My 1000-years love

Chapter 1

6:30 in the morning. God, it’s torture getting up this early every day. Only those who would destroy the human race could think of such a thing. Poor children - I may be a sinner, but why should they?

My boys are the only thing that makes me understand myself. Why I exist and what I do. Other than that, it’s pitch black. I don’t like the city I live in; the house I live in; the people I see. I don’t like what I have to say to be like everyone else. I don’t like what I have to do to make everyone happy with me. The hypertrophied guilt from childhood-that I could offend everyone and anyone; that I could be looked at with reproach-has driven me, eventually, to inner rebellion. All I want to do is swear and tell everyone to go to hell. Though outwardly I don’t. I have to be comfortable and give joy! Such contradictions and complexes. I don’t even want to think about where the roots are growing. What’s the use of figuring it out?

By the time I was thirty-three years old, I was almost empathic in feeling others. I thought I could read people’s thoughts and emotions, and sometimes even influence them. Probably watched a lot of superhero comic books. If, of course, I believed they could be true. But I lie: I do. I just don’t believe I could be that kind of hero. I just fantasize sometimes. I’m lying again! I fantasize very often, for long periods of time and with pleasure. It’s a wonderful escape from reality. So is lying. It has become a daily way of escape from constant criticism - tired of justifying my actions to others, explaining something, proving my point of view. It is better to say something socially expected - everyone is happy and you are not judged.

Anyway, as smoothly ensues from all of the above, I am a secret sociopath, neurasthenic, with, again, a secret superhero complex.

Once I realized that the relationship with my husband turned into being under one roof two completely different and unrelated people, I, very long thinking, suggested to my old friend, that is, my husband, to be honest with each other and divorce. Our intelligent children, understanding everything perfectly well and having listened to additional arguments, blessed us and stayed to live with their mother.

The black hole in my soul, unrelated to the divorce, dragged on and on, until at some point I fell into an unrelenting depression, which again no one knew about, because I was lying. The same old smooth, light cheerful mood, the same old expected actions, - everything is the same as always. Everyone is happy, no one is looking at me.

But one day, one beautiful and sunless day, someone else joined my inner dialog with my better half of consciousness. One thing I knew for sure: this someone was a man, and he was... well, very far away. Although I was clearly convinced that this was just another fantasy as a way to amuse myself. At least up to a point. Because one day, the voice became completely unlike anything I could have come up with on my own. Rather obsessively, he began to explain to me that he had been looking for me for a very long time, that I should come to him. In general, a clear schizophrenic delusion. I decided not to be frightened at first - I was fantasizing. After all, the voice belonged to a tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired and turquoise-eyed, yes, yes, exactly bright turquoise-eyed macho, the dream of every earthly woman! How could such a fantasy be denied so easily? He explained that he was following me across the cosmic expanse. What, a good fantasy, I like it, - I thought and did not hurry to drive it away. And that was my mistake.

If I had begun to suspect myself of madness, I would have gone to my family, to the doctors. They would have put me away in a remote clinic, injected me with the appropriate drugs, and then I would no longer be a beacon, attracting the horror that really flew after me on wings of dark energy. Maybe nothing would have happened? Or was it inevitable after all?

That morning I woke up at 6:30 with the usual thought, God, it’s that nightmare again. Sent my tomboys off to school with hugs and kisses goodbye. If only I’d known. If I’d only known. The pain of saying goodbye would have broken my heart. My mom was picking them up from school today, and they were staying with her this weekend.

In my search for a way out of my unrelenting depression, I signed up for a Vedic seminar at a dubious suburban boarding house. It was supposed to include lectures, joint meditations, and most importantly, answers to personal questions from unknown to me famous gurus. No, I am not a Hindu at all and I do not belong to any religion at all. Although I wear a crucifix around my neck, sometimes chant mantras in Sanskrit, observe Christian fasts, do yoga and am a vegetarian. Such a mix. All these are just my quiet beliefs, no pathos or advertising labels. I don’t like gatherings of people demonstrating to each other who is kinder, more vegitarian and enlightened. And yet this time, seeing the ad in the mail, something moved in me. What if this was the shake-up I needed? A randomly thrown word, a parable, someone else’s story - I was waiting for the necessary push to push myself up from the bottom and swim out.

Coming home early, I packed my bags for a couple of nights in a boarding house. Decided to shake things up a bit: have a glass of wine. Yeah, yeah. Just before the Vedic seminar that so zealously condemns alcohol. And watch a funny movie so I wouldn’t be alone with my thoughts.

I walked out of the bathroom, wrapped only in a towel, and slowly made my way through the dark bedroom to the window. I felt better in the dark-it suited my condition so well. Outside the window stretched the night city, my city. Once upon a time. The window overlooked one of the avenues where many cars were now speeding along. Friday night, it was almost midnight. People are probably driving to clubs, visiting, going on dates, coming from dates. People are driving and doing what they are interested in; what they are comfortable doing. Socializing, showing off for each other, loving themselves in another person, laughing heartily or to avoid offending, dancing, inspiring, being inspired, boasting and envying, falling in love and flirting, being jealous and breaking up. Hundreds of these emotions I could feel now, emanating from the houses and cars of this city. It filled me with unimaginable energy. God, this is good, I thought. And yet I myself was deprived of all this. I had lost all my friends quite unnoticeably in my marriage. Our family social circle had fallen apart. I myself was completely bogged down in family life. And I realized that I was without friends only after the divorce.

Instead of admiration for this flood of human emotions, there was sadness and probably envy. Now all this crazy cycle of events is gone. I can only smell its aroma, walking along the streets and looking into other people’s windows.

Tears flowed down my cheeks, my mouth opened and a scream came out of my soul, completely silent. I wanted to cry myself to tears, to find relief, but the breath seemed to escape at the last moment. My mouth opened, but I cried out in silence. Then my hand came up, clenched into a fist, and came down on my chest with force, wanting to wring some sound out of it. I beat my chest. Again and again. Damn it, when was this pain going to break through just a little bit and get easier?

“And how long will I be forced to witness this spectacle?” The sharp, indifferent voice abruptly cut through my hysteria. My eyes widened in fear. My hand froze in midair, and from my mouth finally came a spasmodic gasp, more like a hiccup.

The first thought: my ex-husband somehow got into the apartment. It seems he still had the keys. However, the voice didn’t seem like his at all. The second thought: damn, a burglar. My eyes landed on the lamp on the bedside table. I needed to get closer to it. I turned slowly, not realizing that I still had my fist raised above my head. He stood five steps away from me, huge like a rock. He was over six and a half feet tall. His absolutely proportional enormous body was clad in a black suit, resembling modern armor. A guy obsessed with cosplay decided to rob an apartment on his way to a party? His broad shoulders were visually enhanced by something that looked like knight’s pauldrons.

He remained silent, giving me time to snap out of my stupor.

“Ta-, take what you need and leave. I won’t tell anyone, and I didn’t see your face. It’s dark in here.”

That was a lie. My eyes had adjusted well to the darkness, and the light coming from the bathroom was enough for me to see him in detail. His black hair, about two inches long, stuck up as if he had been walking against the wind for a long time. A broad face, wide chin, surprisingly full but not at all feminine lips, curved in expectant silence. A thin, but not feminine nose. His eyes: they sparkled with a blue turquoise glow through the darkness. They weren’t human. You could edit a photo to look like that in an app, but not in real life. Contact lenses could change the color of eyes, but not make them glow from within. Oh! He probably put something in them to make them glow! For some party.

My pulse pounded in my head as hard as if I’d run up to the fourteenth floor. I lowered my hand and cast a barely noticeable glance at the lamp on the bedside table, which seemed like my only hope for salvation.

This did not escape the burglar’s notice, and he chuckled quietly. When I realized that my plan was uncovered, my stupor began to turn into hysteria and anger. What the hell is he doing interfering with my evening plans? This is my home! My territory! My children live here! Thank heavens they weren’t home right now.

“What do you want?” I asked angrily. “I’ll give you some money and you can leave. Keep in mind, I’m too angry right now and won’t be an easy victim.”

“I don’t need your sacrifices.” My God, his voice is so cold and emotionless. It’s as if he’s speaking under hypnosis. Yet his eyes are too alive. It even seems like they’re laughing at my angry flailing. He watched me, his head slightly tilted to one side. He was examining me from head to toe like a naturalist who had discovered an unknown species.

“What’s with your eyes?” I couldn’t take it anymore. “Are those some fluorescent drops? Are you going to the club? So what are you doing here? Go where you were going!”

“And you’re not too kind,” he retorted.

“I don’t do kindness with burglars.” He chuckled again, but didn’t say anything.

I could feel the hysteria and uncertainty of his intentions starting to piss me off. I was itching to grab this twisted, spacesuit-clad asshole and throw him out of my house. Even if it meant every muscle in my body tearing in the process.

In the next moment, he lunged at me with a speed I’d only seen in kung fu movies. In a heartbeat, he had me by the waist, spinning me around and pressing me against him with an iron grip so tight that the wine in my stomach threatened to come back up.

“I’ve already come where I was going,” he whispered into my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine.

Some fancy gum he’s got, I thought, before my consciousness left me.