Polina
I wake up to the sensation of water being poured on me. Vlad, not sparing a drop from the bottle, has soaked my blouse and even my hair.
“You back with me?” he asks gruffly, leaning in close. I shrink into the car seat, unnerved by his tone, trying to pull myself together. The incessant buzzing in my head makes it hard to think straight. His dark eyes glare at me with disdain. Only when he leans back do I dare to take a breath, brushing my wet hair out of my face and longing for just a sip of water.
“Can I have some water?” I ask quietly, my throat so dry that my voice comes out as a squeak.
“I’ll get some,” he snaps, quickly stepping out of the car.
I run my hands over my face, searching for a mirror in my purse, but then remember I lent it to Nadia. I wonder where she is. Doesn’t her conscience bother her for acting so recklessly and leaving me in this mess? But right now, I need to focus on myself—this man is clearly hostile. I tilt my head back against the seat, trying to get a grip on my emotions. My eyes burn, begging for rest. I close them for just a second, but when I open them again, I’m being carried somewhere. In a dazed state, I look up at the man, unable to even form a word. Everyone reacts to intense stress differently. Some panic and scream, others fight back when in danger, but me? I turn into a vegetable. Apathy engulfs me, as if this isn’t happening to me but to someone else, and I’m just watching the movie unfold.
“Awake now?” he says sharply, setting me down on the ground and grabbing my forearm. “What a great night. Can’t even get home because some underage girl can’t handle her liquor,” he grumbles, dragging me along while I stumble on shaky legs.
“Please, let me go,” I whimper, but he doesn’t react. I realize we’re in an underground parking garage, but I can’t see an exit. My mind races with escape plans, but none of them are feasible. In this state, I can’t even break free, let alone run. All I can do is beg him to leave me alone and pray every prayer I know.
“Get in,” he orders, opening a door and practically shoving me into a building.
Before I can process what’s happening, he grabs my forearm again, leads me to an elevator, and presses the call button. The doors open immediately, and he pushes me inside. In the confined space, he seems even taller and more imposing. I don’t dare look up, only stealing a quick glance before staring down at my feet in sandals. My knees tremble, my body feels cold, and I’m slightly nauseous. The ringing in my ears hasn’t stopped; it grows louder with every passing minute. I’m terrified of passing out again.
“Get out!” he commands as the elevator doors open. I move my stiff legs, trying to breathe deeply so I don’t collapse in the hallway. He walks to a door, unlocks it, and silently pulls me inside. When he turns on the light, I squint, pressing my back against the wall, afraid to even breathe. Without taking off his shoes, he strides into the apartment and opens one of the doors. I know it’s meant for me, but I can’t take a single step.
“How long do I have to wait?” His voice sounds even harsher in the quiet room.
“You—” I croak, clearing my throat, “you’ve got the wrong idea about me. I…”
“What about you?” he steps closer, almost pressing against me. “Are you so naive that you didn’t know where your friend was taking you? Or how these kinds of encounters usually end?”
“No, I just…” I don’t know what to say to him. I had my suspicions, but I didn’t make the right choice to leave when I had the chance.
“Just what? Can’t even speak? All you know how to do is smile and drink?” Each word hits like a punch, filling me with overwhelming shame. My cheeks burn, tears well up in my eyes, and my heart feels like it might burst from fear. “Come on, then!” He grabs my arm again and forces me into the room, pushing me unceremoniously onto a couch. My mind races with the horrors that could happen next. “Why are you staring at me? Get undressed,” he says irritably, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto a chair. “Well, how long do I have to wait?” he barks, starting to unbutton his shirt. My body can’t take it anymore. I let out a sob, feeling hot tears stream down my cheeks. I can’t hold back the cries as fear consumes me. I wrap my arms around myself as if to shield myself, sobbing in front of this stranger.
“Idiot. How old are you?” he asks, his voice dripping with contempt.
“S-seventeen,” I manage to choke out between tears.
“Perfect! And why are you hanging out in places like that? Looking for a thrill? Do you even realize he wouldn’t have let you go?”
“I wanted to convince Nadia…”
“Some friend you’ve got. Throws herself at the first guy who can buy her champagne. Take my advice—think before you ruin your life,” he continues sternly, and I just nod. “You’ll sleep here. There’s water in the fridge. And in the morning, I don’t want to see you anywhere near here. Got money for a cab?”
“Yes. Thank you,” I whisper, unable to believe he’s actually leaving.
“Don’t snoop around the apartment, just the kitchen. Got it?” he asks loudly, and I nod vigorously.
He walks out and closes the door behind him. I exhale so loudly it hurts my throat. I can’t stop the tears—it’s a side effect of the stress. I clutch my head, running my fingers through my hair, berating myself for going to that cursed club. How stupid do you have to be to trust a complete stranger and follow them to a nightclub? Clearly, I’m terrible at judging people, and even in this, my mom was right. I’m a failure. Smart and dumb at the same time. A gold medalist with an empty head. A paradox! I’m too scared to even move, afraid of provoking his anger. Who knows what’s going through his mind or what decision he might make next? I could try to leave now, but I have no idea what part of the city I’m in or if he’d even let me go. He did say morning…
I stand and walk to the window. The high-rises, with a few scattered lit windows, remind me it’s the middle of the night. Today has been an incredibly nerve-wracking day, and my body is demanding sleep as a result. I’m also desperately thirsty, but I don’t dare leave the room. I turn off the light and stand by the window for a long time. In the quiet of the room, I hear the sound of running water. It seems he’s taking a shower. I shudder at the thought of what could have happened if I’d ended up with Oleg. A chill runs down my spine as I recall his smirk. When the sounds finally fade, I sit on the large couch and stretch out my legs. They ache from tonight’s dancing. My head throbs even more, and fighting sleep becomes harder by the minute. I pull my phone from my purse, still slung over my shoulder, and check the time. The screen shows 3:00 a.m. We left the club around 1:00 a.m.—I remember clearly because I was planning to secretly call someone. Idiot. Oleg definitely wouldn’t have let me go. I can’t understand Nadia’s behavior. Is this normal for her? It’s horrifying!
It’s getting a bit chilly, so I slip off my sandals and tuck my legs under me. I try to fight sleep by imagining tomorrow, when everything will fall back into place. If only I could forget my first—and last—“adult” night out at a club. Tonight was more than enough; I’ll never want to do this again. I give in to my heavy eyelids and let myself close my eyes for a moment. When I open them again, the sky outside is gray. The clock shows 4:50 a.m. I quickly slip on my sandals and go to the window. I immediately recognize the central district of the city. The window faces an inner courtyard, which is why I couldn’t orient myself last night. The upscale new building complex confirms that this man is well-off, though that was obvious yesterday. He’s dressed expensively and stylishly, smells of high-end cologne, and drives a luxury car. Even in my dazed state, all of that stood out.
I need to get out of here before I run into him again this morning. I never want to see this man again. First, I’m terrified of him, and second, I’m mortified about last night. If only the bouncers hadn’t let me into the club, I wouldn’t feel this ashamed. I approach the door and listen for a few minutes, but there’s no sound. I hope he’s still asleep. I gently turn the handle, and it gives way. I peek into the darkness and listen again. All the other doors are closed, so I muster the courage to step out. On tiptoes, I hurry to the front door and use my phone’s light to unlock it. When I succeed, I can’t hold back a loud exhale. I step out and close the door behind me. Faster than the wind, I rush to the elevators and press the call button. I’ve worked myself up so much that I feel like someone’s chasing me. I descend to the first floor and step outside.
I decide to call a cab from a nearby bus stop so I’m not lingering in the building’s courtyard. In the cab, I lean back against the seat and close my eyes. I feel drained and depressed. I have no energy for anything, not even to think. I’ve never had such a horrific experience in my life, and I swear it’ll never happen again. From now on, it’s just studying and working toward my dream of becoming a professional in my field. I want to support myself fully so I don’t have to rely on the money my dad sends me every month. Since he left our family, my mom hasn’t accepted a penny from him. All the money is mine, and she doesn’t even ask how much there is. Her deep resentment still eats at her, slowly turning into hatred for her ex-husband. But in some ways, I understand my dad. My mom has a knack for getting under your skin. At one point, they decided he’d go to Poland for work. For two years, she nagged him about not being involved in raising me and how exhausted she was playing both mom and dad. It got to the point where she gave him an ultimatum, and he just didn’t want to give up a prestigious job.
They divorced when I was in seventh grade, and since then, I’ve become the main target of my mom’s complaints. She’s a strict woman, a school principal both at work and at home. I’m used to it, but sometimes I just want to run away and live my own life, not follow her orders. It’s my own fault. The divorce really took a toll on her, and I felt so sorry for her. I tried to help with everything and never argued, and it became a habit.
I glance at the window of our apartment, pay the cab driver, and quickly head inside. The house is quiet; my mom should be back closer to noon. I sit on the couch in my room and tiredly rub my hands over my face. I feel dirty, reeking of cigarette smoke and alcohol, as if I bathed in it rather than just drank a few cocktails. The thought of alcohol makes me queasy, so I push the memories away and rush to the shower. I turn on the hot water and scrub last night off my skin. If only I could wash the filth from my mind and forget this ordeal like a bad dream. Then I gather a few more things and start the washing machine so my mom doesn’t smell the awful stench. While it runs, I lie down on the couch and fall asleep instantly. My body craves rest after the crazy night. But, as if to spite me, I dream of that man—Vlad.
He looks at me with disapproval, shaking his head, and steps close, his hot breath on my face. I tremble in front of him, afraid to even breathe. When he reaches out, I try to back away but hit a wall. Only now do I notice we’re not in his apartment but back at the club. People are dancing and having fun all around us, but they don’t see us. I try to scream for help, but no sound comes out. I open my mouth, but I can’t say a word. He looks straight into my eyes, a faint smile playing on his lips, and then he suddenly rips my blouse open, and I wake up…