New Year's miracle |18+

Chapter Two

Hank

He knew that she had arrived as soon as this "mockery" called, a car braked in front of the house.

And why did she love this car so much? He didn't understand. As well as her cravings for all these "eco" things and biotechnologies. Who in their city will buy an electric car? Well, what kind of quirks? So that then you can constantly be in search of casualistic points where you can charge it? Of course, New York is a city of great opportunities, but there are no free stations on the main streets to charge an electric car during the day with fire. Well, well. But that's not what we're talking about right now.

He now spent the day, and sometimes spent the night in the kitchen, not always going to the bedroom. For many reasons: he was reluctant to smoke the air with a burner and candles somewhere else, even though his new apartment was spacious and the ceilings were high, and he loved the kitchen, anyway, because it was in it that he spent cozy, homely evenings with his beloved. And here the windows just overlook the main street.

So, Jill noticed the arrival right away. Couldn't miss it. Not her. And when she came to his door, I saw him.

Fuck, yes, he was at the f*****g door before her, because who else would she visit here, in this house, if not him? He stood staring stupidly through the peephole, feeling his heart tearing through his chest, pounding with frantic frequency. Look how frisky it is. And it found strength somewhere.

But sometimes it seemed to him that he was already dead, he just wouldn't decompose in any way, f**k. And no f*****g way. Then the adrenaline went through the roof, the pulse was under two hundred and the groin was filled with blood, suddenly reminding me of myself. The whole body is even very alive. As always with Jillian.

Damn it. Off topic and out of place. It is clear that she did not come to him for past memory and not for "romance". Not after he himself, with his own hands, stupidly flew off the reels from the suddenly accumulated wealth and opportunities, roamed to the nines, destroyed everything, feeling like the "king of the world". Well, now the result is an appropriate one. He hated himself now. However, as well as the world around.

The world, unlike Jill, reciprocated him.

Yes, only, with his own inherent rationalism, which once somehow failed, he clearly understood that this hatred would not change a damn thing. And he can pull out all his hair on himself, but to no avail. And it will not be otherwise. There are actions that are not forgiven. And he wouldn't forgive. So. What are the claims against her?

Fuck. But how he wanted to open the door at that moment, grab her in an armful and press her to him so that both bones cracked, so almost to the point of pain. With the thirst and greed that he had not let her out of his hands before. To press against the mouth, pulling the plump lips into your mouth, almost biting. Because I missed you, wildly. He was hungry for her, for responses, for "his", criticizing him for some little things, for "insensitivity" and too hard pressure. By the intoxicating smell of grapefruit, which Jilly was crazy about. Hank now, it seemed that he could feel it through the armored canvas of the door. With my fingertips, my tongue, my f*****g sense of smell, I suddenly "remembered" how her skin, hair, smelled like a mixture of perfume and only her own smell. And I wanted to lick it off, drink this smell from her skin.

But instead of all this, the need for what was tearing the roof, he, like the last stoned maniac, stood leaning against the door and peeking at her through the peephole. He caught every gesture of his beloved, absorbed every doubting and uncertain grimace into himself, as if in reserve, put it aside in memory to pull out and savor when he leaves.

I had no doubt that it would disappear. He knew his nasty character well, because he would definitely get out somewhere, break down. And there's no reason for her to stay, Hank has already f****d up enough and completely frayed her nerves. No man can stand it here, even a loving one.

And he didn't demand that she put up with him, even though he wanted them to squeal, because of the pain in the torn muscles of his injured arm and neck. Because they themselves were reaching out to grab her, hug her, hug her. Don't let go.

No.

He was standing under the door, leaning on the cold canvas, and just looked at her. And I heard every word of this stupid neighbor from the top floor. The grandmother infuriated him. By dissuading Jill from knocking when it turned out that the bell wasn't working. No matter what, he would like to know the reason that made her come to him after all. By what she said.

Although she wasn't lying. But the truth often infuriates much more than fiction. Especially when you know for sure: it's all your fault, you did everything yourself to be considered a crazy monster and an alcoholic maniac. The neighbor was infuriating because, in fact, she was a projection, the quintessence of the world and the very hatred of Hank and for him.

Did Jill feel all this?

He was so interested in this question that, contrary to common sense, Hank opened the door as soon as she knocked. Confident and strong, no matter what doubts Jill had in her head.

Gave himself away? Figs knows. I wasn't thinking about that. Her scent absorbed this confusion, the frenzied gamut of emotions that Jill was so desperately trying to hide behind an independent and detached look. Quite successfully, by the way. He was just looking too hard. Or was he deceiving himself, attributing to her something that was no longer in sight?

Okay, now it would be necessary to turn on his brains, despite the wild headache that had been nagging him since the morning, obviously, about the sudden snow, so that it was empty. I've never reacted to the weather before, I didn't even know that my head could split from such a trifle» And now, after that f*****g accident, like a grandfather, by God.

And how could he concentrate on the problems that Jill was trying to describe to him? Even when she wants to bury her face in her hair, pulling off a stupid scarf. Take a deep breath. For some reason, there was a persistent, aha, moronic confidence that this would release the headache.

Definitely crazy.

And her scent of perfume, which enveloped him, intoxicated him, as soon as Jill came in and stopped near him, did not help him to think rationally in any way. So, I dragged her into the kitchen, like drinking tea and trying to get into the problems that Douglas dragged them into. Or maybe he was just looking for an excuse to get closer to her, to hold Jill for longer, even though he himself understood how shitty this option was.

"So, what did Douglas do there?" angry at himself for this heresy in the brain, Jill asked frowningly, already habitually throwing a new briquette of dry fuel into the burner and holding a lighter. Put the kettle on top.

The devil pulled during the repair to change the stove to a new induction. f**k. I wouldn't be steaming with gas right now. He turned around and caught Jill's thoughtful gaze, carefully watching all this, his every action. It's gone. Having made his muzzle a brick, as if he did not touch her attention at all, he pushed his chin forward, hinting that it was time to answer.

“He ran into a shipment of illegal weapons; I think he encroached on the price. It's Douglas.” she sighed and risked unbuttoning her jacket anyway.

Hank remembered how Jill was always freezing, she probably feels really cold here right now. My hands clenched into fists from the stupid hopelessness of the situation.

“And, without checking or, more precisely, believing the fake papers, he sold them to the largest client, and just had to deliver a new batch under the contract.” I was in a hurry, I wanted to pay back faster. And they ran into a check, maybe someone from the agents brought it up, and it surfaced. In general, you can imagine further.

She sighed and carefully sat down on a chair. The only one he has left, by the way. And Hank.

“Your mother. Well, Douglas, damn it. The economist sucks.”

All the lust, guilt, regret and self-flagellation were blown out of my head for f**k's sake. Because I immediately clearly imagined what problems it would cause. He leaned against the windowsill.

“Who did he sell to?” with pressure, rubbing his head with his hands, pressed his eyes with the base of his palms. And he looked at Jill with a kind of doom. It's definitely not her fault, but damn, how Douglas f****d up.

“This bank, their security company.”

“The Alliance? f****d up.” Hank jumped up, jerkily darted back and forth in the kitchen. Thoughts began to pile up in my head, a clear understanding of what kind of difficulty it would all turn out to be. He once spent a hell of a lot of time, effort and energy on concluding an exclusive contract with these people. And now what?

Really, it's not just a problem» And in the context of their reputation, the whole business, it's f*****g f****d up» He clenched his fists, jerked back to the window, trying to give an outlet to this release of hormones that hit the vessels. His head was pounding.

“Fuck.” The leg injured in the accident was cramped from sudden movement, so that I could not take a step.

He bent down, rubbing the cramped muscle. I'm not even steamed up now that Jill sees his weakness, I'm too loaded with the layout.

“Help, Hank? Does it hurt much?” she flew up to him, confusing him, and already stretched out her hand, as if in doubt.

Sincere, honest, frank. Loving.

She disrupted every order in feelings and thoughts, disorienting Hank even more, considering that now he was focusing entirely on Douglas's puncture. And so wildly I wanted to lift her up, grab her by the shoulders, just to snuggle up to the light crown, from which her scarf had already moved off. But he doesn't have a damn right.

From this, the anger inside splashed, burning the sternum with acid. Because her reaction only highlights his guilt and stupidity, his baseness more clearly. That grain of the soul, which I only thought about after she left.

“I'll survive. I won't die if I haven't died yet.” my fingers ached with the desire to close on her shoulder, to clasp the back of her head. Kiss. Damn it. How he wanted to kiss her, licking, drinking from her skin, from her lips this bittersweet taste of grapefruit»

But instead, Hank abruptly pulled away, pushed her away from him. It was even a little rough.

Jill's face turned to stone, and he physically felt a splash of cold, resentment and anger from her. Pride, like a garment, pulled on instantly. And such a frost blew. He's out there, having opened all the windows in the apartment to clear his brain today, to get alcohol out of his head, and he's not as cold as from one look at her now.

Jill's character was never inferior to him. That's why she did not tolerate it when Hank was carried away.

She straightened up, lifted her chin, and returned to her chair, taking a step. She chuckled.

“Jill.” his body. It somehow reached out to her, without consciousness and without his will, it seemed.

Inside, a bad subcortex. Next to her, the mind behind the mind went, and the understanding of right and wrong was erased. I forgot about the arguments and reasons. Yes, but it did not reduce the pain that he caused her, did not erase all his mistakes. And common sense was enough to admit it.

The silence between them is like a huge snow-covered field, impassable "scars". You're standing on the edge, and you can't reach the other edge where she turns away from him. Has the right. That's why Hank, never usually giving up in his life, did not even try to make a move. Although I wanted wildly. Or maybe? Well, suddenly.

The kettle boiled; water rapidly bubbled over the glass walls.

"What?" now her tone demonstrated: snapped. Hooked, even though I didn't want to show him. And Hank saw how her lips tightened, how a vein in her neck began to beat.

To calm him down, to hug him, to admit that he needs wildly; that he does not just repent – he is ready to lie down with his bones; whatever he asks, he will do, just to reappear in his life, just to return. But after all, pride itself is over the edge. Therefore, he can understand her, and such oaths and assurances will not atone for that offense, will not appease. And if you think about it, he can't forgive himself for everything he did to them. How then can I ask her for forgiveness? There are no options, it turns out?

And inside such a mess. What to grab for? What issues to solve?

"Nothing." he paused. I cut myself, how hoarse and rude it came out, but I didn't want to. From resentment at himself, but not to explain this to Jill, he would not believe it. “I only have green tea, do you mind?” not knowing how and where to start a conversation, and does it make sense?

"I don't mind," she snapped in the same tone.