the stairs and into David’s old room. The cold abandonment hits me hard in the chest. I drop my bag, stirring up the half-year-old dust on the carpet. Everything is as it was when he left. Blue wallpaper, TV, models of fantasy characters on the shelves, signed posters of streamers on the wall, monitor and keyboard on the desk. He even left his computer behind. Wardrobe door open, clothes scattered about. It’s obvious he left the sinking ship in a hurry. It’s been like this for ages, but I can’t bring myself to tidy it up and clean it. It’s as if I’m desecrating my brother’s memory.

My grief suddenly turns to anger, I kick a pile of old T-shirts.

Fuck you! Why the fuck did you leave me here?! Mr. Perfect, who always knew the answer to everything, could talk to Mum and Dad, make peace between them… He’s nowhere to be found!

I lay down on the grey plaid bedding, put my tear-stained glasses on the bedside table, and bury my overheated face in the cold pillow. I inhale the stale, powdery scent of David’s shampoo. It’s weakened a lot in recent months. It terrifies me that it will soon disappear completely, just as he has from my life.

But why do I let him disappear?

I put my glasses back on and take out my mobile phone to text him.

“Hi! I miss you. You’re often on my mind, especially since I’m not as skilled and wise as you to handle the tension here… Anyway, it’s bad to start with complaining. How are you? Did you see Metamorph’s stream yesterday? It is said to have been quite shocking. I’ve only heard parts of it, but it’s hard to imagine he’s bisexual and polygamous. Somehow I always pictured him as straight xD Maybe we could watch it together sometime. If you want, we could meet, if Sophie…”

I delete the whole text. Sophie wouldn’t like that. She’d get jealous, maybe even quarrel, and I’d rather disappear than cause trouble in David’s marriage. So I take off the glasses again, crawl under the covers and imagine him holding me in a comforting embrace. Tightly, just like when we locked ourselves in during one of the fights and Dad smashed the glass door on us, and David shielded me with his body from the shards of glass that were raining down on us. For a moment, I feel so safe. My limbs, which had been ready to jump for weeks, go limp, sink into the soft mattress…

Someone bursts into the room, turns on the light. My God, when did I fall asleep? I immediately reach for my glasses and squint at the figure stalking towards me, my head suddenly struck by the light.

“Someone’s got it good here, getting to sleep all day! Do you think this is all right?” Mum shoves her smartphone in my face, almost too big to fit between her fake-nail fingers. Although her hand is shaking with excitement, I immediately recognise the electronic gradebook. My throat tightens with fear and I suddenly want to be somewhere else. Anywhere.

“Tell me, what do you see?”

“Did I fail the test…?” I gasp in agony.

“Louder, so your father can hear!”

“Math: F!“ The held back tears sting.

My father stands in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his dead eyes brought back to life by anger.

“Did you really think you deserve privileges like going on a trip with us?”

His sharp words peel the skin from my soul. I just wanted to be kind… to see him start living again. And behold, he’s regained his strength, just to humiliate me.

“What?!” She puts her hand on her hip. “We shouldn’t even let you out of your room!”

“It’s not as if I go that many places…” I pull my knees up to my chest. I’d like to pull the covers over my head, just so I don’t have to see the alliance that’s forming between them.

“Your father told me that you got home after four again today, even though you only had class until one thirty-five.”

She picks up my bag and dumps its contents on the carpet. The chips and chocolate, the textbooks and notebooks crumple to the floor, then a Christie Golden book and two adult books.

“Did you just pop into the library? If you can read, you shouldn’t spoil your eyes with rubbish like that!” She swats the erotic anthology “Touch Me” with his foot and kicks the pile of books.

No, no! I quickly pick them up and hold them close to me. I couldn’t bear it if they got damaged and I’d have to beg them for money to pay the compensation.

“Sure, hug them tightly. You won’t get to hug anyone else in your miserable life anyway. Nobody wants a freeloader. And if you keep going like this, you’ll never get anywhere. You’re gonna be a fucking garbage man or a janitor, not a lawyer!”

“Who wants to be a lawyer?!” My voice is shaking, just like I do. I can barely stand her glare, but I hold on just the same. “I’ll take librarianship.”

“Would you sully the Morawa name with such a lowly degree? Would you bring shame on your grandfather? And me?” Dad is coming closer.

As if his idleness would greatly honour Grandfather’s memory.

“My daughter is not going to be a bookworm who spends all day stacking blanket novels. Ridiculous.”

“Just leave it, if she keeps it up, she won’t be accepted anywhere.” Mom says. “So I suggest you get your fucking act together, girl, if you don’t want to spend your life scrubbing other people’s shit off the toilet bowl. Of course, your needs might be met by this. But not ours. If you think we’re going to stand idly while you fuck up your life, you’re sorely mistaken. You will apply to law school. Whether you want to or not.”

“Or you can go wherever you like, because I’m not going to support you any longer,” Dad adds.

“I called your math teacher so you can correct your grade. You’d better start studying right away, because if you screw up tomorrow’s test, I’ll smash your damn computer, which you’ve been messing with all night!” She turns her back.

“Even if I study, it would mean nothing if I can’t sleep! You two are at each other’s throats every night until dawn!”

Mum stops on the threshold, looks back. For a moment I’m sure she’ll come and hit me, just like Dad did yesterday. Instead, she just looks at me with those icy black eyes. When she speaks, her voice is as cold as her eyes.

“There are problems in every family. Shifting your responsibility onto someone else is a shameful thing that no one will tolerate. I strongly recommend you stop doing that. Or you’ll die alone.”

In deep agreement, they exit contentedly and slam the door behind them.

Of course. They can do anything. Everything. I can almost hear the sound of my mother’s stiletto heels smashing into the screen of my laptop. They can take away anything I hold dear. I am at their mercy. Oh, David, if only someone would come along in my life too that I could cling to and escape! Anyone. Even someone like Sophie, who’s so jealous I could only see you once a month.

But why do I need someone? Why can’t I do it alone? If I study hard enough, get good grades, graduate college, get a good paying job…

I reach for my math book, but as soon as I pick it up, I put it down. Come on… I’ll never understand it.

But what if I can do it?

I open the book, but my enthusiasm soon evaporates. It’s as if it were written in an unknown language. Despair takes hold, the numbers flow into words before my tired eyes.

You’ll be a garbage man.. You’ll spend a lifetime scrubbing other people’s shit off the toilet bowl… You’ll die alone…

What am I trying for? I’m just kidding myself. I close the book, as if I can shut the words out of my head.

I reach for my mobile phone to open Metamorph’s video from yesterday, when I see that he has uploaded a new one this noon. How strange; he usually post videos in the evening. I scroll in. I’m immediately lost in his sky-coloured eyes, my mind filled with his blue hair shimmering in the monitor light, his calm, raspy voice. And, of course, the airy movements of the legendary white-haired elf as he slaughters demon after demon in the dungeon.

“… many of you have been asking whether you can see me at this year’s World Championship. I’m not keeping it a secret: yes, I will be there. I’ve had enough of the depression caused by last year’s failure. I’m going to prepare harder and do my best to overcome my stage fright. Yes, I know, there are seven hundred and fifty-eight thousand of you watching at the moment, but it’s completely different to play in a huge arena, to hear your fans live, to feel how much you love me – or what I do, at least. I’m depressed by the risk of losing it all. But of course that’s silly.” He smiles, with the kind of heart-stopping smile that makes thousands of girls faint.

“I’m the best player the world ever had.” he says, so modestly, so full of complexity, that I want to hug him.

I wish I could see it live! I wonder if Bill would like that? Maybe he’s watching this very video and daydreaming about the same thing. It would be great to travel to the Championship together, share the enthusiasm, analyse the gameplays! And then afterwards…

The scene on the bus this morning, when he pulls me to him… and then down to bed. He kisses me, gently at first, then more intensely. As if he’d been dreaming about it for years, since the first time we met. Of me. The girl who understands him, his thoughts, his feelings. His long fingers digging demandingly under my top, and me trembling to give every inch of my body to him. And to have more of him. I wrap my legs around his narrow hips, his manhood bulging beneath his trousers pressed against my pubic mound. I let out a low moan. I reach into his shaggy black hair to pull him closer, but our lips are already connected. Our lips part for a moment, he removes his shirt and I stroke his toned muscles. He removes my clothes, which makes me feel a little embarrassed, but he takes possession of my body with such eager pleasure that my doubts are dispelled and I feel like the most attractive woman in the world…

The sound of a struggle pulls me back from the double bed in the hotel to David’s bedroom.

Who would fuck a pig?

I take my hands away from my body. On the screen of my phone, an athletic man is banging a young girl with perfect curves. His huge cock dives again and again into her clean-shaven pussy.

Shame overwhelms me. How did I get here?

Mum and Dad are yelling. One half of me is curious and encourages eavesdropping, while the other is fed up with it for life. What if they come up and catch me not studying?

Fuck them! – I take out my headphones and switch back to Metamorph’s video, which I have no idea when I have stopped watching. I’m lost in his voice, letting his words permeate my soul and make me forget the hell that’s going on around me, the pain of loneliness. Looking at the chat, I realize I’m not so alone after all. I could write a comment…

No one would respond and it would only hurt more.

The house shakes, signaling the garage is opening and Dad is leaving.

I secretly wish he wouldn’t come back.

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My phone’s alarm rings, and I almost roll off the bed, then half-comatose, I silence it. Damn this loud alarm sound! I should change it, but I know I’d hate it no matter what sound it makes.

I curl up under the blanket in agony, gathering strength to get up. Why isn’t it summer vacation already? I wish I could skip these last two weeks!

But unfortunately being tired is no excuse; I have to go to school. The math test is today!

And I didn’t study at all.

I’d like to dig myself deeper into bed. I should say that I am sick. What a pity, my parents saw through my attempts to do so in my whole life! And I’d rather do a hundred math test than willingly draw the aim of their wrath.

I put on my glasses, then crawl out of bed, my limbs trembling with exhaustion. From the bottom of my closet I pull out David’s black sweater with the word Nirvana on its back, as if it might protect me from certain death. Once dressed, I stagger into the bathroom, yawning profusely. I look into the mirror and startle back. The circles under my eyes could rival those of a night shift worker, and my hair is even greasier than yesterday.  It is also completely tangled, having taken the shape of the lumps in my pillow. I quickly grab an elastic band to hold it together. However, as I lift my untidy mane, I notice a red handprint on my neck and part of my face. The nightmare of last night suddenly comes back to life. From the force of the blow, I was sure that by today my whole face would be swollen, covered in purple bruises. But no. However, this small redness can still lead to unwanted questions from my classmates, so I tiptoe down the corridor, up to the second floor, to my mothers’ bathroom. I take out the crate-sized make-up kit. I loathe to put any of it on myself, triggering more pimples, but they can’t see it. So even though my first lesson is PE and I will sweat the whole thing off, I still need to do my best.

I open the box. Oh my God, which one is the foundation? Maybe these are on the right. What a shame that they all match my mum’s tanned skin and not my pale skin! I choose the lightest one and apply it thickly from my forehead to the neck of my sweater, without any tools or expertise. At times like this I envy my mother a little for hiding the dark side of her life behind such perfect masks. But God forbid I ask for her help! She might think I’m seriously interested. Because she is. She’s a real mall girl. And I never, ever want to be like her…

Done. Itching with the urge to wash it off immediately, allowing my clogged pores to breathe freely, but I resist the temptation and walk out. One level down, I pack my notebooks and some erotic fantasies to take back to the library, then head downstairs with the bag on my shoulder.

At the turn of the stairs, the sound of movement hits my ears. Startled, I pause, breathless, waiting to hear anything threatening, but it was only the sound of Mum’s slippers. What is she doing here? Ah, of course! It’s Wednesday, and she has to be at work by nine. Shit… I’d rather climb out of the window than run into them. But there’s no window and my bus leaves in fifteen minutes.

I step out from the cover of the stairs. My eyes immediately settle on my mother as she puts her plate in the sink. Her light beige shirt highlights her skin tone, and tight dark jeans show off her long, treadmill-trained legs. Her dyed black hair is in a loose bun, her make-up completely hiding the bruises from yesterday. The perfect woman. Beautiful and pretty, no one could tell she gave birth three times and is closer to sixty than fifty. As her black eyes meet mine, she sighs.

“Oh, dear, are you wearing David’s worn-out rags again?” She pouts at me condescendingly, full of pity. Or is it disgust?

“That’s one thing, but if she spent a whole hour wasting the water yesterday, she couldn’t even wash her hair?” Dad says from the table. He addresses his words to Mum, as if I’m not worthy to be spoken to.

And instead of coming to my defence, my mother, in deep silence, agrees with him. Him, who smells like a homeless man with  week-old stubble on his face waiting to be mowed. But, of course, without ever setting foot outside these four walls, he’s not likely to sully the name “Morawa”. And we are a perfect, prosperous, elitist family. The upper class.

I’m sick of all this. I rush to the door.

“Come and eat with us!” my mother calls after me, but she sounds annoyed that I’m missing breakfast, rather than kind.

“I have to catch my bus. I’ll grab something at school.”

“I can give you a ride.”

And then listen to her about how I should look, live, behave and cover up my problems with perpetual hypocrisy? I choose the bus.

I step outside, slamming the door behind me, but the words I heard continue to haunt me in the form of memories that never happened. I see myself getting out of her black Tesla in front of the whole school, much to my mother’s delight. Unkempt, accompanied by envious eyes.

Do you understand how much shame you bring upon us?

But I am just such a shameful being. I bet if the ultrasound before I was born had shown them what I would become as a teenager, I would have been aborted. What they do at night is forgivable. Because no one can see it. But what I do is intolerable.

The agony brings a smile to my face. How long can they lie to avoid losing prestige?

At the bus stop, a woman in a blue T-shirt is looking at me. It’s not cold, yet I pull David’s sweater tighter over me. It’s as if the whole world is waiting to see when the mask of perfection will fall off so that it can sink its scandal-hungry claws into me. But seriously… does she see something on my face? Is my foundation thick enough? I start to reach for my face, but stop myself; I might end up smearing it.

The bus turns the corner,  and the brakes let out a sharp breath as it comes to a stop.

I show my pass when I board. Making my way inside, I am surprised at how few passengers there are. Then I realise that this is not the 07:15 bus.

” … no, unfortunately. I’ve been studying.”

“Don’t worry, you haven’t missed anything; he still didn’t say whether he would be at the Championship. Instead, he’s dropped a few things about his private life… GameGuru has already published an article about him.”

I recognize that voice. Oh my God, it’s Bill! How could I forget?! I quickly adjust my scraggly ponytail, though the situation is beyond remedy. Now I regret that I did not wash my hair. As I pass them, my gaze connects for a moment with the boy’s green eyes. Blood rushes to my cheeks, I tear my attention away from his fashionably shaggy black hair and plop down on the seat behind him by the window. Behind Bill.

“For real?” asks his friend sitting next to him.

“Yeah, look.” he pushes his phone over. “Metamorph, The Lone Warrior wasn’t always a loner; one of the most popular streamers of our time is bisexual and polygamous”. The video is also here.

What?! – My heart is pounding, not just from the news, but from hearing my idol’s name from Bill’s mouth. I feel a terrible guilt that I missed his video yesterday. The hatred for my parents’ brawl flares up again. I’d like to get my phone out, but my Mum and Dad have paid for a package with limited mobile internet. I’d like to ask Bill to show me, but I’d only embarrass myself. Nobody wants to talk to a girl who is so lame. Even if I’m as much of a Metamorph fan as they are. So I merely stretch out my neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of the blue-haired superstar in the space between the two seats in front of me. Unfortunately, I can’t see it. I can’t even see the reflection from the window. All that remains is the sound, now that the rumble of the bus has quieted down so I can hear the not too deep, yet eerily sexy male voice.

“… what is my ideal woman? Well, I actually attach less importance to gender, it’s more important for me that the person understands me. To accept that gaming is an integral part of my life, but at the same time to know what it feels like to be alone in a crowd. The pressure when people love you, expect great things from you and you dread being unable to live up… Am I speaking as if I’m talking about a specific person? Well, my love life is rather… complicated… Oh, what do I think of polygamy? Long ago, before I started streaming, I had affairs with countless individuals. But now I’m more monogamous. Except for you.”

Oh my God! Metamorph could have been with men?! I try to imagine this nice, straightforward guy kissing a boy. Automatically, Bill’s face pops into my head. No, no, that can’t be…
Bill, in the meantime, paused the video.

“See what they’re writing to him in the chat? Now that’s when I envy streamers. Women are falling for them.

“You should stream too.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, you are pretty good in arena.”

And you’ re good-looking. Smart too. But when I think of the thousands of girls writing fan messages and love notes to Bill, it makes my blood boil. And he would start making videos for that very reason… I had no idea he is so lonely. I’d date him!

As they ponder the idea of setting up their own channel in a light-hearted, joking way, it’s getting more and more painful to listen to them. So remote and inaccessible. Why do I torture myself? I take out my phone, plug in the earpiece, turn on some music. I stare outwards, outside the trees of the suburbs are replaced by concrete blocks of the city, but in my mind’s eye I keep seeing Bill. As he sits next to me, calls out to me, talks to me. I hear his voice, his laugh. Imagining us playing together, but of course he’s so much more skilful than me and so keen to tutor me. He puts his palm on my hand on the mouse, and I try to listen to his instructions, but all I can feel is his skin on mine. The scent of his pine-scented shower gel as he leans behind me. His breath on the back of my neck. I want to turn towards him, to poke his black hair, to kiss him. My heart beats faster and faster. His long fingers intertwine with my hands, as if he knows exactly what’s on my mind, pulls me closer to him, then down onto the bed and…

We’re almost at the school. The boys squirm in front of me, stand up and signal. When I get off, I breathe a sigh of relief to be away from the stuffy air of the bus, watching silently as Bill and his buddy walk through the gate, and then slowly I drag myself to the place of my execution.

Someone pulls the speaker out of my ear.

“Hello, loser!”

The last thing I missed was Mandy… With her V-neckline, wasp-waist, long legs, perfectly pressed hair.

“Hi,” I moaned powerlessly.

“We’re in a mood today! ” She grabs my shoulder and turns me towards her. “Shit, what’s this? You’re wearing make-up!”

Her hazel eyes, lined with black ink, quickly scan the students in the courtyard, and when she spots Bill, she gives him a perverse smile.

“Oh, I understand everything now! So he’s the reason you won’t let me pick you up.”

“I thought you liked to spend your mornings driving with Gregory…”

“I used to. We broke up last night.”

“Why? For two weeks, the two of you never left each other’s lips. “

“Being a good kisser isn’t everything. The spark is gone. You know how it is; guys are like clothes; you have to replace them time to time. ” she shrugs nonchalantly, as if she’s just talking about the weather.

It’s nice to have a man for every fingernail and to be able to switch them every week! My blood is rushing to my head, a vein is throbbing so intensely in my temple that I think it’s about to burst. I hate her at times like this. She’s pretty, cool, well dressed, and she knows it well. I’d like to punch her in the face. I’d like to punch her so hard her teeth would fall out… then she’d suck better.
But then who’d talk to me? Who would I spend my breaks with? Who would sit with me in class? So I swallow my jealousy and try to keep a friendly face.

“Look, that’s Matthew!” he nods towards a guy with piercings and shaved hair on the side. Bill’s classmate. Too bad he’s always talking about some metaphysics and I can’t understand a word he’s saying.”

“Mandy, everyone knows Metamorph. At least every nerd does.” Finally, something I can do!

“Maybe you could give me a lecture sometime,” she says, staring at me with her round cat eyes.

“Friday, my place? ” It’s the usual girly Friday, with a little nerdology thrown in. Finally, we won’t be spending hours in the mall trying on dresses and I can shine too!

If I had her body and her confidence, I could be with anyone.

An icy grip clamps my throat. Maybe that’s why she’s making friends with me. I’m the trump card she uses to pick up the IT guys. Without me, she can’t say two words to them. Not that she needs it, but this way… I may be cutting off the branch I’m sitting on, but somewhere deep down, it feels good to know that the most popular girl in school is secretly dependent on me.

Mandy, meanwhile, is going on and on about Matt. I don’t really listen to her and stay in my own head, but I’m brought back to reality when I’m hit by the sultry smell of sweat and deodorant in the locker room.

I start to undress. It’s a challenge since I injured my shoulder and back yesterday. I let my hair out, as if to straighten it, in case my greasy tassels cover it and Mandy doesn’t…

“What’s that?”

“Um… I fell down the stairs.”

She raises her arched eyebrows.

“I took my heart medicine on an empty stomach and I got dizzy.”

“Oh dear… I…”

Her face, twisted with pity, makes me want to run out of the world. Oh, how I hate this! But I’d hate it more if she found out that it was because my psycho father had smeared me on the kitchen counter.

The school bell rings and we march into the gym, which smells of sneakers and rubber floors. We start with running, like always. Lots of running. Eventually my heart will start pounding so hard that I have to get out of the way of the others. The question is when.

My stomach tightens with nervousness as I put one foot in front of the other. Faster and faster.

One lap.

I’m a weak, fat piece of shit who’s being outpaced by the others.

Two laps.

I hate this feeling. Always being last, in everything.

I’m getting faster.

Three laps.

Soon I will suffocate. But I don’t care. A weak piece of shit like me deserves no mercy.

Four laps.

Waiting for my chest to start stinging, my lungs to constrict, almost feeling the thunder of my heart echoing through my ribs, my carotid artery, my ears…

Five laps.

But I can’t feel it.

Ten laps.

I sweat. Some people are panting now. Me too, but nothing hurts.

Fifteenth lap.

What’s happening to me? Usually by this time, I’m already on the bench in shame.

I’ve lost count of the laps. I only listen to the teacher’s instructions and the effort of my muscles. Sweating blood, panting, moaning, but I’m on my feet. Even during end-of-class gymnastics.

When the teacher releases us ten minutes before the bell, I rush to the changing room, intoxicated by my own performance. Mandy catches up with me in the corridor.

“What was that?” She pats me on the back in a friendly way. You have a heart condition? You’re a little faker! – She teases, but her smile is genuine. Maybe she’s thrilled that I’m not going to die so soon and that I’ll be teaching her nerdology for years to come.

Between two gasps, I laugh. Mandy laughs with me. I can’t believe I made it through! For the first time in my life! I wipe my sweat-soaked forehead.

I’ve got foundation on my palms.

My cheerfulness vanishes in the blink of an eye, I rush to the toilet as if I had diarrhoea. I’ll tell Mandy the same thing if she asks. And what am I going to do about my face? I didn’t have the brains to bring the foundation from home… Everyone will see…!

I look in the mirror.

Where is it? It was here this morning! I take my glasses on and off, wash my face, rub off the whole mass. But there’s nothing. As if I had washed it off with my make-up… But how…? What is happening to me?

Something abnormal.

The thought creeps into my mind, unpleasant, full of horror. Like a parasite slowly devouring all that I am. As if I were no longer in my own body, my skin covered like a foreign shroud. I want to be free of this feeling, yet it pulls me in and paralyses me.

The bell rings.

A new fear rips through me; my next class is math and I haven’t studied at all.

Time to rent a plot in the cemetery.

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I barely glance in the mirror before I am horrified. Oh my God, how fat I am! I quickly wrap my soft, fluffy towel around my wet body. It was a gift from Dad last year. Grandpa was still alive back then, Dad wasn’t rich, he went to work and didn’t just stare at the ceiling all day waiting for his own death.

How sad that girl in the mirror is… And blurry. I put on my glasses, but I wish I hadn’t! Any bird would find my messy brown hair homely. It is greasy and I forgot to wash it today too. But tomorrow is Wednesday – and Wednesday is the day when the IT-class do not have the first class either -—which means Bill will be on the same bus as me.

I take a step towards the bath. But why? He’ll never notice me no matter what I do. Shame sets my face aflame, the pimple that’s been growing for days begins to throb beside my nose. I turn back to the mirror to deal with it. The pain zigzags under my skin, my eyes are about to fall out, but it doesn’t discourage me. It’s like I’m torturing myself on purpose. I don’t deserve any better.

After five minutes of effort, I give up. Total failure: the previously tiny spot is now a huge, red mound on my face. I can’t even do this. Damn it all! Why can’t I be as beautiful as my elf warrior? Well, half as pretty would do. A quarter as… Ah, how nice that would be! I close my eyes, imagining my skin pale and unblemished, my hair a brilliant red, my breasts bigger and my waist slimmer. I walk down the school corridor and everyone turns to look at me, even the school sluts giggle enviously. I can feel Bill’s beautiful green eyes on me…

Only in your dreams.

As soon as I open my eyes, they widen in horror.

A strange woman stares back at me from the mirror. She wears my features, yet she is not me. Her corpse-white skin is almost transparent, her long ears poking out from her dishevelled red pincers.

My heart skips a beat, the strength drains out of me. I lean on the sink.

Sharp, sword-like extensions reach up from her arms. I touch them anxiously. My bones really do stick out, my ears are pointed! I want to scream, but I just stare and stare, filled with dread.

“It’s just a n-nightmare… I’m going to w-wake up soon…” My jaw is shaking, my sharp teeth are scratching my mouth.

Salty blood runs down my gums.

I rush out, through the corridor into my room. I slam the door, press my back against it, as if that will shut that monster out. I’m shaking. My heart is pounding, my chest is stinging. I slide to the floor, hug my knees. The color of my hands is normal and there is no sign of bones protruding from my arms.

What was that again? The first time, I told myself I was hallucinating from sleeplessness, but now this is the second time… am I going mad? Don’t let my parents know! God, what would happen then… They are already freaked out because of my heart. It hurts even now. I should eat something and take my medicine, but I can’t move. I blink and blink. The dark room is illuminated by the light of my laptop’s screen, a few snatches of music coming out of my headset.

After endless minutes, the tightness in my chest eases. I get to my feet, change into my pyjamas and stumble to the table. On the screen, my elf warrior sits, sword on her back. I forgot to logout again; I’m surprised something didn’t kill me. Or someone. I click, and as she scrambles to her feet, the AFK sign above her head disappears.

Red hair, pale skin…

My throat tightens, I’m dizzy.

I immediately teleport back to the nearest capital, where I get a haircut. Her hair will be blue and her skin a little darker. Just like this. Great.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I put the headset on my head and immerse myself in a fantasy world with epic music. I admire the graceful soaring of the griffin, below me are pine forests, watery gorges, barren wastelands. Upon landing, I gather ten salamander roots, slay twenty-five dragons, while I press the same skills over and over again with unchanging beauty.

I stumble. There should be a demon lord here, unleashed into the world by a sect of bloodthirsty mages, no sign of him. Obviously he was killed before me, so I have to wait. A minute passes, then another. Next to me, an orc girl named „Whorelock” bounces around in her boredom. She’s casting spells, summons demonic companions in her boredom, dancing. I need to be fast to get the first hit or I will have to wait for the next respawn.

“Are you waiting for the demon too?” She writes.

I don’t want to answer. Why? She might end up siding with me, and I’d be wondering when I’d burn myself down. I’m sure she’d call me a noob and leave.

And if she doesn’t?

I might have a friend. No, not like Mandy, but a real friend, a real nerd who understands me and with whom I can indulge my infatuation. Or it could be a boy… lots of guys play female characters.

“Shall we kill him together 🙂 ?” She asks, then the party invitation window shows up.

The cursor hovers over the „Accept” button.

Go on, press it! What have you got to lose?

The screen goes black, the music fades.

The power goes out. More correctly, Dad turned off the power; knowing full well that the battery in my old laptop is dead. So Mom’s home and they’re quarrelling again. My stomach goes into an icy knot.

“Just to be sure; that little bitch is going to learn the rules! Not like her mother and that other one!” I hear Dad’s distorted shout of rage.

“That other one?! James, David is your son!”

“He’s not my son! Not since he abandoned the family!”

“He’s twenty-four, he’s got a girlfriend, that’s the way it is!”

“What, that he’s gonna run off with that bitch at the worst possible moment? But why am I surprised? This is what he saw from his mother. Where the fuck have you been?!”

“I was working overtime.”

“Why?! I pay for everything! Your hair, your nails, your car! You shouldn’t even be working! Don’t think I don’t know you’re hanging out with that blonde creep who calls himself your boss!”

Punch snaps.

I flinch as if I feel it on my own skin.

Silence.

What happens when they come up to argue here? They can’t see me awake, I have a math test tomorrow… I tiptoe over to the bed, put my glasses away, then pull myself as small as possible under the blanket. With bated breath, I try to disappear.

„Why did you come home?! Answer me, bitch!”

Scuffle.

Oh, God, Mom, answer him! Why aren’t you honest with him? Why don’t you tell him you work so much because you can’t stand to watch him do nothing? That ever since Grandpa died, he’s been so overwhelmed by money and fame, he needs help? Why can’t you talk things through calmly and figure out what to do next? There are so many possibilities, why can’t you see?

„Let me go, it hurts…” Mom cries.

„You hurt me too.”

Clattering.

Tears streaming down my face. What’s happening down there? I can almost see him slicing her throat with a broken piece of plate. I’m shaking, my heart’s pounding. Too much pounding. But I don’t even dare get up to get my medicine, lest they hear I’m awake thanks to the doors without thresholds and the paper-thin walls.

Silence. Good thing I didn’t accept that warlock’s party invitation! At least I don’t have to explain afterwards where I disappeared to.

Silence and stillness. Too much silence. I should go down and see if they’re alive. Talk to them, pacify them calmly, reason with them, like David did. But I’m not David. I’m choking with fear and the phlegm that’s building up in my nose and I don’t dare breathe it out.

My chest is tight, my eyes are throbbing, just like the blood in my neck. I gasp with my mouth open. Fuck! I have to go downstairs and get something to eat so I can take my medicine. Would it bother them if I died because of this? Nah, they wouldn’t even think of blaming themselves. They might even be glad to be rid of me, the shame of the family so easily.

But I refuse to give them that pleasure. My hand clenches into a fist, I sit up, reach for my phone. It’s 1:16 a.m. They’re probably already asleep. I tiptoe out the door, stealth down the hallway, descending each step of the stairs as carefully as if they might fall from under me at any moment.

The living room is in total darkness, with only the black outline of the furniture drawn by the light from the lamps outside. There is no one. Huh. I head for the kitchen, but before I can reach it, a floorboard creaks beneath me.

“So you’ve come out at last?” Dad gets up from the couch. “I knew you were awake. You do this all the time. Now just tell me, how are you going to take your test in the morning?”

Pretend you can’t hear it. Pretend you can’t hear it.

I’m going nice and steady.

“You probably went deaf from all those video games, but never mind, I’ll bring back to your senses… “He walks to the armchair, grabs something.

Mum groans, collapses on the carpet.

Oh my God…! Don’t look there! Open the fridge, grab the first thing you see and run!

I’m opening it.

“Ah! So you’re not fat enough yet?” He laughs maniacally “You’ll die alone. Yeah, you’ll have no one to feed your fat ass…”

You’ll die alone, echoes in my head. The cold hand of fear strokes me again and again. It paralyses me, fills my mind. I want to banish it so much, but at this point I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I close the fridge. I want to go upstairs and destroy myself in silent solitude, but a big hand grabs my arm.

“Where to in such a hurry?” He steps out into the light streaming in through the glass door of the terrace. He smiles, his pale eyes a dull haze of madness.

He tugs Mom’s hair, forcing herself into the light. She crouches on all fours, like an abused dog. Dad lifts and lifts, Mom whimpers, her pointed nails tearing at Dad’s arm, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“Take a good look at that face!”

Her skin glistens with tears, a swelling darkens under her eyes, blood oozes from the corner of her mouth. It’s a pity none of them heal in more than eight days… Then we could report it and maybe get rid of him for a while.

“Look! Is that what you want to be? A freeloader?!”

“Mom’s not a freeloader. She worked overtime again.” The calmness in my voice surprises me too.

“Oh, so she stuffed your head with that. Well, let me tell you, she’s been spreading her legs long before me and she’ll spread them after me. Your mother’s a whore. And if you keep it up, you will end up as one, too. Assuming you can find someone who’d want to fuck a pig…”

“At least I won’t terrorize my family.”

“It’s your mother who terrorize us!” He shakes her. „Thank her!”

“No, dad… You’re pushing everyone and everything away. If you weren’t a helpless sh…”

His broad palm smacks my cheek, my feet come off the ground, I spin, my back slams against the kitchen counter. The pain sears down my spine, covers my neck, my ears. Choking, I collapse to my knees, drool dripping from my gasping mouth onto the floor. Or is it blood? My ears whistle, black dots dance on the edge of my vision.

Air rushes into my lungs, I cough. My icy hands flatten my throbbing face. What the hell was that? Just now I was standing by the fridge… A skinny accountant who’s barely got out of bed for weeks is incapable of such a blow. It’s just impossible. But then…?

My hearing’s getting clearer. Sadly.

„…because nobody asked you. I hope you’ve finally learned the place of people who lives on other people’s money.”

I’m shaking all over, from pain and fear, but I’m still getting up. I’ve got to get out of here. I don’t mind where, just far away from here. Out into the night, into the protective darkness. To run, to sprint, as far as my legs and heart can carry me… The door is only a few yards away, yet infinitely far away. Now or never, I must reach it…

“Where to? Into the arms of the drunk and the homeless?”

Even they’re not as scary as you, I’d say, but I don’t have the strength to do so.

“You have no one. Maybe to the police? Go ahead, go ahead. Let me save you some time by telling you: you have no proof against me. You can just throw words around, but no one will believe you. No one! Everybody in this city knows whose daughter you are…”

Whatever hope I have left is shattered. There’s no escape. I’m exhausted, I’m going up the stairs to my room. If I’m a prisoner, at least I’ll have peace in my cage.

“So now you’re retreating into the mouse hole?! Where’s your big ego, your courage? You think you can get away with this, you little…?!”

I’m about to quicken my pace when Mom yells:

“James, please, let her go! Hurt me instead!”

He turns to Mom again, but now I don’t care. I’ve had enough of this, there’s nothing I can do. If they’re going to kill each other, at least leave me out of it. All I want is a safe place to collapse. I don’t know if it’s the tiredness, the beat or my heart, but each step is harder than the last. I’m already at the turn of the stairs. I can hardly believe it.

I can hear the scuffle, Dad’s pounding footsteps as he walks down the hall.

“No need to hurry, I’ll go myself! You’ve got your lover and your good-for-nothing kids. I could die for all you care. Yeah… That’s what I’ll do. Be happy for ruining me. For killing me! No, not you; all of you! YOU killed me!” He shouts to make sure his words reach me.

Rattle of keys. Go where you want. When we called the ambulance once, he said with a big sigh that he had no intention of ending his life. Whatever we said, they believed him. Because he is a Morawa. And Mum had to pay the fine for the false alarm. Anyway, “you can’t force someone to undergo medical treatment against their will because it violates personal freedom…” Since then, to this day, he has had the personal freedom to do whatever he wants. He has the right to rampage, to threaten suicide… But he will never do it. He is too cowardly to do it.

When I reach my room, I fall into the quilts and pillows. At last I can cry myself to sleep and get rid of my pain, if only temporarily.

Downstairs, the garage door opens and the car engine roars. The light from the street lamp shines through the window. A blue and white bird flies up from the ledge.

What a strange colour it has! Perphaps an exotic species escaped from a pet shop…

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