Game - a short Marat Safin fiction by Addie

[tinuviel]

Game

Part 1


I’m looking outside the window. Out there lies the city, with its rush and humdrum. I open the window and the noise is pleasant, not overwhelming, as I would have expected. I close it and take my eyes away from the speeding cars and turn them back to the flat. It’s large, and there’s a very comfortable feeling to it. I sensed it since I entered. To be honest, I was very enthusiastic about it since I set foot in here. I just put my poker face on because I don’t want the annoying estate agent to stop being annoyed. It’s funny. And this way, if I pretend I’m not interested, maybe she’ll leave from the price. It does cost something. If I think better, it’s a bit expensive. But it’s too late to change my mind. I already see myself living here.

I’m going to put armchairs in the livingroom, and a coffee table with room for magazines, my tv over there… No, maybe on the wall, to save space. I’m going to have breakfast on the terrace every morning. There she is again, the vixen. She’s contemplating me, I can feel her eyes at work. What’s she thinking? That she’s good looking, and I have the reputation I have, so I’ll more than likely ask her out? Yeah, right. Why would I go out with someone so obvious? I like the hard way, I get bored when there’s no challenge. Blast, here she comes.

“Have you decided?” she asks, with a hint of boredom to her voice. I take a better look at her. She must be in her mid twenties. She has a nice face, too bad she put those awful colours on her eyelids and lips. On second thoughts, she looks cheap.

“Um… not yet.” Yes! The look on her face is priceless! Then I go on with the most undecided face I can come up with. “I’m going to be honest with you. It’s a…” I pause again for suspense, making it look like I’m searching for the right words. “It’s a good place. Good enough.” I smirk, as if I’m not entirely convinced of what I just said. “But the price is outrageous.” There, I threw the first card on the table. Her move now.

“We can leave two hundred.”

Two hundred? Alright. Good enough for the beginning. I use my persuasion and change my facial expression at the speed of light. I didn’t imagine she’d be like a Cerberus. Wait! Why didn’t I think about it earlier? She gets a fee proportional to the price. In the end, I offer to pay her the difference. We make the deal off the record. Tomorrow I’ll get the keys, after I deposit the money. My precious! And I’ll never have to stand the vixen in here again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

I look at the pile of papers in front of me. Do I really need to fill in all of them to open a bank account? The clerk is saying something, being exaggeratedly polite, which is annoying. Why is she so chirpy? I’ve nothing to be happy about. I put a flat on the market six months ago, which was actually bought a couple of months ago. I miss it, and I miss everything I lived there. It belonged to my grandmother. It’ll be a year since she died. I inherited everything she owned, but I gradually gave away her clothes and furniture. I couldn’t use them, and there are people who need help. I only kept her flat, which I let go of in the end, her pictures and a letter, which I haven’t opened to this day. I have a feeling that there’s something bringing trouble in it.

I finish writing the papers. It was easier than I thought. They repeated each other so I simply copied. The girl gave me a card with my account number on it, a folder that I’ll study later, and her fake smiles which scratch my brain. Wait! I know her from somewhere. I read her name tag before I leave. We went to the same highschool, she went to a parallel class. Look at her now, playing the important in her cheap white shirt. I’m not the best person to judge her, but she should stop being so arrogant. I dislike it.

I walk out of there, to my car. All the drive I keep thinking about the letter. But it has to wait, I have to help the French ambassador write a speech he has to present by ten am. It’s still ten minutes to that. I shouldn’t be doing it, since I’m only his interpreter, and it doesn’t enter my attributions. But the man has a pervert pleasure of torturing me. I finish in record time, and he’s thrilled about it. Dear old rascal! I only tolerate him because he’s friends with my grandpa, and he hired me as a personal favour to him. I go to the other side of the building, to the PR department, to check when I’m officially needed next. I have two days off, which is perfect.

I go home, and after a nap I turn on the faucets to take a bath. Then I see it. The letter. Ok, time to open it. Drama, drama, drama. And more drama. Oh, and there’s the part where she sends me looking for some box in her old flat. It’s going to be one of those embarrassing moments. What can I do? Knock on their door and say what? I’ll figure something out. I take my keys with me, just in case.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

He reached his floor and inserted the key in the lock. To his shock, it was open. He knew for sure he had locked it, so the only explanation was that someone was in. He opened it cautiously, trying to make as little noise as possible. He heard noise coming from the bedroom. He went to the closet and took out a racquet. Any respectable tennis player had to have one in his house. He opened the bedroom door to see a woman in his bed, watching tv. Is this flat under a spell or what?

“Hello, Mr. Safin.”

She looked ashamed, but he could not let her deceive him. Her voice sounded tender, though.

“What are you doing here?” That was all he could ask, slowly putting the racquet aside. He did not want her to think he could not defend himself, but he did not want to scare her either.

“I lived here. My grandmother, actually. She died a year ago, and she left me a letter. It seems she hid something under the floor. I did knock on the door, but no one answered. I thought I could save myself the shame and get in. But you changed the floors. I had to stay and ask you. I’ll get you a new floor, but I need to find it.”

“I already have,” he replied, surprised at her audacity. He knew she was telling the truth. And by her clothes, she did not seem to need to steal.

“You have?” she echoed, grateful. The new floor had ruined all her hopes, but when she saw a photo of the new owner, she promised herself she would try. He was a single person, so the disturbance was little.

He pulled the drawer of the nightstand to reveal packs of letters. She watched them wide-eyed. She made a few steps until she reached them, then read the address on the back of an envelope, as well as the name of the sender.

“Did you read them?” she was curious to learn. Another pile of old papers. Will it ever end?

“I did. The look like love letters to me,” Marat answered, sitting next to her.

“Love letters?” she raised her voice. “But that man’s not grandpa, and the date is after her marriage.” She scanned a letter, then another, and then another, until she put things together. “She loved a man and married another,” she thought aloud.

“Kind of unusual that she didn’t run away with him,” Marat remarked.

“Grandpa’s a wonderful person. Something made her stay. How could she do this to him?”

“Technically, she didn’t do anything,” he objected.

“She wanted him to have her cameo. It was her most priced possession. A trinket, but it was worth her heart,” she explained.

“He gave it to her, I read it in a letter.”

They both remained silent for a while.

“You spend a lifetime with a person, and then you realize you don’t know them at all,” she broke the silence, sighing.

“I think they were in the wrong circumstances,” he observed.

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s been a pleasure to talk to you, but I should go looking for this man. Thanks for being so understanding.” She took the remaining letters and put them in her bag, then stood up.

“Wait! You haven’t told me your name yet,” Marat pointed out, walking behind her.

“What’s the use, Mr. Safin? We will never see each other again anyway,” she smiled, walking out.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

I climb the stairs in a hurry. I already took a decision. No one has to know about the letters. I already went to that address, but he doesn’t live there anymore. Who would live in the same place for fifty years? Oh, noes! That’s my neighbour from downstairs. And… is that water coming from my apartment? The shower! I read the letter and I forgot to turn off the faucet!

“I will pay for everything,” I grin at her, hoping she won’t overreact. She’s generally a sensible person.

“Let me know if you need help,” she says blankly, then she’s off.

I put my shoes aside, roll up my jeans and unlock the door. I make my way to the bathroom and turn off the water. The lights are dead, and so are all my appliances. There’s still a couple of hours until darkness, so I start to collect the water. Most of it went out on the stairs when I entered. I gather the rest with the mop. I put the rugs on the balcony, pack a few things and leave. My parents are happy to see me, though they seem worried. And then I see grandpa. He looks old and worn out, but he still has his class. He smiles at seeing me.

“When are you getting married?” Same old question.

“When I meet the right guy.” Same old answer.

“At your age I already had two children,” he reminds me.

I roll my eyes and sigh. Poor grandpa! He starts the neverending story about how he met grandma, how they got married, had children, and lived happily ever after. By the time it’s over, we finish dinner and we’re thinking of ways of getting to our rooms without making him feel offended. Fortunately, his favourite show’s on tv, and he’s indifferent to his surroundings.

I go to my room and I finally have a shower, then I start reading the letters. I get over my irony and shock, and I sense the love and romanticism. When I’m done, I can only think about one thing. He was right, they were in the wrong circumstances. I wonder what he thinks of me. Probably the worst. It’s a miracle he didn’t call the police. He seems a nice person. He’s intelligent, and charming, and sensible. I like that in a man. Do I like him? It’s premature to say. I look at the clock and realize how late it is. I can still get five hours of sleep.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

I can’t sleep. It’s late, and I am tired, but she pops in my mind every five minutes. I must be going insane. A woman broke into my flat and I didn’t do anything about it. I sat down and talked to her. I feel like I know her, like I can trust her. What an incredible nerve! She didn’t even introduce herself. The pillow keeps her perfume. She smells good. She seems a good person, on the whole. I know she’s going to come back. I saved a part of the letters, and some papers. She’s smart, she’ll realize they’re missing sooner or later. And when she comes, she won’t get away so easily.

I get up and go to the terrace. The night is quiet, maybe too quiet. After a while, I go back to bed and start reading the book I didn’t finish last night.

The next morning, I call a locksmith. He’s about to start working, but I stop him suddenly. I want her to come back. I want to see her again. I am going to find out who she is and I won’t let her go so easily. I pay him and leave for my appointment.

The traffic is impossible, but there’s nothing striking there. I get in the building and go to see what I have to do. I am definitely imagining things, because I can smell her perfume. I try to enter the conference room, but two bodyguards are riveted in front of it. I’m late, I can’t be admitted anymore, the secretary lets me know. I listen to her and stay around, but after a while I grow bored and go downstairs to grab something to drink. By the time I come back, they’re all gone. When my colleagues return, I learn it was the French ambassador, who wants to offer some scholarships. He came packed with limousine, interpreter, bodyguards and the rest. There’s the perfume again. I sniff the chairs, and I find one that really smells. I’m happy, for a while I was thinking I’m losing it.

“Olga, what perfume is this?” I point to the chair, “I want to buy it for my sister’s birthday.” It’s an honourable excuse.

“Smells like Dolce,” she gives the verdict.

Perfect! Now I know where to start my investigation.

[tinuviel]

Game

Part 2

I’m driving to work, and I snap out of trance. I’m in front of his block. How did I end up here? He’s coming out with some bags. Then he’s leaving somewhere. That’s my chance. I duck when he passes by, and after I make sure he’s not coming back, I go up to his flat. The private investigator I hired said he needs more info, and I discovered there are missing letters. The first place I search is the nightstand, but there’s only a book in it. Where did he put all the letters? He obviously wants to play. I spot one on the shelf above the bed. I browse through the books, and I find three more. Why do I feel there are more?

I really don’t want to do this, but he leaves me no choice. I open his wardrobe. I only find one more letter in the pocket of a coat. It’s not fair he’s setting the place into hide and seek. I take out a paper and pen. Um... No, I’m not going to explain myself. And it’s superfluous to say I was here, because he’ll notice when he sees the letters aren’t there anymore. How many are left? It’s simple enough, and to the point. For a moment, I think about signing it, but the thought goes away as quickly as it appeared. It’s better if he doesn’t know who I am. Why should he care anyway? I leave the note on his bed and lead myself out.

I’m so glad he didn’t change the locks. I bump into someone on the stairs. It’s his mother! Ok, don’t panic! You can come up with a good explanation for coming out of her son’s flat.

“Who are you?” Oh, noes, disapproving look on the horizon.

“I’m Olga. I work with your son. He called to say he forgot some documents home.” Why did I say that name? Seems to work, though. Before I know it, I have her smiling at me and I get out of there as if nothing ever happened.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

I leave the note with the answer on the bed every day, hoping I will find a difference. It’s her move now, I have to wait. And I wait, because I can’t do anything else. My investigation went dead, and autumn came in the meantime. My dad got us an invitation to a football match tonight. I like football, but I don’t really feel like going out. In spite of that, I go. I know he’s going to enjoy spending time with me. We take our seats and the match starts.

Out of the blue, she’s there. A few rows lower, to the left. She’s with someone, probably her famous grandpa. She looks tired and indifferent, but whenever he looks at her, she pretends to be enthusiastic. They disappear, during the break, and I can’t find them. When they appear again, two more men accompany them. She’s changed. She’s solemn, her face has no expression when that young prick looks at her. When she turns her face away, she’s sad. She applauds mechanically. I turn my eyes to the match, and when I look back, she’s gone.

I leave my seat and go after her. I can hear her voice coming from somewhere close, but I can’t find her. She doesn’t sound too happy, but I can’t make out too much since she’s speaking in French. I try to follow the voice, but all I see is her getting in her car. I got her now! I take a picture of the plates with my phone. I don’t know what’s going on anymore, how I got involved in this game, but we’re both playing it. The mystery that she stubbornly maintains around her makes her more attractive. We are literally hunting each other, except the hunter and the prey switch places.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

I miss grandpa terribly. I haven’t seen him since he took me to a football match and he tried to set me up with his friend’s grandson. I want him to know how upset I am. I went out with my brother and sister the other night, and I felt lonely. I’m good like this, single, but sometimes I wish I could share moments with someone.

Since I have nothing to do, I get online. I see an announcement for the reunion of the

Olympic Committee, and I see his name. It means he’s not home, so I can sneak in. I wanted to give up, but this coincidence tells me I shouldn’t. In less than half an hour, I’m in. The lights are off, so he’s not up there. I go straight to the bedroom, but it’s messy. I manage to find the note under the pile of discarded shirts and jeans. I had no idea he was so into fashion... I’m a tad disappointed for seeing only a number. I was hoping to see more. I arrange his clothes in the wardrobe, and then start poking my nose around. I can’t find anything. When did he get so good at hiding? I look under the bed, and nothing. I look under the pillows, under the sheets, under the mattress. Still nothing. He wants to play tough. I pass to the living room, and I finally find a lousy letter hidden in his correspondence.

I feel I’ve been in here for ages. He’s coming back any minute. I almost want him to see me, but it would be much easier if I simply asked him to give me the letters. I cut the number on the note, write the new one and something more. Then my heart jumps as I hear him get in. What am I going to do? I don’t want him to see me here, like this. I’m a thief. He’s talking on the phone. By the muffled voice he’s in the kitchen. That’s my chance to escape. I run out and stop a few blocks away, where I left my car.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

She was here. She was still here, and I didn’t realize it. I saw her running, but she managed to disappear like the other time. How am I going to find her? With all my effort, I only learned the car belongs to the French embassy. I couldn’t investigate anymore, since they’re under their own jurisdiction. I fall asleep while I think of her in frustration. At least I know she’ll be back.

A few days later, I go to my parents’. They treat me like the prodigal son, but when don’t they?

“How is Olga, by the way?” my mother asks.

“She’s fine. Did you meet her?”

She nods. “That morning when you went on your trip and you sent her for the papers you forgot.”

“No, I...” Wait! It’s lady mystery! “What did she look like?”

“Blonde, green eyed, pretty, in her mid twenties.”

I spin mum in the air and squeeze her so tight she thinks I’m crazy. “That’s her!” I yell in happiness. I know where to go next.

Olga is busy, so I have to wait until she finishes. I know it wasn’t her, because she has dark hair and she’s in her late thirties. Besides, she was a gymnast, and mum knows her. I finally get her alone, and go for it.

“Do you know any blonde woman working at the French embassy?”

“My little sister,” she replies.

I feel like hugging her too, but I hold back. “And what’s her name?”

“Anna.”

Anna... Her name’s as pretty as her. I know a few things about her, from what she’s told me before. The most important’s that she’s single. Olga even tries to set me up with her when she sees me interested, but I refuse. I’ll get her on my own. She doesn’t seem the kind to like arrangements.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

“My skirt is too tight,” Anna mumbled to herself as they took their seats. She watched the competition and took notes, while her tyrant boss, as she nicked him, did nothing. The boys and girls went on with their performances, some brilliantly, some less.

“Good morning, Anna Ivanovna!” The voice was warm.

“Good morning, Mr. Safin,” she replied without even looking, trying to hide her surprise. How had he learned? “How are you today?”

“Great. And you?”

“Happy.” She watched him when she thought he was looking somewhere else, then lowered her eyes. She had to pay attention to the children, not to him.

He watched her concentration and noticed the spark in her eyes when she liked something. He realized she was a tough judge, perhaps too pretentious. At the end, when they all stood up and went towards the conference room, where they would decide. Marat took advantage and stayed behind, grabbing Anna’s arm.

“Dinner, my place, tonight.”

“And do I get a letter too?” she smiled.

“I wanted to give you all of them, but if you only want one...” He shrugged. “I can’t refuse a lady.”

Anna groaned in frustration.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” Marat observed in satisfaction. “Remember, tonight,” he winked.

“Wait, I didn’t...” She was interrupted by a kiss he stole her. “... say yes yet,” she whispered to the walls after he entered.

“Anna!”

“Coming!” She took her place and shared her notes with the ambassador. They kept whispering in French for a while, until they finally reached an agreement.

Anna announced the names of the children who would receive scholarships, then stopped to chat with her sister on her way out.

“Anna!” She heard the same annoying shout.

“Oui?” she grinned, while Olga burst out laughing.

“You can stay here with your sister, I won’t be needing you today.”

“Merci, monsieur Michel,” Anna chirped.

“Say hello to your wife for us,” Olga added.

“A bientôt, mes dames,” the man took his farewell.

“I can’t believe they forced our hand with Razumovskaya’s child,” Anna complained. “They have money for a lifetime of private practice.”

“They’re sponsoring,” Olga explained. “There are obligations.”

“But it’s still not fair! You know what? I’ll give one more scholarship, from me. I’ll give it to that little boy who played tennis.”

“But you hate tennis,” her sister teased her.

“That was before.”

“Before what?” Olga echoed.

“Before she met me,” Marat interfered, making a charming face.

“Take care with her, Safin,” Olga warned him.

“Or what, Aleksandrova?” he arched his eyebrow.

“I will take care of you,” she winked, leaving them alone.

“No one from my family knows, and they’re not supposed to,” Anna pleaded.

“You can trust me completely.”

“Can I? I wish I could. But all the things I did don’t let me. No one’s as good as you for real.”

“I am.”

“I’ll take your word, Mr. Safin. See you tonight.”

She gave him a handshake, and she used it to pull him closer and steal a kiss. “I didn’t want to be in debt,” she smiled.

[tinuviel]

Game

Part 3

It was stupid of me to ask her to dinner. I can’t cook. I could set a table, if I try hard enough. But the food, and... Blast! I know, I’ll ask Olga. She knows what she likes and dislikes, if she’s allergic, things like that. Except Olga has a lot of work and throws me a killer glare. I gulp and go for it anyway. It’s not like I have another chance. She tells me everything I need to know, then I’m on my way out.

“Oh, and she likes hydrangeas,” she adds as a matter of fact.

“Hi-what?” I’ve never heard of that. Is it some sort of stew or herb?

“Hydrangeas,” she says in syllables.

“Oh, ok, I suppose I could get some for her.” Please don’t let her realize I have no idea what I’m saying here.

“Good luck with that. It’s going to be tough considering it’s winter and they grow in summer, but you can get it for her, right?”

Is that sarcasm? I am going to get her that hi-whatever. I am going to. But as the time passes, the certainty turns into a question. The first thing I do when I get home is get online and search for the h word. It looks like a bush, but at least now I know it’s a plant and you don’t eat it. Where am I going to find it? I get addresses of flower shops and take them one by one, without any luck. Couldn’t she have liked something like roses? You can find roses everywhere, it’s not such a pain.

I give up, I can’t find it. There’s no hydrangea at this time, Olga was right. I enter my favourite restaurant, to order food, and while I’m waiting for it to be brought, I see the famous flower. They have a few in a vase. I pay extra and they give them to me, after all I’m a loyal customer. I feel like I’m holding a precious trophy. It’s just a weed, snap out of it. I get back home just in time to set the table and make a mess in the kitchen, to make it seem I’ve been cooking. Then, as I’m heating the food, I hear the doorbell.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

On my way home, I drop by my parents’ place. I think it’s time to make peace with grandpa. He looks older than usual. And grumpier. But when his eyes spot me, they become clearer. He smiles crookedly. He feels guilty then. So he should. Oh, well, time to make him happy. I stretch my arms and give him a hug.

“Are we fine?” Not even attempting an apology? What can you expect from a grumpy old man?

“Yes, grandpa, we’re fine. But don’t do it again, please. I think you won’t have to.”

“You found him?” He looks and sounds as if I discovered the moon.

“I think so.” I don’t look him in the eyes, I’m ashamed.

I don’t know how he does it, but by the time I leave, he got everything out of me. He has his ways. But he’s the best confident ever, so I don’t worry about it. It’s noon, and I already had lunch, so I take a nap. I dream of him. I want dinner to turn out perfect for both of us. I want to surrender and trust him, and I will, even if my sixth sense tells me he will still hide something. But every thing in its time.

When I wake up, I take a shower and get dressed. I change five outfits until I choose a black dress. I put on my boots and coat, then remember I bought wine. I worked on it a little, I hope he won’t notice. I inspect it again, and it looks like new. After one last check in the mirror, I get out and go downstairs. The engine purrs, a sound I enjoy every time.

I get to his street, but I can find no parking place. What am I going to do? In a sudden inspiration, I use my nerve and follow one of the people who live there to the garage. I find a free space, but I have no idea how to get out of there. The door is automated, I need a card. I wait until someone else comes, and I’m out. I take my time to calm down. Luckily, I left home an hour earlier. And now I’m just fashionably late. Out of instinct, I take out my keys and nearly insert them in the lock. Then I stop. Not tonight. Tonight I’m not a thief, I’m a guest. So I ring the bell. That’s what guests do.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

“Good evening, Mr. Safin,” Anna smiled politely, offering him the wine she had brought.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to ring the doorbell,” he teased her. “And stop calling me that. I’m Marat, and always will be.”

“Ok,” she shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I’m Anna, but you already know that.”

“I do,” he confirmed. “I have something for you, by the way.”

He went to the kitchen to leave the wine, and as they passed to the living room Anna spotted a bouquet of pink hydrangea. She squealed in delight, and Marat could not hide his happiness. He had just made one step further.

“Do you want some wine?” he asked her. “Dinner will be ready in a minute.”

“No,” Anna cried, panicking enough to make him realize there was something suspicious about it. “I mean… I’m driving. I shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Then how about some orange juice?” he suggested, playing the perfect host.

“That would be nice, thanks,” Anna replied.

Marat went to the kitchen and poured juice from the pack into a glass. He went back to the living room as if nothing. But just as Anna took the glass to her lips, he snatched it from her hand.

“It’s expired,” he explained, hoping she would believe him.

“What did you put in it?” she arched her eyebrow.

“Sleeping pills,” he answered innocently. “What did you put in the wine?”

“Oh, just truth serum,” she shrugged innocently. “I’m glad we cleared that out.”

“Me too. I’m relieved I wasn’t the only tricky one,” Marat laughed. “No more surprises from me.”

“Me neither,” Anna raised her hands in defense. “Can we eat now? Before it burns?”

He felt the smell of something burnt as well, and ran to the kitchen, managing to save the meat in the last moment. They went through dinner at a slow pace, taking their time to learn more about each other and to establish a connection. Anna guessed he had not touched the food, and she complimented him so many times that he almost confessed he had bought it. At realizing what she was doing, he started to think twice before speaking. She was sparkly like champagne, but she was also like a thorn. She would say nice things, but behind them lay sarcasm. On her side, Anna discovered a match to her tricks. She pushed the limit further and further, but he managed to escape, which annoyed her, but which she appreciated.

“The food was delicious,” Anna complimented him again, snickering as she sat on the sofa and crouched her legs under her.

Marat followed her example, sitting next to her. “Anytime you want to taste it again, come back here.”

“I just might.” All she could think of was getting out of there, but not without the letter.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You already are,” Anna pointed out.

“Right. Well… What made you come here? The second time, and the third…”

“Because it was like a game, I guess. I didn’t mean to intrude, but you gave me no choice.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to ask for the letters?”

“As if you’d give them to me,” she rolled her eyes. “I caught the taste of our little battle, and I know you did too. But the other night, when you almost caught me… you have no idea how low I felt,” Anna confessed.

“You felt low because I was there, not because you broke into someone’s house,” Marat remarked.

“Kind of. But I still felt bad, and that’s the point. I’m sorry about all the inconveniences I caused you.”

“I forgive you.”

“What’s wrong with you?” she groaned. “Why are you so nice after what I did?”

“Because that’s me,” he shrugged.

“Why did you invite me to dinner tonight?”

“Because I wanted to know you better. Maybe this way you won’t sneak, you’ll visit.”

“You’re incredible. I’m so glad I finally got to know you!” she said with enthusiasm.

“Do you know how often I hear that?” he laughed.

“I didn’t mean it in a fangirl way,” Anna smirked. “I meant you’re kind, and a good person, to keep it short. I like that.”

“I like you too, Anna,” he winked, reaching out his hand.

Anna timidly put her hand over it and intertwined her fingers with his. “I’d say I don’t like you, but I can’t lie. And I’m glad in a way that you stopped the game.”

“So everything’s fine.”

“Um… not quite. You promised me a letter,” she reminded him.

“It’s in your purse. I sneaked it there when you went to wash your hands.”

“Wow! You’re sure you want to give up our little game?”

“No. But we can’t have a relationship, and be rivals. It will backfire against us sometime.”

“And who told you I want a relationship with you?” Anna frowned.

“Too late for taking it back. You are holding my hand.”

“But you’re the one who… oh, fine, but you’re not going further than that,” she threatened.

“I never kiss a girl from the first date. If she does it, she’s easy.”

They went on with the banter until they realized how late it was. Marat led Anna downstairs, and after he made sure she was safely away, he went back. He cleaned the plates and felt an energy taking over him. He was not alone anymore, there was someone to share things with.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

In the beginning it was hard. Dating someone followed by the paparazzi, being called his new doll, having to stand his frequent trips... And if I add the routine misinterpretations that come in every relationship because you don’t fully know your partner and you’re still building the bridge, we were doomed. But somehow, I managed to control my temper and get used to him and his ways, as he did with me.

We’ve even had our first argument, and we got over it. Everything is perfect, I couldn’t wish for more. If only it wasn’t for this feeling he’s hiding something! I should trust him, and I do. I know he’s honest with me. Maybe he’s hot telling me some things, but I know he’s doing it to protect me. I feel horrible for that distrust on the bottom of my brain.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

She’s mad at me. I have no idea why. I know her for five weeks and I’ve never seen her like this. She keeps being sarcastic and throwing me hints. “What?” I know I snap, but she’s making me mad as well, she’s contagious.

“Happy anniversary!” she spits, and throws something on the table, then leaves.

I open the wrapping and find some keys. Wait a minute! The keys to her apartment! Now I remember. We’re celebrating one month together. She told me last week to take a free day. And I was in a working mood today of all days. I’m a ... No, I’m not going to say anything bad about myself. I am awesome, am I not? Who dares deny that?

I go out and buy her the hugest bouquet of flowers I find, and all sorts of silly things: chocolates, perfume, a stuffed teddy, some books she mentioned the other day, a brooch that looks horrible but that she loved when we saw it together. I open her door with my keys, and I apologize. She opens the presents one by one, and she’s thrilled. So thrilled she drags me to the bedroom. Things go back to being perfect on all plans.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

I have it. After all this time, I have the address of the man I’ve been looking for. I don’t know what to do. I would like to tell him something to his face, but what right do I have? I don’t know how things stood. With my heart in my throat, I drive there and knock on his door. I tried to reach Marat, I would have liked him to come with me, but he answered only to say he can’t talk and he’ll call later. Maybe it’s better this way. The man opens and there’s something strikingly familiar about him. Where have I seen him?

“I’m Anna, Ira’s granddaughter. For a moment he stares, then the info sets in.

“You are as beautiful as her.” Really? I can’t help being sarcastic inwardly. “Come in.”

I glance around me quickly, and it seems a nice place. One of those old-people-who-live-alone houses. I can tell he’s neat, and someone takes care of things for him. Too bad he was whatever he was in grandma’s life.

“She wanted you to have your cameo back. And these papers.”

“Did you read them?”

Of course not, I don’t go around poking my nose when it’s none of my business. I shake my head in denial.

“It’s a part of her will. We owned a piece of land together. I bought it when I thought she would marry me. And she wants you and my grandson to have it instead,” he explains.

Great! I own half of some unknown land with a stranger as bonus! Wait until Marat hears this! He is going to laugh until it hurts him. I sit down, and I must look dorky, because he’s smiling reassuringly at me. “I don’t want it.”

“But the papers are already filled in. After my death, our successors will inherit it.”

“Who are you? What did you mean to her? I know it’s rude of me, but I need to know, I need to understand.”

“When Ira was young, she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I fell in love with her at once. Seeing you here makes me remember her just the way she was.” He goes on and on with his divagations, but the main thing is that grandma was forced to marry grandpa because he was rich. The man she really loved was this one who’s sitting in front of me, but he was poor, and on top of that, he went to war. What romance! I can’t believe this. There must be something wrong, maybe he left out something.

I think and think, and my eyes fall on a photo. It’s him and... Marat? No, I’m definitely wrong now. Or maybe he is a fan, and they took a picture. “Do you... know him?” My throat is dry.

“Maratik? He’s my grandson. The one you will share the land with.”

I feel as if he smashed something in my head. I don’t know which is more dominant: my pain or my anger. I take out my phone and call him again, and I hear the ringtone coming from the other room. I stand up and yell his name, making my way in that direction. Please let it be a mistake! Please let him be someone else! I need to wake up from this nightmare. I press the handle with shaking hands, and there he is, with a guilty look.

I almost faint from the shock and pressure. He catches me in time and lays me on the bed. He’s murmuring my name and saying he’s sorry. I wish I could believe him, but I don’t. He looks genuinely worried, as does his grandfather, and I can only think he lied to me. I don’t say anything, I close my eyes and cover my ears. When I’m composed enough, I stand up. I’m still shaking, and he’s right there, by my side.

“Get your hands off me!” I sound almost hysterical, but I can’t stand his touch. I get out and he follows me. “It’s over. I hope you’re happy, you won.”

“This wasn’t part of the game,” he babbles. He’s grown paler. I don’t even what to think how I look like if he’s looking like that. “I’ve wanted to tell you, but...” A shrug. “I never found the right time. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry. You lied to me. On purpose. But even if you hadn’t, I couldn’t have a relationship with the grandson of the man who was grandpa’s rival and God knows what else. I don’t want to see you or speak to you again.”

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

I watch her drive away, and I’m riveted to the ground. I should go after her, but it would only make things worse. I’ll give her some time to calm down and think it over. I was afraid of that reaction, that’s why I didn’t tell her. I tried, once or twice, but I couldn’t. How can I when those green eyes look so innocent? How could I have told her that the man she was looking for, the man she accused and insulted so many times, is my grandfather?

I go back to the house, and poor grandpa is shaken. He looks at me, and he’s waiting for an explanation. “She’s my girlfriend. That’s what I didn’t get to tell you. Irina’s granddaughter is my girlfriend. And she doesn’t have a very good opinion about you. I tried to gain time. But now it all blew up and she found out.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and tells me everything’s going to be ok. He saw Ira in her, and Ira loved him. And how exactly does that help me?

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

[tinuviel]

Game

Part 4

“Oh, that...” grandpa laughs when he learns about the letters. “She lied to him beautifully.”

“What?”

“Well, she loved him at the beginning, but once we got to know each other well, we fell in love. She didn’t want to break his heart, and I encouraged her to write these letters. We had so much fun doing it!”

“You’re insane!” I’m horrified, but I laugh with him. “You should have told me before.”

“You didn’t tell me either. How should I guess?”

“But you know everything.” He knows if a grain of dust moves.

“Anechka, what you did you did yourself. No one forced you to take that decision. You felt something wrong, otherwise you would have forgiven him.”

How can he know what I think before I do? He’s right. I took advantage of the first crisis to abandon the ship, because I was afraid some day we would end it. I didn’t give him a chance to explain. I miss him. Even if I pretend I’m angry at him, he still brightens the room when he comes in.

But what if we break up in the end? It’s better to leave it all alone. I’m suffering now, but it’s already starting to soothe a little. In time I’ll be ok. I don’t want to suffer more one day. I think and think until my head hurts. I don’t want to have anything to do with him. But I do have to let him know what really happened.

I take a sheet of paper and a pen, and lift my knees up so I can write on them. I tear a dozen sheets before I start, and then write and cut. I cut more than I write, until I come up with a decent draft. I copy it on a clean sheet, and I sign it. With every word, tears gather. I wipe them one after the other, willing myself to forget about the void I feel in my stomach and throat each time I think he won’t be there with me anymore. I’m a woman, I’m strong, aren’t I? Why does that suddenly sound meaningless?

Before my determination fades, I hurry to his place to take him the letter with the explanation. I see him leaving, so I take the change to go up for the last time. We lived so many things in such a short time in this apartment. But it’s all past. I blow my nose, put the letter on the table and my keys next to them. It’s really over. I say it out loud, as if hearing it makes it easier. Then I turn to leave, and I see him in the doorframe, watching me.

There’s a serenity in his eyes that I’ll never forget. But in a second, sadness replaces it. And I can swear I see a trace of anger. “I left you a letter, there are things I found out and you should know. It’s up to you if you tell your grandfather or not. I also left you the keys.”

“They’re yours. Everything here is yours, including me.”

I know he means it, but instead of jumping of joy I want to lie on the bed and cry. I feel like a villain. I try to go past him, and he stops me. I try to fight him, but he has more strength. Before I know it, he’s holding me and whispering nonsense in my ears. Then I remember what happened. What his grandpa did. What my grandpa did. Because of them, we can’t be together. “I can’t be with you. Because of what our grandfathers did. I’m hurt, and ashamed.” There, I feel better now. He starts to say something, and I shudder at hearing my phone ring. I’m startled, but I thank whoever it is. I take the call, and it’s the perfect excuse to leave. My boss needs me. I say goodbye and run away. He looks offended, frustrated, upset and all the rest. What I’m doing is awful, but I have to. I go back to grandpa after I finish work, and whine in his arms.

A week later, everything is the same. Because he is prolonging the torture forever. It was a stupid idea to make me work with him. The database for the scholarships he was supposed to give me mysteriously vanished, and we’ve had to remake it. Together. I have to see him every day, and speak to him every day. It’s a torture I can’t stand. I tried everything. I thought that admitting we have a relationship meant I could raise the ethical and professionalism issue with Michel. I cried. I lied that my boyfriend cheated on me. That he harasses me. That he doesn’t work at all.

I even went to his superiors to test the waters. I let them understand what happened, that we had a fight. I didn’t want to go too much into details, after all I don’t want to ruin his career. What he did to me happened in our private lives. I don’t remember how many lies I told, or to whom. In the end he was smarter than me. In a sudden inspiration, I storm out of the office where we work and into my boss’s office. “I quit! If I have to stand Marat Safin another minute, I quit!”

It takes the tyrant by surprise, but I look determined. He can’t tell it’s a bluff. And I finally get what I want. I’m free from him. Only now I realize I don’t really want that.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

“Please trick her so I can meet her!” I know I’m begging, but it’s the only solution since she’s so stubborn and she won’t answer any of my attempts at communicating with her.

“Fine,” Olga gives in. “But don’t expect I will solve your problems every time you don’t see eye to eye.”

She looks mad at me, even reproachful, but maybe I’m imagining. I hope she will never have to interfere again. It’s embarrassing. And all this because of Anna. You just wait until we get things going again. You are so going to pay for all the times I’ve had to beg and humiliate myself. I make a distressed puppy face at Olga, then leave. Another day spent alone. I had got used to her, to hearing her say the silliest nothings, to teasing her, to listening to her solutions to my problems. I miss her.

The next day, Olga calls me and tells me I have to be at a restaurant half an hour later. Great! Couldn’t she have announced me five minutes before? Or after the meeting hour? She enjoys making me troubles. Luckily, Anna never makes it anywhere on time. I hurry as much as I can, and I speed there. I look through the windows and spot her there, writing something on a note she gives to the waiter. I make my entrance, and stay in front of her for a minute before she stops digging in her bag and looks up. She frowns, she’s clearly confused.

“I asked Olga to trick you into coming here.” I won’t make the same mistakes, from now on everything is clean. She smiles, but she doesn’t say anything. “I tried to tell you so many times, but something always came up. I’m sorry.” She still won’t say anything, but she seems to pay attention to my words and debate with herself. I take a chance and talk about us, about feelings, and about how she hasn’t been so honest herself, hoping something will impress her enough. “I’m making a fool here, aren’t I?” She’s snickering. I opened my heart, risked being rejected, and she’s snickering! That’s it! I can accept I was wrong about her and I’m not corresponded. But I don’t have to stand her mocking. I stand up and start walking away, wondering what was in my head.

Just as I’m about to open the door, she comes after me and grabs my hand. Her grip is so tight I have no reaction for a second and she’s dragging me back to the table. I sit down and she’s making me a sign to wait. She gives me a note, probably the same she gave to the waiter. I can’t talk. I have laryngitis. So that’s why she doesn’t say anything. Relief overtakes me. While I’m processing, she’s scribbling something more. I had a suspicion Olga was tricking me, she always goes home for lunch. I’m sorry too, for everything. For laughing too, but you were so cute! She even drew a little heart.

“So now what?”

Now we have lunch, I’m starving. Her eyes are bright and clear, and her whole face is beaming.

“You’ve really missed me, haven’t you?” I know it sounds cocky, but I can’t help it when I see her like that. When I arrived, she wasn’t like that. It makes me feel happy I can make her feel that way by just being there. Ok, I think what I just told her had a huge impact, but anyway... She nods.

After we finish eating, we finally get away from there. We will have to leave separately, since each of us came with the car. She hasn’t written anything else, and I haven’t said more. I’m waiting for an answer from her, but I don’t want to force it. I give her a kiss, and she doesn’t reject me. So we’re good. At least for now.

Just as I get home and put some water for tea, I hear the doorbell. I open the door to see her standing there. She has that half shy, half strong face on, and I know why she came. She makes me a sign to wait, the she starts digging in her bag again. She finds a note, takes out her pen and she starts writing. Holding my breath, I watch her cut everything she had on the note. She only leaves that heart, and adds u 2. She’s laughing as she hands it to me, then she bites her lip. I open my arms and let her in. I know she’s here to stay.

And she does stay. Some time later, she’s living here, irritating me every morning when she has to wake up early. She always makes noise, and she’s doing it on purpose, to wake me.

“We should suffer together, since we share the good together.” She says it with an evil look, which annoys me, which makes her happy. Then she comes and sits on the bed and gives me a kiss. I can’t be upset after that.

She leaves in half an hour, and I survey the place. Her presence is everywhere. Her mugs and glasses in the kitchen, and the plates she made me buy, her correspondence mixed with mine, her cosmetics in the bathroom, her clothes thrown around the bedroom.

She came in here to steal some letters, and in the end she stole my heart. And right now, I’m stealing a ring from her, because I need it for the surprise I’m planning for her.