Married to a Monster

“Nastyukha?” A vaguely familiar voice stopped me almost at the crosswalk. A few more seconds, and the light turned red. Ugh. I’d had a chance to cross quickly and hurry home. After a long day at work, no less. Why? Why me? Who could possibly need me right now? Just leave me alone, all of you, and let me go in peace. But out of habit I had already pasted a friendly expression onto my face and tried to hide the irritation in my eyes. Yeah… three years as an administrator did give you experience. Especially when you had to deal with unstable people far too often, and your position required you to smooth over practically every disagreement and conflict. The habit of keeping my face under control had quietly seeped into my everyday life. Infuriating, honestly. Though, sometimes, useful. “Nastyukha!” A blur of bright images flashed in front of my eyes: a short fluffy skirt, a top, high heels, and neon-green hair. And all of that crashed straight into poor, unfortunate, exhausted me. “Elya?” A former classmate I hadn’t seen in… how long now? Six years at least. Our relationship had always been strange. Half friends, half sworn enemies. But still, years had passed. The last time we’d seen each other had been at a class reunion. I stopped going after the second year. In my opinion, events like that should be attended only on milestone anniversaries: five years, ten years—at least then you could actually see who had changed and how. Elya had definitely changed, judging by her outfit. “Nastya!” she went on exclaiming loudly. “We haven’t seen each other in forever! How are you? Are you coming from work? Do you have a boyfriend? Or are you already married?” Elvira rattled on without stopping, not even waiting for answers to her own questions. Yes, she had always been like that—utterly in love with herself. No, she wasn’t a b***h, not at all. She simply seemed genuinely unable to understand how someone as wonderful as she was could love herself so much, while other people somehow… did not. Did not love her. Did not listen. “Hello, Elvira,” I managed to slip in during a pause—right as she inhaled for what was undoubtedly going to be another long and completely unnecessary tirade—and moved us away from the crosswalk so we wouldn’t block people who were already giving us sideways looks. “Yes, I’m very glad to see you too. I’m doing well. Yes, I’m coming from work. I work as an administrator in an office, yes, basically a secretary, but I’m fine with it, and the salary is good. Yes, I have a boyfriend. No, I’m not married yet, because no one has proposed. And if you don’t mind, let’s call each other tomorrow, because right now I am, in fact, rushing to meet that very boyfriend for a date.” Please let her leave me alone. Please. Please, please, please… “Wow,” Elya breathed, smiling with admiration. “Look at you, all serious and grown-up. A real lady. All right.” She suddenly looked at me calmly, almost kindly. “Run to your beloved. I remember your phone number. I’m more than sure you haven’t changed it since ninth grade.” Elvira? Calm and kind? No intrusive clinging, no interrogation for details? She really had changed. And most of all, I had. Guilt stirred inside me. “Elka, I’m sorry.” I smiled in reconciliation, finally dropping the stern administrator act as if my workday were still going. “I really am glad to see you. You’ve changed so much. And no”—I gently tugged one of her green strands—“I don’t mean your appearance. Though it’s actually pretty attractive. Unusual, bright, but cool. Honestly. We’ve all grown up, right? Let’s meet tomorrow evening. I’ll be free after work. We can sit at Boulanger, have coffee and cake, and chat about our cheerful school days. I’ve missed you.” “Okay. I’m all for it.” Elya beamed back at me, waved goodbye, and almost skipped toward another crosswalk. Only then did I remember where I had been rushing five minutes earlier. And I hadn’t lied to her. I did have a boyfriend, and tonight we were supposed to celebrate the anniversary of the day we met. In the entryway of my small but nevertheless entirely mine one-room apartment, there were no familiar men’s shoes, which meant Andrey hadn’t come from work yet. I looked at myself in the mirror. All right, then: dusty and tired after a summer workday, but nothing a shower and a little rest couldn’t fix. I yanked irritably at the elastic band, freeing my hair from its high ponytail. Sun-bleached again! Normally I was dark blonde, but in summer I turned a little ginger. I looked myself in the eye. Where was my determination? I needed it badly today. Today. Today I would take my relationship with Andrey to the next level. Elka had been right—my number had never changed. Neither had the habit of braiding my hair at home or putting dishes in the sink immediately after eating. In four years of school, I had barely worn more than three blouses whose colors ranged from milky white to soft cream. In three years of work, my pencil skirt had always been flawlessly pressed, my hair styled, and my face covered with modest daytime makeup. I had always behaved impeccably. Was that my parents’ upbringing? Or my own habit of being proper in everything? It was hard for me to judge. Straight-A student at school—a gold medal. Straight-A student in college, then university—an honors diploma. Straight-A employee at work—not a single complaint, an ideal record. Sometimes my own correctness made my teeth ache. But to send everything to hell, to neglect school or work even once, to go to a questionable party, to drink a little more than one glass of wine? Alas, I simply couldn’t. I was afraid to step up to the edge of the abyss and find there not the dangerous darkness I had always imagined, but a magnificent landscape painted in every color of the rainbow. It was frightening to destroy a stable life planned neatly in a daily planner. And with all my old-fashioned principles, I understood perfectly well that I didn’t quite fit into modern moral norms—or, more accurately, into the absence of any norms at all. But one could ponder that for a long time, and so, when Andrey appeared in my life—so improper, annoying, stubborn as a ram, and a total slob—and fell in love with me, I simply didn’t reject the chance that had appeared. Yes, it was difficult. Especially when he wanted a more intimate relationship. Rationally, I understood perfectly well that a young man unaccustomed to celibacy would find it hard to restrain his desires. But the first condition I had set when our relationship began was “only after the wedding.” Andrey hadn’t liked it much. But he stayed. I can’t say whether I loved him the way people generally understood love. Yes, I felt good with him, though his selfish little performances sometimes hurt deeply. But he was there. And he needed me. I thought I could compromise and swallow my pride, not answer with offense when he lashed out with sharp, cruel words accusing me of being dry, cold, boring. After all, Andrey always apologized. He always helped me. He did help, didn’t he? Right? Today was our anniversary. Exactly one year since we met. And though I didn’t attach much importance to holidays—I didn’t even celebrate my own birthday, honestly, why?—this date warmed me with memories. All year I had been watching Andrey. Could I be with him further, in marriage, for a lifetime? And although I still didn’t know the answer for certain, I wanted to give him a gift. In relationships, both people should make an effort, right? This would be my step. I wanted to give him the most precious thing I had right now. Myself. To step over all those countless shoulds in my head and simply do it. I was far from irresistible. I was an ordinary girl, one of millions in this city. Yes, beautiful—believe me, I don’t suffer from false modesty—but not irreplaceable. That was how it always went. Lately, our quarrels with Andrey over my inaccessibility had become more frequent. His words had grown more painful. More and more often, I had started wondering whether my principles were right. And yes, I was still sure that one should get married first and only then open her body to a man. But people made different sacrifices for relationships. I would make this one. And even if he refused to understand how important this step was for me, I loved him, which meant I had to. I loved him, didn’t I? Everything inside me trembled with nerves. Still, I wasn’t a little girl, and I knew what kinds of desires could sometimes rage in a body. Today. When keys jingled in the door, I tried to calm down and make my face look independent and seductive. Nightmare. What was I even saying? I was shaking all over from nerves, and the thin silk robe kept slipping off my shoulders. And what i***t had decided silk was sexy? It was horribly uncomfortable and irritating. Awful. I was already about to go out to meet Andrey when I heard his loud voice. It seemed he was speaking to someone with great enthusiasm. I decided not to interrupt. From my own experience, I knew how important that could be sometimes. Strange, by the way, that he had come earlier. Usually our date program involved meeting around nine in the evening, taking a walk in the park, watching a movie with snacks at my place, and sometimes going to the cinema. Occasionally, we kissed. If I was honest, I didn’t like kissing very much. It frightened me too much in that moment. I was afraid I would cross a line and make a mistake. Yes, we were dating. Yes, Andrey had keys to my apartment. But I had never allowed him to stay overnight. Andrey sounded very irritated. “Yeah, Pash, what are you starting for?” he shouted into the phone. “I’m sick of your calls already! Who cares what Lerka told you? Forget it!” I didn’t want to eavesdrop on his conversation, but Andrey was speaking too loudly. It looked like he still hadn’t realized I was home. Of course, I could have interrupted what was clearly not the best conversation for him and gone out to meet him, but basic female curiosity—forever smothered by all my shoulds—raised its head like a snake waiting in ambush. “No, Pash, I haven’t sorted it out yet,” Andrey sighed, getting more irritated. “What do you want from me? I’ve been messing around with this woman for a year! Can you imagine, she has everything on a schedule! Going to the movies, flowers, cafés, walks, those idiotic kisses! Do you understand this chick put me on celibacy? Before marriage—no-no,” he squeaked, mocking me. “If it weren’t for Lerka, I’d have died of abstinence by now, so get off my back! I’m not marrying your underage little sister. I still have this…” I froze. I had imagined that, right? Tell me I imagined it. Please. That it was someone else, not Andrey. That it wasn’t the person I had liked. That I had simply made those words up after watching too many stupid love shows with their endless suffering. Please. “As if! She’s boring as hell. I didn’t think women like that still existed today. But there’s no other way to get the apartment, you know that! No, I’m not dragging it out! You think it’s easy for me, crammed into that little dorm room? All right, later! Maybe I won’t even have to marry this… I don’t even have enough obscene words to describe that properness of hers.” Andrey’s footsteps sounded beyond the door. He put something down in the entryway. Then he shuffled into the kitchen. And I kept trying to suppress… no, not tears. Rage. Boring, was I? A prude? And what about the fact that I cooked for him, washed his clothes, comforted him when work overwhelmed him? I indulged many of his whims, ignored his flaws, endured all those unpleasant jokes, little digs, all those cruel words he clumsily tried to disguise as humor. Infuriating. No longer bothering to be quiet, I changed. Well then. I rarely wore jeans, but I did have them in my wardrobe. For some reason, I no longer felt like being proper. I wanted to be simply myself. Simply a fool whose boyfriend had dumped her. Or whom she had dumped. What difference did it make if the relationship was over either way? Conveniently, my purse contained my passport and money. I needed nothing else right now. Andrey, apparently, never heard the door close. The evening air was fresh. Everything around was so painfully good that I wanted to cry. Why? I had always tried to live as one should. As was right. And it all ended like this. It hurt. It hurt to the point of tears. But better this than getting married and discovering what a bastard my husband turned out to be. In that case, I would have tried to save the marriage until the very end, postponing divorce as long as possible. Years of emotional—and perhaps physical, who knew?—abuse from Andrey might have awaited me. Tears into the pillow. An unhappy family that would most likely have been joined by at least one child. And now that would not happen. At least, not with him. A new page. A blank sheet of paper. The future had not yet been written. And for the first time, I felt so light. So simple. Only clear thoughts drifted through my head about what I needed to do. Never before had everything been so… clear. The old Asya never lied to her boyfriend. “Hi, Andryush, sorry, tonight’s plans are canceled. I have an emergency at work. I need to finish some documents.” That did happen sometimes. He would believe it. The old Asya never manipulated people. “No, darling, don’t come pick me up. Rest. You can stay at my place if you want.” I knew he would leave. There was no point in him sitting in an empty apartment. Of course not. There were much more pleasant amusements than me. The old Asya never threw things away. “That’s all. Kisses, darling!” The phone with the old SIM card flew into the nearest trash bin. Whatever. I could afford a new one. My salary was pretty good, after all. I always did my job well, and good work was paid decently. The old Asya never got drunk in questionable clubs. The music hammered at my brain, and the neon flashes attacked my eyes. Nevertheless, the cocktail in my glass was tasty enough and alcoholic enough for me to continue sitting on the leather couch, watching the crowd twitch beneath the bass. Oh! I knew whom to call. It seemed I could borrow the bartender’s phone. “Elka, hi!” My tongue wasn’t slurring yet, but my voice made it obvious I had not been sipping mineral water. “Nastya?” My former classmate’s astonishment cut even through the DJ’s voice. “Asya. Call me Asya. I don’t like my name… Right, don’t interrupt, I’m getting distracted, and I really can’t do that right now… So, what was I saying? Basically, I’m here. What’s the word? Partying. That’s it. The club is called Little Devil. On Znamenskaya, you know it? Come to me, because they say drinking alone is the first sign of alcoholism. So come on, come to me. My treat!” “Asya…” Elya said into the receiver, stunned. “What happened?” “Oh! Nothing major. Drowning my sorrows in alcohol. Mourning a relationship that never happened. Come to me!” “Here’s what you’re going to do, Anastasia,” she replied clearly, almost syllable by syllable. “You’re going outside and waiting for me by the entrance. You are not talking to anyone. You are not meeting anyone. Just get out of that place.” “Hey, what’s with you, El?” I asked in surprise, but the line had already gone dead. Fine, then. Maybe I should have another little cocktail? The old Asya never met strange men. “Baby, do you want new experiences?” The guy’s face wouldn’t stay in my memory. Either he was just like that, or the alcohol had worn my mind down to the point where I wasn’t understanding anything at all. Oh, the scraps of sobriety were muttering something warningly, but I didn’t care. I was invincible. I wanted to live, and live all the way. Screw the rules. “No. I don’t need experiences. I need a new life.” My tongue barely slurred, which irritated me a little, and the words came straight from my drunk-as-hell heart. No, really. What was I supposed to do now with my painfully proper life if it had never led to anything good? “You want a new life?” The guy smirked strangely and switched into a businesslike tone. “That, we can provide. Will you go?” The old Asya never made reckless decisions. “I’ll go!” The old Asya no longer existed.