Tabula Rasa. White’s move. Territory of Seduction

Chapter 15

Polina

The days allotted to me and Max seem like a blink of an eye. Ten days ago, I thought it be too long. Today I feel like those ten days were a dream that slipped out the window as broke.

If it were possible, I would have re-lived every second of the last four days.

But today, Max is coming home. Until this minute I lived only "now", and in a few hours I live in "yesterday". For the first time a man gave me so many strong, good emotions. With him

I recognized myself different or became different, and I like this new Polina. She is more mature, self-confident and much funnier. I don't want to think about the future right now. I'm not even to wonder if I'll see him in New York. I just want to somehow live here, today, now.

Max will be taken to the airport by the Art Center car. I'm going with him. I put a present for in my bag. I take one last look in the mirror, fix my hair, try to smile at my reflection, but ’s a deep sadness in my eyes.

Max comes down to the hotel lobby, the porter helps him roll out his suitcase, on which is a travel bag. All the formalities at the reception are over, and while the driver puts the luggage the car, Max and I settle down in the back seat of the car. All the way we are silent, holding and intertwining our fingers. Only when Boryspil appears on the horizon does Max break the :

- Polina, there's a habit of mine you should know about. As soon as I immerse myself in my , I disappear for a while. The studio takes me away from the real world. Especially if I've been for a long time.

- Is the studio at your house? - I'm asking in my head. I'm having a hard time taking in right now.

- No. Once I'm immersed in my work, the outside world is very abstract to me. I may not your calls or texts, I rarely log into Skype. Don't let that surprise you. These are short .

- Thanks for the heads up.

- You can write to my e-mail.

- It can tear you out of the parallel world? - I'm trying to joke, though I realize now with all acuteness that in a couple of hours he won't be around, and he'll be whisked away not just to a world, but to another continent that seems even farther away than another dimension to me.

- You'll be in New York soon, won't you?, - he murmurs, squeezing my fingers lightly.

For him it's "soon", for me it's an eternity! I will be here in Kyiv for another five weeks, and

I have no idea what that time will be like.

- If you need my help with New York, feel free to ask, I'll organize everything. Don't hesitate ask. Maybe help me find a place to live? - Max continued in a steady voice.

- No, you don't. Dad's found an agent, all the rental issues will be resolved soon. Anyway, for the offer, Max. My pleasure.

- Okay. Remember, you can reach me anytime, – it sounded like goodbye to me. He doesn't plan on seeing me in New York at all. Maybe I'm winding myself up. I turn to the again, Max squeezing my fingers tighter, as if sending me a signal of encouragement.

There's the usual hustle and bustle at the airport. The driver promises to wait for me while I my guest off, but I've forgotten all about it. Max won't be there when I get home.

We choose a spot by a full-wall window.

Max takes my hand, kisses my knuckles:

- Polina, remember what I told you about the studio.

- I remembered, Max. I want to give you a gift, – I said without transition, opening my bag pulling out a box wrapped in parchment paper. - It's an unexpected gift, I know, – I explain, .

It's not just an unexpected gift, it's somewhat of an indecent gift, but that's exactly what I - to give him something indecent, on the verge of honesty, as that's what I've been all these with him.

- Can I see it? - Max asks.

- You have to. Otherwise, you'll have to declare it, – I explain. He raises an eyebrow and the parchment. He twirls the box in his hands, opening it slowly. On a velvet cushion a ring, white gold, three rows of staggered links.

Max's facial expression changes: he presses his lips together, squints his eyes.

- Please don't think anything bad. It's sincere, – I shut up, not sure if I should say anything .

- It's an expensive ring, – Max drops it dryly, examining it. - It's a Cartier, – he ruffles his . It's not hard to guess that he's confused.

- Yes, it's Cartier. But what does it matter? I have money. I'm a well-off girl, and I can spend as I please.

- Polina, you're roasting me over a slow fire right now, – he lifts my face up by my chin and into my eyes. - Do you understand what I'm feeling right now?

- Must be a lot of mixed feelings. The same ones I've been feeling for the past ten days. With , – I swallow, looking into his eyes. - It's a selfish gift, Max. I'm giving it more for me. Whether wear it or not, you'll remember me when you bump into it, – I take the ring out of the box and it onto the ring finger of his right hand. The ring fits easily and wraps tightly around his finger.

Before I bought it, I managed to measure the ring he wears on the ring finger of his left hand. He 't pay attention as I played with his fingers the other day, taking and putting the ring from one to the other. Finding the right size after that "try-on" was a breeze.

Max circles my lips with his thumb and kisses me with his special kiss - so deep I can't .

- Thank you. I appreciated your gift and I promise I'll wear it, – his whisper touches my . - My gift is in the car. I gave it to the driver.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and press myself sharply against him so he can't see tears.

They're announcing the boarding of his flight.

- Please let me know how your flight went, – I ask as he approaches the check-in counter.

Max hands over his luggage, checks in his ticket, and, standing at the gate, gives me a quick kiss on lips:

- I will.

I stare at him until his tall figure is completely out of sight, turn around, and walk quickly the exit.

The driver is driving the car down the highway at a decent speed. I sit in the back seat and out the window, but I can't see anything. Who would have thought I would react this way to

Max leaving? I'm in a city that's full of people, cars, and events, but it's completely empty to me.

At a stoplight, a driver, breaking the silence:

- Polina, a guest left a package for you. I forgot to give it to him. Take it from the shelf you.

I take out a package, unwrap it. It's a painting. It's a pastel painting on dark paper. It's of me, in rose blossoms.

Tears burn my eyes. I bite down on my finger to hold back the sobs that come out of my .

The scent of roses floats in the apartment. The ones that survived our sex sessions on their stems were delivered to my house. They have a very pleasant, sensual scent. There's a odors are recognized as the most powerful memory aid. A picture of that night instantly in my imagination.

I lie down on the bed on top of the covers without turning on the light. I put the painting to it. I close my eyes. Why does it hurt so much? It's like a piece of me has been ripped off.

Maybe I should try to sleep. My temples are tight. I force myself out of bed and take an . I strip naked and dive into bed. Max was here this morning, and we made love on sheets. I lie on my stomach, imagining his body next to me. Where are you, my boy?

My eyelids grow heavy and I fall into sleep.

I jump out of bed in the morning and grab my phone first thing. There was an envelope on screen - a text from Max!

"Got safely to Amster. I leave for New York in an hour."

Checking my watch, it hasn't made it to the States yet.

In place of the painting in the living room, I hang Max's present. It's probably too epic to put naked picture of myself on the center wall of the apartment, but I have an excuse: there's no nail in bedroom wall yet. He's so thoughtful and quick. When did he get it framed and framed?

I drank coffee and wished in my mind that I would get an e-mail from him today, or better , that I would talk to him on Skype. I want to hear his voice, to see his face, even on the monitor, to see his lips, his eyes. I caught myself thinking that I hadn't made any wishes for the last four - the wizard who fulfills my wishes slept in the same bed with me.

There is a shrill, long ringing at the door. On the monitor screen, it's mom. Hmm... No doubt

I'm in for an interrogation.

My mother enters the apartment with an almost stamping gait, which means that it will be an interrogation, but an attack. Well, mornings aren't always good.

- Hi, – she kisses me on the cheek and hands me a box of eclairs. - Can you give your some tea?

- Sure, Mom, – I followed her into the kitchen. I know very well what this manner of means. As I put the water on to boil and pull the tea jar from the shelf, she's already on the , throwing the first "grenade:

- So, did your blond god fly away?

- Yes. Yesterday, – I nod.

- Polina, – she glanced at my face and figure with an X-ray beam, as if I could have beyond recognition over the past few days. - You do realize that the continuation of your is utopian, don't you? Have you seen him? - She's coming at me like a tank.

- What do you mean by “have you seen him? - I try not to look in her direction, arranging eclairs on my plate.

- Does that mean you saw him without rose-colored glasses? Or did you just admire him and all hot and bothered by his touch? Wake up, daughter. He's got hundreds of "Polinas" like you!

Yes, you're a beautiful girl, smart, but you look like a fledgling next to him. You're not in the same class. He is a man to the bone, an adult, self-sufficient, self-confident, and you next to him like a bigger baby, a girl. And no offense, darling, you're a long way from chic. No wonder you your head over him, but I'm sure the first lady of the world loses her head over him. Paula, he's , period. End of story.

- Mom! - I raise my voice an octave in an attempt to stem the flow of words. - Stop, mom!!!

- Polina! You let yourself yell at your mother?! - she's turning into a screamer. - Who are you yell at your mother?! What have you accomplished in life? You're nothing! And all you have is effort your father and I put into you!

- Stop! - I firmly but quietly stop her. She and I have been using this method for ten years , if we're getting a little testy. One of us gives the other a sign, the word "Stop" is like the

"break" command for boxers.

- Mom, please. Let's stop talking about this now. You're hurting me. Don't you realize that? -

I finally look at her. I know I could burst into tears any minute, but I can't stop. She sighs, and then up, wrapping her arms around me and kissing me randomly-on my forehead, my cheeks, my . Tears spurt from my eyes at this change of mood and display of "caring".

- I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was that serious. But, uh. you. I feel it's my duty to talk to you.

Men are ruining our lives! I don't want you to be disappointed in your own beliefs. I want you to matters into your own hands. And he's-- He's a predator. He’s...he’s very dangerous.

- Why is he dangerous? - I pull out of her embrace. - How is he more dangerous than the ?

My mom looks at me with pity, like I'm a complete fool.

- Oh, Paula, – she shakes her head like a tumbler doll. I hate it when she does that.

- Trouble is, he's not just dangerous. He's better than the others. Perhaps he's good beyond ! And men like that are the most dangerous. They have no authority. They take what they without thinking about women, about their hearts! O-o-one, and it's already crushed, – she her clawed hand with such artistry that I immediately imagine a living heart cracking and in someone's ephemeral hand. I shudder at this internal "spectacle."

- Mom, you don't know Max at all. Besides, don't worry, it's not as serious as you think, – I boiling water into the teapot for brewing.

- He'll break your heart if you fall in love, – her voice was full of bitterness now. - Yes, I've wanted you to fall in love, Polina. But, uh. you're my daughter, and I'm not a Gorgon. I want to be happy. With this man, there's only one chance in a thousand of happiness, one in a , one in a million. Just imagine the line of fools like you. I have to tell you this. I'm your .

- Mom, – I cover my face with my hands. - He's gone. He's far away. And I'm here. What be worse? But it turns out it can. My mom comes in and tells me how worthless I am. It's , isn't it?

She wraps her arms around me again and strokes my head like a giddy child. It only adds to effect of her words. I really feel like a fool.

Mom's always been like that! First she'll dump everything she thinks on my head, and then 'll "pity" me, emphasizing her rightness. She's a real mental sadist. Her picture of the world is perfect. All people in her world should be beautiful, pure, honest, untainted, all should read heart Shakespeare in the original, eat nectar and live only in raptures. If suddenly something wrong, someone pops a pimple on his nose, or someone thinks otherwise, then mom takes up the broom and brings order to the universe. And will retaliate until the wrong is perfect again.

I am annoyed by this idealism, this need to always be straight as a sleeper and shake the with unbidden thoughts! Since she is my mother, there is no defense for me, or I need to write me a prescription.

- Mom, if you want to be my friend and not my enemy, then please don't pull such punches, 't smother me with your love. I'm not in love with him, don't be afraid. It's more prosaic than , – I release myself from her embrace again.

- I understand you very well, – I can see that her eyes are wet. Oh, here we go! I don't need calm her down! - Men like that are a rock, Polinka. I want you to be happy, unlike me! - suddenly starts sobbing, and I feel like a complete idiot. What is this?

And so we sit on the couch, me holding her hands in mine, her swallowing her tears and her nose.

- You know your father didn't care much for my peace. He could have at least concealed his -oh, Mother, it wasn't an affair. - But he didn't bother. How many men cheat on their wives?

All of them! I'm being categorical, but let's be realistic. I don't believe in male monogamy! - she the corners of her eyes with a napkin. - I don't believe in myths anymore. It's important for to be able to deal with their women. And your father didn't even try to hide his vicious, sinful from me! - Her voice breaks into a shriek, and she sobs, swallowing her tears.

- Mom, calm down. It's long over, – I stroked her hand.

- No, you don't know anything. There's something else I want to tell you about, – she starts and crying again, doubled over. All I can do now is stroke her shoulders. - Your father was God to me. I loved him to pieces. We were so happy - our children - you, Lizochka, seemed to been sent by the Almighty. Everything was going so well. Until he met her, that bitch! I've her. I had the chance. First I hated him, then I loved him more than ever, then I was tormented, I suffered, and then... I cheated on him, Polina, - my eyes become round. Oh, no! Why should I so frank? MOMMY! No!!!

But before I can open my mouth to stop her, she's already going into detail.

- My lover was one of those guys like that, your Max. When I saw Max, I thought I was deja vu. Oh, he was blond, blue eyes. Greek god. I lost my mind. And believe me, breaking with him was more painful than your father cheating on me.

I'm sitting here stunned. What a morning! What a day! I don't know what to say to her.

- I realize you're in shock. But you're an adult, Polina. You just melted into a puddle in front your Max, and it looked quite vulgar in the restaurant, and your father and I almost fell through ground, but all the better, so you'll understand me, – I gulped in air from her "correct" remark.

But she seems satisfied with the effect, continuing her prepared speech. - And so I hope you'll me. I tied myself in a knot when I realized it was time to break up. I don't know how I got of it. I don't know. Part of me is still out there with him. Well, I don't wish the same for you.

Believe it or not, I wish you all the happiness in the world. So you never know what it's like to have burn you out.

- Tell me, were you happy? With my Greek god, – I swallow, our eyes meeting.

- Madly, – her lips trembled again. - I loved him like I've never loved anyone before, and I 't love anyone else like that.

When mom leaves, I sit in the chair and stare into the void.

God, what are these sacrifices for?

Father is not happy. Mother is unhappy. Lisa and I, since childhood, experiencing their , afraid to say a word, so as not to offend, not to hurt their feelings. What's it all for?! For LOVE?! And that's LOVE? That's what they break spears for, die for, destroy lives for?

It's the most common neurasthenia!

Burn with a blue flame - this "love"!

No, no, no! Not for me!

I wish I'd asked her what the sacrifices were for, and why she wasn't with her god right now.

He was probably just as likely to make promises to her while he took advantage of any lady willing jump into bed with him. If he and my dad were playing family so hard for me and Lisa, they 't playing it right. We were as unhappy as they were.

I pound my fists on the armrests of my chair, spewing out my impotent rage.

Thank God Max and I are not made of the same stuff! We both know the price of these assurances of love. I wonder where he got his aversion to this lofty, romantic sentiment. From loving parents, I suppose. Who else? Was it for nothing that he wouldn't say a word to me about ? Oh, yes, his mother has a child with another man. Must have been a love affair too. Also with god, even if not a Greek one.

I suspect any psychologist would call me immature. That I've canned myself. We've read it, know it. But I'm not gonna let someone ruin my life. My mom thinks I'm in love with Max! Ha!

She has no idea what Max is really like and she has no idea what his principles are! She has no idea he and I are mental twins and understand each other without words. For people like us, there is such thing as love. The price of this fairy tale is the broken fates of all the people involved, the that tears from within, the inability to be happy, the crippled psyche of the children who become unwitting witnesses to the "happiness" of loving parents.

I am well aware of the nature of my feelings for Max. It's a strong carnal desire, it's a respect personal boundaries and a deep sense of affection. The latter stems from the similarity of our . Yes, in a short period of time, knowing almost nothing about each other, we have close. But, thank God, it is a different kind of closeness than the proverbial "love." It is a of characters, and perhaps of destinies.

Mankind exploits the concept of "love" on and off. If you're not capable of it, you're . I curve my lips in a smirk - yes, yes, yes... It's so easy to manipulate a person by him of being "incapable" of love.

"I'm obsessed with love" is a big word for it. So the Earth is a big madhouse! Any will tell you that insanity is a neurotic addiction.

I love my shoes. Yes, gentlemen, I do love them! I love putting them on, walking around and them on my foot! And by the way, they are comfortable, even the high heel is not a problem.

They are fashionable, beautiful and it's no problem if they don't go with every outfit.

But am I obsessed with them? Do I expect my shoes to reciprocate? Or maybe they owe me for my "love"?

There's a discrepancy!

The difference between a shoe and a man is obvious. You can't ask a shoe, but a man has to . It is desirable to be faithful, loyal and further down the line, and even better to be perfect!

Once I read about unconditional love in Zeland's "Transcending Reality". In his , you accept a person as they are, with their strengths and weaknesses, without anything in return. It's like my favorite shoes. I wear them until the heels wear off, and they tear, I have no complaints about them. But if a loved one is tired, fails, gives up, that's it - has not justified his "love".

It's not enough for people to "love" someone around them. Not enough! There is always a of demands: fix the flaws, become what I want, but me, me, love me as I am. Here it is "love" in its truth of life!

After her mother's revelation, everything became very clear. She was so hurt that her father cheated on her, and yet instead of forgiveness, when everything was behind her, revenge - by same means, on the same principle.

I guess I'm a cynic, but I don't know any other recipe! I wish my mother would learn to love father as primitively as she loves her dresses! Without reciprocity, without obligation, without for anything in return! Is it difficult? You bet it is! And if it's absolutely unbearable, to free from his presence. But come on, love between people is a thousand times more complicated, 's layered with so many levels. A man is not a dress. You can't bill things for wearing out, but you bill people for their mistakes.

To hell with that kind of love!

I'll be a selfish bitch and all I'm claiming is the exclusive right to have his body in my bed, return giving him exclusivity on mine! I hope Max will accept such terms gladly.