Love Beyond Boundaries

Chapter 3 Secrets Revealed

I walked into my apartment, thick with the stench of cigarette smoke. I stepped into the living room and saw a scene that had repeated itself almost every day since my childhood: a torn sofa, the blue glow of the TV, empty bottles scattered across the floor, and cigarette butts stuffed into an old coffee jar.

Mom was asleep, lying on her stomach, one arm dangling limply toward the floor. All I could do was turn off the TV and retreat to my room.

Vladimir was wrong about one thing: my mother hadn't raised me badly, because she hadn't raised me at all, and I had grown up like a weed, unwanted and alone.

My mother had always had her own life, and as it turned out, it mattered far more to her than I ever did.

When I was about fifteen, I still tried to fight it. I wanted a family like other kids had, one where a mother cooked dinner, cared, helped with homework. But no matter how much I begged, no matter how many promises I made, she returned to the bottle again and again.

It was incurable. Because she liked drinking.

Eventually, I accepted it. I simply kept living. I understood that in this life, no one would help me except myself. While my peers went out and had fun, I studied relentlessly so I could get into university on a full scholarship. There was no other option—either free, or not at all.

And in the end, I made it.

I opened the door to my room. The renovation was pathetic, with faded wallpaper, old furniture, and a fold-out chair bed that sometimes made my back ache. I let my gaze drift thoughtfully over the room and let out a quiet scoff.

'No wonder Lenka's father thinks I'm friends with her for the money.[A1] '

We really were from different worlds. My friend's world was bright, wealthy, full of color. Mine was gray and cold.

How did we even become friends? It was simple. I once saw her crying in a restroom and couldn't walk past. Her boyfriend had dumped her, and I knocked some sense into her pretty quickly, honestly as if that were a real problem.

If I cried over something like that, I wouldn't have survived in my world. There were far more serious problems. And I told her that straight to her face.

Instead of getting angry, Lenka calmed down. The next day, she even treated me to coffee.

I hadn't planned to be friends with anyone. I was used to being alone. But Lenka didn't give up and stuck to me like chewing gum.

"You are too straightforward and kind of strange," my friend once laughed, "but you know what? That's why I like you. You're real."

Over time, I got used to this cheerful chatterbox, and she got used to my fussiness. And even though we were so different, we became friends. I understood her, and she understood me.

Eventually, Lenka found out where I lived and how. But that didn't bother her. Sometimes she would slip pastries, chocolate, or juice from the cafeteria into my bag because she knew I wouldn't let her treat me. Sometimes she gave me her clothes, claiming she had gained weight. And I accepted them. I understood perfectly and was very grateful.

'How could it be that now I'm not allowed to talk to my friend?'

She had become practically like family to me, the only person who truly understood me and cared about me.

The cracked screen of my phone lit up, and I saw several messages from Lenka. She asked if I was home and apologized for her father, and I remembered the eyes that burned through me, the fingers gripping my neck, and the minty breath, making goosebumps run over my skin. How many nasty things had he said to me!

Of course, I wouldn't tell my friend about it. Vladimir was a monster only to me. To her, he was a loving, strict father who surely spoke to his princess differently, not like he would to a "lowlife."

I bit my lip in frustration and sank into my worn-out chair. His words made me feel bad. I was almost in tears. I didn't understand why his insults affected me so much. Normally, I didn't care about other people's opinions. But Vladimir somehow got under my skin.

'To hell with his bans! Especially after he humiliated me.'

Without a second thought, I opened the chat with my friend and replied. I would talk to Lenka. No one could forbid me, not even her crazy father.

After taking a shower, I went to bed. Tomorrow, I had a shift at one of the fancy restaurants in the city, where I had recently started working as a waitress. I knew it would be tough; there would be a lot of rules to follow. But I could handle it. I needed the money.

It was lucky that Lenka had once given me her blouses and pencil skirts. They had played a key role in the interview. People judge you by your clothes. If I had worn my own, I probably would have been turned away immediately. I would never have fit into the luxurious restaurant in my worn-out clothes.

In the morning, I hurried to get ready. I lightly applied makeup on my eyes and lips just as Lenka had taught me, not bright but still effective. I brushed my wavy, light-golden hair and tied it into a sleek ponytail. After changing into a cream-beige blouse and a pencil skirt, I looked at myself in the mirror on the wall.

Yes, in Lenka's clothes, I looked like a normal girl, ordinary and even pretty, and no one would guess that it was all a disguise, just an image hiding a girl who had grown up around drunk parties and unconsciously longed for another life.

'It's okay. Someday I will have a new life. Not fake, real.[A2] '

I leaned toward the mirror, stared into my serious blue eyes, and whispered, "Someday I will get out of this pit.[A3] "

I promised myself that often. And I believed I could do it.

I left the room and ran into my mother. Somehow, I resembled her. I had seen her photos from her youth, and she looked cheerful, carefree, and unburdened, a blonde full of life. Sometimes it felt like I had become her burden. Everything had changed in her life after I was born.

"Give me some change, can't afford cigarettes," she asked, wrapped in her gray robe.

"I don't have any change," I said. I had been using my bank card for a long time.

"Too bad for a mother," she snorted. "Why are you all dressed up? Going to a boyfriend?"

"What boyfriend?" I rolled my eyes. "I don't have time for that." I walked past her to the hallway.

"Good. If you get knocked up young like me, you'll flush it down the toilet your whole life," I heard her smoky voice behind me, but I didn't turn. Her words hadn't touched me for a long time.

"So where are you off to?"

"To work," I muttered, putting on my shoes.

"About time, the fridge is empty," my mom sighed. "You're a grown woman now. It's time to earn money."

I didn't answer. I had long stopped seeing any point in it. We lived like two neighbors speaking different languages. She didn't want to love me. And I no longer asked for her love.

Grabbing my keys, I left the apartment and ran to the bus stop. I tried to set myself up for a good day, convincing myself I could handle it.

If only I had known what my shift would turn out to be, I would have thought a hundred times before starting at this restaurant.