Ushakova forbidden key. Read online book “The Forbidden Key”
Svetlana Ushkova
I sat in the small kitchen in front of the monitor screen and nervously tapped my coffee mug with my fingertips. The open Internet page pleased with the title: “Svetlana Popadalova. Welcome to my fantasy worlds." But the comments were not at all encouraging.
"But why? – was constantly spinning in my head. – Why are there negative reviews again? Why don't people like my stories? What is strange about a warrior-sorceress with a strong character? As if all women were supposed to be weak, naive fools! Yes, if I were in her place, I would behave exactly the same!”
Suddenly, interrupting the angry thoughts, a sharp gust of wind threw open the window. Cursing, I shivered chillily and stood up: the autumn night air is not a very pleasant thing. She reached out with her hand to the door, when she suddenly froze. It was as if electric discharges ran through my skin, and I really wanted to be outside. Right now.
What's wrong with me? I shook my head, with difficulty driving away the obsession, and then I noticed some kind of fuss right under the windows. There, on a street illuminated by a lonely dim lantern, something incomprehensible was happening.
Are they beating someone?
That's right, a fight. It's in the center of the city! And as always, there is no one to disperse the hooligans. Wow, there's not enough evil!
Taking more air into my lungs, I shouted:
- Hey, stop it! I'll call the police now!
As if in response, something immediately whistled near his face and stuck into the wooden frame with a slight jingle. I slowly raised my eyes up and swallowed: a feathered shaft was sticking out above my head. Arrow?!
Damn it, it really is an arrow! The most real one. Its sharp tip pierced the old wooden frame so that it cracked.
The fingers squeezing the latch-handle went numb, and so did the legs... Why bother listing them, everything went numb!
Somehow I felt sorry for myself and the damaged window. Righteous anger replaced fear and demanded vengeance. Not knowing what I was doing, I grabbed a pot of grown avocado and threw it down.
- Come on, catch it, you bastard! He'll still shoot at me!
And I got it! Just not quite like the offender... More precisely, not like him at all. It went to the only sufferer who was beaten. Crap.
The man, defeated by the pot, fell, and the four attackers in unison rushed towards the nearest bend.
- Stop, you bastards! - Taking more air into my lungs, I cried out inspiredly after those running away. - Police! Mi... ugh, police-ah!
The bandits disappeared, and the unfortunate victim of my “accuracy” remained lying. At the sight of his lonely body, his conscience perked up and began to perform the direct duties of a soul-eater: “Yes, dear, you’re the one who gave him the potty. The guy held himself up well, and you hit him on the head with some Russian land - ah!”
Completely frightened, I rushed into the corridor, put my feet in ballet shoes, grabbed the keys with shaking hands and rushed down the stairs. “Oh, mommies, if only he didn’t kill me, if only he was alive!” “Thoughts worked instead of whips, urging my legs on.”
The entrance door spat me out into the night and cold. The ballet shoes got wet in the first puddle and squelched unpleasantly with every step, but I wasn’t in the mood for that. True, although I ran around the house quickly, I was immediately afraid to approach the motionless body like that. The sense of self-preservation reminded me of four not quite normal role-players with arrows. And the connected imagination instantly painted a scene of death from medieval weapons. It’s beautiful, of course, and very original, but you don’t want to experience something for yourself.
I cautiously looked around the surrounding area and listened. It seems like nothing: everything around is dark and quiet.
Taking a deep breath and mustering up my courage, I approached the victim. The man lay on his stomach and did not move. My hands began to tremble slightly, and my heart started beating fast and fast around my knees. Apparently, for this reason they tried to bend over.
- Hey, can you hear me? – I called quietly, but I didn’t even hear a weak moan in response. - Crap!
A panicked thought flashed through my mind: “What if she killed me?”
I looked closer: it seemed to be breathing, which meant it was still alive. But for how long? We need an ambulance, and urgently! And why did I come here without a mobile phone?! Now go back, waste precious time!
However, as soon as I turned towards the house, a tingling wave ran through my skin again, and I suddenly realized that I couldn’t leave without a man. At least cut, but the whole body resisted the lonely run for help.
Cursing, I began to frantically remember the lessons of first aid to the victim. To begin with, I probably should have given it a horizontal position, face up.
Grabbing the sleeve of the man’s leather jacket and bracing myself with my legs, I pulled up and toward myself. And then literally a weight lifted from his shoulders: the injured man groaned!
My knees finally got their way: I plopped down next to the man on the wet asphalt and began quietly patting his cheeks.
- Boy, come on, open your eyes! If you have a concussion, you can’t sleep! Let's open...
The eyelids opened. Black pools poured out hatred and malice, and the stranger’s hand quickly rushed to my neck.
The next moment I realized how a balloon feels when its tail is tied. It hurts terribly! The sudden change in pressure on my throat made my eyes pop into my head, and my lungs began to ache with the desire to breathe. It became incredibly scary... Fingers scratched along the man's hand in a powerless attempt to get rid of the suffocating grip.
The dim light from the street lamp began to fade when a cold and angry voice reached my ears:
- Who are you?
Apart from a strangled wheeze and fear in her eyes, she couldn’t offer anything in response. The man apparently realized this, as his grip loosened slightly. True, they were still in no hurry to let me go.
- Who are you? – he asked again.
“I’ve come to help,” I croaked with difficulty. - Let go, the bandits might come back, we have to leave.
The fingers again squeezed my neck more tightly, and it was as if they had crawled into my head with dirty boots and began to trample on me. And it made me so disgusted that I even felt nauseous.
So I helped a dying man! And no one will help me...
The nasty feeling dissolved along with the last thought, even the lump in my throat rolled back into my stomach.
- Take me home, assistant. – The stranger’s words sounded somehow doomed and... tired, or something.
The hand moved from the throat to the shoulder. I immediately tried to break free and run away, but the tenacity of the victim never ceased to amaze me. I had to follow the order.
It was difficult to get to our feet. As it turned out, the victim of my accuracy only lay cheerfully, but when it came to vertical movement in space, problems began. More precisely, I had to practically carry it on myself.
However, either the adrenaline in the blood increased the efficiency of the muscles, or the genes decided to remember the contribution of the grandmother, who during the war was a field nurse and carried the wounded, but we got to the entrance quite quickly. And then Everest appeared before us in the form of a staircase to the fourth floor.
I cursed everything in the world. I especially got it from the “tick”, which grabbed me tightly and weighed, it seemed, a hundredweight!
There is nothing left until the treasured door. Getting wet like a draft horse, I could barely move my legs, and then the “rider” decided to hang completely on me.
My leg immediately slipped past the step, and the other gave way, refusing to bear the double load.
- No-no, my friend! – I exhaled, almost falling. - At least wait until you get to the sofa! There's still a little bit left. And there is no point in pretending to be dead! When he was strangling, you know, he was so cheerful...
My words inspired the injured man so much that he growled and rushed the rest of the way, dragging me up the flight of stairs at the same time. Clicking the lock, I opened the door and pulled the guest into the apartment. After which, after checking the evenness of the walls and counting the number of corners, she unloaded it onto the sofa and sighed tiredly. No, weightlifting is definitely not for me.
Only now, in a calm environment, was I able to examine the midnight guest more carefully.
His facial features signaled to any female that this was not a boy, but a macho. A straight nose, a clear jawline and cheekbones, long black hair - in a word, an aristocrat. It’s just that he has the habits of a maniac strangler. True, many medieval aristocrats also had a penchant for murder and torture... however, it doesn’t matter.
The man was dressed strangely, like all role-players. The stranger's tight knitted pants were tucked into high black boots. And from under a short leather jacket with two rows of buttons a small frill of a silk shirt peeked out. “So, not a Tolkienist, but a lover of medieval fantasy,” I made a mental note.
The man was breathing heavily, and so was I. He was bleeding and so was I. What the heck?! Is it really all over the head?! Damn, he can't die here!
I jumped up to the stranger in fear and touched him on the shoulder.
- Hey, come on, sit down, I’ll look at your head.
He only winced in response, but did not move.
Gathering the remaining strength, I pulled the man by the chest. The wounded man honestly tried to sit up, but he was constantly being pulled back. I had to kneel behind the man’s back and play the role of not only a sister of mercy, but also a support.
What he saw was not pleasing. The wound on the top of the head was not very large, but it was torn, and without stitches it was unlikely to heal easily. There's a lot of blood, but...
- Listen, you need to go to the hospital, you need to stitch it up. “I’ll call an ambulance now,” I decided and tried to pull away.
But it was not possible to implement the plan. They grabbed me by the throat again and pinned me to the sofa. The stranger loomed over me, blocking the light. So close... Despite the threat, my breath instantly caught, and my body froze, awaiting the result of the battle between the mind and the crazy, suddenly surging desire.
Not understanding myself and unable to control myself, I kept looking into the eyes of the handsome black-haired man. They were simply incredible: the left one is so dark that the pupil is not visible, and the right one is like an emerald. Does this really happen?
The man grinned and put his index finger to my lips. I involuntarily shuddered from the touch, and my mind began to retreat under the pressure of a strange desire. What's wrong with me?! It became scary.
- Not a word to anyone about me. “You’ll do everything you need to do yourself,” the man with different eyes said categorically, and coldness spread across my lips. - Understood?
In response, I just swallowed nervously and nodded quickly. It’s better not to argue with someone who’s been hurt, otherwise they’ll start strangling you again.
The cold tone of the stranger helped my mind push hormones into the far corner and focus on current circumstances. When the guest pulled away, I realized: my inattention should be placed on the top step of the podium. The jacket on the side of the odd-eyed man was torn. The shirt was soaked through with blood and stuck to the body, covering the wound from me.
“Come on, let’s take off your jacket and show me where it still hurts,” I demanded, surprised at my businesslike tone. Apparently, their nerves, shaken by frequent mood swings and adrenaline, went on vacation.
The brunette chuckled strangely and began to pull off his leather jacket. And when, under his groans and my hissing persuasion, they managed to remove the jacket and shirt and I saw the wound, it became scary.
Without declaring war, I rushed to the phone and dialed 03. Honestly, I was ready to run from this psycho until the last minute, until I told the operator the address. But, surprisingly, they didn’t catch up with me. The man was still reclining on the sofa and smiling disgustingly. And when the dispatcher responded, I understood the reason for this behavior. I couldn’t squeeze out anything other than “hello” and “sorry”; my lips themselves were numb.
- How did you do it? – I indignantly pointed my finger at the stranger. True, the pointing finger trembled slightly from the onslaught of fear. - Hypnotized? Well, give me the code word here and I’ll call the doctors! I can't sew this up! I have neither the tools nor the skills!
“You don’t have a choice either,” the newly minted Alan Chumak croaked in response and began to roll his eyes.
- Damn, damn, damn! “Running to the kitchen, I grabbed the nearest cup and splashed my guest with half-drunk coffee, fortunately it had long cooled down.
The man hissed, but changed his mind about losing consciousness.
– Don’t you dare close your eyes! Be patient! “I dragged my laptop from the kitchen and, trying not to notice the withering gaze, plopped down in a chair.
As they say, if there was the Internet, there would be a solution, a couple of clicks and you would be a jack of all trades. I quickly looked through a few links on mending wounds. General idea: you need painkillers, bandages and seamstress skills. Of all the anesthetics, I only had two bottles of vodka in my house from my last birthday. But the strategic supply of bandages, cotton wool and hydrogen peroxide was surprising. There's enough for two mummies!
Returning from the kitchen, I handed the man one of the available bottles.
“Drink and don’t squirm, otherwise you’ll endure without pain relief,” I demanded, while carefully examining the wound. - Listen, you really were born wearing a shirt! Although the muscle is cut, it is still internal organs the knife didn't reach...
“A sword,” the patient corrected and took a sip of fire water. At least he would wince!
I decided to leave the remark without comment. Roleplayers are not like people. Showdowns also take place with bows and swords, instead of pistols and baseball bats. I imagined the size of the sword and the force of the blow and came to the conclusion that the guy was born not just in a shirt, but in chain mail.
When I had a needle and thread in my hands, I realized that reading about the darning process is much easier than putting the advice into practice. My hands were shaking. I stood next to the patient and could not decide on the first stitch.
- Give it here. – Taking the bottle, she took two large sips. My throat burned and became clogged. I had to cough twice to get air into my lungs again.
My hands didn’t stop shaking, but my courage increased, so I got down to business. By the way, the willpower of the odd-eyed one turned out to be incredible. The man silently endured repeated pokes with a needle in the same place, until, without making a sound, he lost consciousness. Whether from a large loss of blood, or from pain, I don’t know. But there was nothing more I could do to help.
For the life of me, I don’t remember the details of the darning. But the feeling of horror and panic I experienced, especially when I was sewing up my head, will stay with me for a long time.
Half an hour later I was sitting in the kitchen in front of a quietly humming computer and healing my nerves by getting shamelessly drunk.
“That’s how you become an alcoholic,” I muttered.
Then I looked at the glass of vodka and decided that after three without a snack it was time to at least switch to cocktails with chocolate.
Having found half a pack of tomato juice in the refrigerator, I made a “Bloody Mary” and began to stretch out the “pleasure”. After a couple of small sips, I realized that I was shaking not only because of stress, but also because of the cold. With a new gust of wind, shivers ran down my spine.
Fresh air is good, but you don’t really want to freeze the rest of the night.
Climbing onto the windowsill, I grabbed the shaft of the arrow and pulled it down. It didn’t give in right away; it had to be rocked, breaking out large splinters. Well, a hole that can be plugged is better than a wide open window.
The arrow turned out to be short and thick. Probably a crossbow. What are they called there? Bolt? That's right, a bolt.
I decided to keep the trophy as a souvenir. Then I will tell my grandchildren how their grandmother heroically scared off the bandits with a plastic flower pot and saved a dying man by personally sewing up his wounds.
And then came the delayed reaction to stress. It all started with a big smile. Then my consciousness helpfully completed the picture of my gatherings with my grandchildren, and that’s when I gave up. She was embarrassed to laugh out loud and simply giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.
Slightly discharged and calmed down, I realized that I really wanted to sleep. But where? The sofa in my apartment was wide, but there was only one, and it was already occupied by a man’s body. Although... it shouldn't be on the floor? Therefore, with drunken carelessness, disregarding decency and fears, she plopped down between the wounded man and the wall.
“If you let go of your hands, you’ll sleep on the floor!” – for some reason I threatened the brunette lying unconscious and fell into pleasant blackness.
“I opened my eyes and stretched blissfully. Everything that happened was just a dream, a nightmare..."
Forget this nonsense. This only happens in novels. My awakening was marked by a headache, aching muscles and terrible nausea. The hilly part of the body, which had found adventure yesterday, at night, as it turned out, lived its own life and moved close to the black-haired one. The back supported the willful dissident. And the wounded man, snoring through two holes, brazenly took advantage of my helplessness and hugged me around the waist. Nice. But... damn it, he’s a maniac strangler, and I’m not crazy yet to allow someone like that to hug me!
The nausea has reached the point of no return. I had to postpone the proceedings with the guest and run to the bathroom.
After scaring the toilet, she moved on to scaring the mirror. And how did it not crack from my “beauty”? There were black circles under my eyes, a crow’s nest on my head, and Shrek would nervously smoke on the sidelines with envy if he saw my greenish skin tone.
Having made sure that it was quite possible to show my face to the people, I began to solve the charade of how to get to the chest of drawers with linen and a change of clothes. She cast a sidelong glance at the sweater and trousers piled up in a heap. After yesterday's adventures they were all covered in blood. Putting something like this on a clean body is at least disgusting, but I also have no desire to parade around the apartment wrapped in just a short towel.
My gaze settled on a small basin with my training uniform: a loose white T-shirt and black tight pants with bright pink stripes. Washed and dried on the winding radiator of the bathroom, they looked like they had been chewed by a cow, but were quite suitable for my needs. But there was an ambush with the laundry.
Pulling on the thong, I made plans to change it to normal panties later. She covered her shame with her sweatpants and ran her hand over the covered fillet.
Hmmm, such an immodest piece of clothing should probably be changed at the first opportunity. Thanks to regular trips to the gym, I don’t complain about my figure, but I don’t want to show it off to all sorts of role-playing maniacs, to avoid it.
Having dried her hair, she gathered it into a ponytail at the back of her head and looked out into the room. The guest was still sleeping, and it was not yet my plan to wake him up. Suddenly he starts choking again, and I haven’t left the night session yet. We need to figure out how to send the brunette away in an amicable way.
Nothing useful came to mind. The brain demanded morning coffee, saying that otherwise it would not work.
She tiptoed into the kitchen, but the floorboards creaked ungodly, forcing her to freeze and cast frightened glances at the sleeping man. Having finally reached my goal, I exhaled with relief and clicked the button on the electric kettle.
Thoughtfully, she went to the window and, looking down, bit her lip in annoyance. A white flower pot and an avocado that miraculously did not fall out of it lay in the grass. Leaving the plant there would stifle the toad. I put so much effort into raising him, but then in a state of passion I almost killed him. It’s not good, and it’s a shame for the tree.
-Are you waiting for someone? – a cold voice hit me in the back.
The heart tried to escape out of fear, breaking its ribs. I instantly turned around and stared at the odd-eyed man. He stood with his elbows on the door frame and, for a seriously wounded man, looked, I must say, very cheerful. The survivability of the “guest” was surprising. According to all the laws of medicine, he should now lie flat and wince with every movement. A children's rhyme popped into my head: “They brought a dead man to us, an hour has passed - he opened his eyes, in two he’s already sitting, in three he’ll be running...”
I glanced over the wounded side of the odd-eyed man, but the half-buttoned shirt provided a view of the pumped up torso and only part of the bandage. My body again began to bend its line and reach out to this stranger. She swallowed loudly.
– And yesterday she was so talkative. – The man arched one eyebrow and smiled crookedly. - Will there be breakfast?
Fear instantly gave way to anger. No, just think: I, one might say, picked him up on the street, treated him, and he still gets impudent!
While I was breathing angrily and looking for decent words to answer, the man approached my very nose. The curious organ immediately signaled that it liked the way the odd-eyed one smelled! I desperately wanted to snuggle.
Due to the sudden change in mood, I fell into a stupor. What's going on? She quickly closed her eyes and bit her lip. That's right, you need to look for a boyfriend, otherwise your body without affection is ready to throw itself at maniacs!
Suddenly I was lifted off the floor and moved away from the window. Now he was looking at the street. I admired the view from behind. The eyes slid over the male figure: they started from the broad shoulders and went down to the lower back. And where do such beauties come from? Surely there is a nature reserve somewhere. This one escaped, and yesterday they tried to return him to natural environment a habitat.
- Well, will there be breakfast?
She shuddered and returned to reality, where all the handsome men are rude and strangling maniacs. And why am I drawn to this individual? Of course, I understand everything: I haven’t had a relationship with the opposite sex for a long time. But not so much as to hang yourself on potential murderers!
Svetlana Ushkova
FORBIDDEN KEY
I sat in the small kitchen in front of the monitor screen and nervously tapped my coffee mug with my fingertips. The open Internet page pleased with the title: “Svetlana Popadalova. Welcome to my fantasy worlds." But the comments were not at all encouraging.
"But why? - was constantly spinning in my head. - Why are there negative reviews again? Why don't people like my stories? What is strange about a warrior-sorceress with a strong character? As if all women were supposed to be weak, naive fools! Yes, if I were in her place, I would behave exactly the same!”
Suddenly, interrupting the angry thoughts, a sharp gust of wind threw open the window. Cursing, I shivered chillily and stood up: the autumn night air is not a very pleasant thing. She reached out with her hand to the door, when she suddenly froze. It was as if electric discharges ran through my skin, and I really wanted to be outside. Right now.
What's wrong with me? I shook my head, with difficulty driving away the obsession, and then I noticed some kind of fuss right under the windows. There, on a street illuminated by a lonely dim lantern, something incomprehensible was happening.
Are they beating someone?
That's right, a fight. It's in the center of the city! And as always, there is no one to disperse the hooligans. Wow, there's not enough evil!
Taking more air into my lungs, I shouted:
Hey, stop it! I'll call the police now!
As if in response, something immediately whistled down the street and, with a slight jingle, stuck into the wooden frame. I slowly raised my eyes up and swallowed: a feathered shaft was sticking out above my head. Arrow?!
Damn it, it really is an arrow! The most real one. Its sharp tip pierced the old wooden frame so that it cracked.
The fingers squeezing the latch-handle went numb, and so did the legs... Why bother listing them, everything went numb!
What is this, a disassembly of role players? Crap! Yes, they could kill me with their games!
Somehow I felt sorry for myself and the damaged window. Righteous anger replaced fear and demanded vengeance. Not knowing what I was doing, I grabbed a pot of grown avocado and threw it down.
Come on, catch it, you bastard! He'll still shoot at me!
And I got it! Just not quite like the offender... More precisely, not like him at all. It went to the only sufferer who was beaten. Crap.
The man, defeated by the pot, fell, and the four attackers in unison rushed towards the nearest bend.
Stop, you bastards! - Taking more air into my lungs, I cried out inspiredly after those running away. - Police! Mi... ugh, police-ah!
The bandits disappeared, and the unfortunate victim of my “accuracy” remained lying. At the sight of his lonely body, his conscience perked up and began to perform the direct duties of a soul-eater: “Yes, dear, you’re the one who gave him the potty. The guy held himself up well, but you hit him on the head with some Russian land!
Completely frightened, I rushed into the corridor, put my feet in ballet shoes, grabbed the keys with shaking hands and rushed down the stairs. “Oh, mommies, if only he didn’t kill me, if only he was alive!” - Thoughts worked instead of whips, urging my legs on.
The entrance door spat me out into the night and cold. The ballet shoes got wet in the first puddle and squelched unpleasantly with every step, but I wasn’t in the mood for that. True, although I ran around the house quickly, I was immediately afraid to approach the motionless body like that. The sense of self-preservation reminded me of four not quite normal role-players with arrows. And the connected imagination instantly painted a scene of death from medieval weapons. It’s beautiful, of course, and very original, but you don’t want to experience something for yourself.
I cautiously looked around the surrounding area and listened. It seems like nothing: everything around is dark and quiet.
Taking a deep breath and mustering up my courage, I approached the victim. The man lay on his stomach and did not move. My hands began to tremble slightly, and my heart started beating fast and fast around my knees. Apparently, for this reason they tried to bend over.
Hey, can you hear me? - I called quietly, but I didn’t even hear a weak moan in response. - Crap!
A panicked thought flashed through my mind: “What if she killed me?”
I looked closer: it seemed to be breathing, which meant it was still alive. But for how long? We need an ambulance, and urgently! And why did I come here without a mobile phone?! Now go back, waste precious time!
However, as soon as I turned towards the house, a tingling wave ran through my skin again, and I suddenly realized that I couldn’t leave without a man. At least cut, but the whole body resisted the lonely run for help.
Cursing, I began to frantically remember the lessons of first aid to the victim. To begin with, I probably should have given it a horizontal position, face up.
Grabbing the sleeve of the man’s leather jacket and bracing myself with my legs, I pulled up and toward myself. And then literally a weight lifted from his shoulders: the injured man groaned!
My knees finally got their way: I plopped down next to the man on the wet asphalt and began quietly patting his cheeks.
Boy, come on, open your eyes! If you have a concussion, you can’t sleep! Let's open...
The eyelids opened. Black pools poured out hatred and malice, and the stranger’s hand quickly rushed to my neck.
The next moment I realized how a balloon feels when its tail is tied. It hurts terribly! The sudden change in pressure on my throat made my eyes pop into my head, and my lungs began to ache with the desire to breathe. It became incredibly scary... Fingers scratched along the man's hand in a powerless attempt to get rid of the suffocating grip.
The dim light from the street lamp began to fade when a cold and angry voice reached my ears:
Apart from a strangled wheeze and fear in her eyes, she couldn’t offer anything in response. The man apparently realized this, as his grip loosened slightly. True, they were still in no hurry to let me go.
Who are you? - he asked again.
“I came to help,” I wheezed with difficulty. - Let go, the bandits might come back, we have to leave.
The fingers again squeezed my neck more tightly, and it was as if they had crawled into my head with dirty boots and began to trample on me. And it made me so disgusted that I even felt nauseous.
So I helped a dying man! And no one will help me...
The nasty feeling dissolved along with the last thought, even the lump in my throat rolled back into my stomach.
Take me home, assistant. - The stranger’s words sounded somehow doomed and... tired, or something.
The hand moved from the throat to the shoulder. I immediately tried to break free and run away, but the tenacity of the victim never ceased to amaze me. I had to follow the order.
It was difficult to get to our feet. As it turned out, the victim of my accuracy only lay cheerfully, but when it came to vertical movement in space, problems began. More precisely, I had to practically carry it on myself.
However, either the adrenaline in the blood increased the efficiency of the muscles, or the genes decided to remember the contribution of the grandmother, who during the war was a field nurse and carried the wounded, but we got to the entrance quite quickly. And then Everest appeared before us in the form of a staircase to the fourth floor.
I cursed everything in the world. I especially got it from the “tick”, which grabbed me tightly and weighed, it seemed, a hundredweight!
There is nothing left until the treasured door. Getting wet like a draft horse, I could barely move my legs, and then the “rider” decided to hang completely on me.
My leg immediately slipped past the step, and the other gave way, refusing to bear the double load.
No-no, my friend! - I exhaled, almost falling. - At least wait until you get to the sofa! There's still a little bit left. And there is no point in pretending to be dead! When he was strangling, you know, he was so cheerful...
My words inspired the injured man so much that he growled and rushed the rest of the way, dragging me up the flight of stairs at the same time. Clicking the lock, I opened the door and pulled the guest into the apartment. After which, after checking the evenness of the walls and counting the number of corners, she unloaded it onto the sofa and sighed tiredly. No, weightlifting is definitely not for me.
Only now, in a calm environment, was I able to examine the midnight guest more carefully.
His facial features signaled to any female that this was not a boy, but a macho. Straight nose, clear jawline and cheekbones, long black hair - in a word, an aristocrat. It’s just that he has the habits of a maniac strangler. True, many medieval aristocrats also had a penchant for murder and torture... however, it doesn’t matter.
The man was dressed strangely, like all role-players. The stranger's tight knitted pants were tucked into high black boots. And from under a short leather jacket with two rows of buttons a small frill of a silk shirt peeked out. “So, he’s not a Tolkienist, but a lover of medieval fantasy,” I made a mental note.
The man was breathing heavily, and so was I. He was bleeding and so was I. What the heck?! Is it really all over the head?! Damn, he can't die here!
Svetlana Ushkova
FORBIDDEN KEY
I sat in the small kitchen in front of the monitor screen and nervously tapped my coffee mug with my fingertips. The open Internet page pleased with the title: “Svetlana Popadalova. Welcome to my fantasy worlds." But the comments were not at all encouraging.
"But why? - was constantly spinning in my head. - Why are there negative reviews again? Why don't people like my stories? What is strange about a warrior-sorceress with a strong character? As if all women were supposed to be weak, naive fools! Yes, if I were in her place, I would behave exactly the same!”
Suddenly, interrupting the angry thoughts, a sharp gust of wind threw open the window. Cursing, I shivered chillily and stood up: the autumn night air is not a very pleasant thing. She reached out with her hand to the door, when she suddenly froze. It was as if electric discharges ran through my skin, and I really wanted to be outside. Right now.
What's wrong with me? I shook my head, with difficulty driving away the obsession, and then I noticed some kind of fuss right under the windows. There, on a street illuminated by a lonely dim lantern, something incomprehensible was happening.
Are they beating someone?
That's right, a fight. It's in the center of the city! And as always, there is no one to disperse the hooligans. Wow, there's not enough evil!
Taking more air into my lungs, I shouted:
Hey, stop it! I'll call the police now!
As if in response, something immediately whistled down the street and, with a slight jingle, stuck into the wooden frame. I slowly raised my eyes up and swallowed: a feathered shaft was sticking out above my head. Arrow?!
Damn it, it really is an arrow! The most real one. Its sharp tip pierced the old wooden frame so that it cracked.
The fingers squeezing the latch-handle went numb, and so did the legs... Why bother listing them, everything went numb!
What is this, a disassembly of role players? Crap! Yes, they could kill me with their games!
Somehow I felt sorry for myself and the damaged window. Righteous anger replaced fear and demanded vengeance. Not knowing what I was doing, I grabbed a pot of grown avocado and threw it down.
Come on, catch it, you bastard! He'll still shoot at me!
And I got it! Just not quite like the offender... More precisely, not like him at all. It went to the only sufferer who was beaten. Crap.
The man, defeated by the pot, fell, and the four attackers in unison rushed towards the nearest bend.
Stop, you bastards! - Taking more air into my lungs, I cried out inspiredly after those running away. - Police! Mi... ugh, police-ah!
The bandits disappeared, and the unfortunate victim of my “accuracy” remained lying. At the sight of his lonely body, his conscience perked up and began to perform the direct duties of a soul-eater: “Yes, dear, you’re the one who gave him the potty. The guy held himself up well, but you hit him on the head with some Russian land!
Completely frightened, I rushed into the corridor, put my feet in ballet shoes, grabbed the keys with shaking hands and rushed down the stairs. “Oh, mommies, if only he didn’t kill me, if only he was alive!” - Thoughts worked instead of whips, urging my legs on.
The entrance door spat me out into the night and cold. The ballet shoes got wet in the first puddle and squelched unpleasantly with every step, but I wasn’t in the mood for that. True, although I ran around the house quickly, I was immediately afraid to approach the motionless body like that. The sense of self-preservation reminded me of four not quite normal role-players with arrows. And the connected imagination instantly painted a scene of death from medieval weapons. It’s beautiful, of course, and very original, but you don’t want to experience something for yourself.
I cautiously looked around the surrounding area and listened. It seems like nothing: everything around is dark and quiet.
Taking a deep breath and mustering up my courage, I approached the victim. The man lay on his stomach and did not move. My hands have become smaller
Current page: 1 (book has 16 pages total) [available reading passage: 9 pages]
Svetlana Ushkova
FORBIDDEN KEY
CHAPTER 1
I sat in the small kitchen in front of the monitor screen and nervously tapped my coffee mug with my fingertips. The open Internet page pleased with the title: “Svetlana Popadalova. Welcome to my fantasy worlds." But the comments were not at all encouraging.
"But why? – was constantly spinning in my head. – Why are there negative reviews again? Why don't people like my stories? What is strange about a warrior-sorceress with a strong character? As if all women were supposed to be weak, naive fools! Yes, if I were in her place, I would behave exactly the same!”
Suddenly, interrupting the angry thoughts, a sharp gust of wind threw open the window. Cursing, I shivered chillily and stood up: the autumn night air is not a very pleasant thing. She reached out with her hand to the door, when she suddenly froze. It was as if electric discharges ran through my skin, and I really wanted to be outside. Right now.
What's wrong with me? I shook my head, with difficulty driving away the obsession, and then I noticed some kind of fuss right under the windows. There, on a street illuminated by a lonely dim lantern, something incomprehensible was happening.
Are they beating someone?
That's right, a fight. It's in the center of the city! And as always, there is no one to disperse the hooligans. Wow, there's not enough evil!
Taking more air into my lungs, I shouted:
- Hey, stop it! I'll call the police now!
As if in response, something immediately whistled down the street and, with a slight jingle, stuck into the wooden frame. I slowly raised my eyes up and swallowed: a feathered shaft was sticking out above my head. Arrow?!
Damn it, it really is an arrow! The most real one. Its sharp tip pierced the old wooden frame so that it cracked.
The fingers squeezing the latch-handle went numb, and so did the legs... Why bother listing them, everything went numb!
What is this, a disassembly of role players? Crap! Yes, they could kill me with their games!
Somehow I felt sorry for myself and the damaged window. Righteous anger replaced fear and demanded vengeance. Not knowing what I was doing, I grabbed a pot of grown avocado and threw it down.
- Come on, catch it, you bastard! He'll still shoot at me!
And I got it! Just not quite like the offender... More precisely, not like him at all. It went to the only sufferer who was beaten. Crap.
The man, defeated by the pot, fell, and the four attackers in unison rushed towards the nearest bend.
- Stop, you bastards! - Taking more air into my lungs, I cried out inspiredly after those running away. - Police! Mi... ugh, police-ah!
The bandits disappeared, and the unfortunate victim of my “accuracy” remained lying. At the sight of his lonely body, his conscience perked up and began to perform the direct duties of a soul-eater: “Yes, dear, you’re the one who gave him the potty. The guy held himself up well, and you hit him on the head with some Russian land - ah!”
Completely frightened, I rushed into the corridor, put my feet in ballet shoes, grabbed the keys with shaking hands and rushed down the stairs. “Oh, mommies, if only he didn’t kill me, if only he was alive!” “Thoughts worked instead of whips, urging my legs on.”
The entrance door spat me out into the night and cold. The ballet shoes got wet in the first puddle and squelched unpleasantly with every step, but I wasn’t in the mood for that. True, although I ran around the house quickly, I was immediately afraid to approach the motionless body like that. The sense of self-preservation reminded me of four not quite normal role-players with arrows. And the connected imagination instantly painted a scene of death from medieval weapons. It’s beautiful, of course, and very original, but you don’t want to experience something for yourself.
I cautiously looked around the surrounding area and listened. It seems like nothing: everything around is dark and quiet.
Taking a deep breath and mustering up my courage, I approached the victim. The man lay on his stomach and did not move. My hands began to tremble slightly, and my heart started beating fast and fast around my knees. Apparently, for this reason they tried to bend over.
- Hey, can you hear me? – I called quietly, but I didn’t even hear a weak moan in response. - Crap!
A panicked thought flashed through my mind: “What if she killed me?”
I looked closer: it seemed to be breathing, which meant it was still alive. But for how long? We need an ambulance, and urgently! And why did I come here without a mobile phone?! Now go back, waste precious time!
However, as soon as I turned towards the house, a tingling wave ran through my skin again, and I suddenly realized that I couldn’t leave without a man. At least cut, but the whole body resisted the lonely run for help.
Cursing, I began to frantically remember the lessons of first aid to the victim. To begin with, I probably should have given it a horizontal position, face up.
Grabbing the sleeve of the man’s leather jacket and bracing myself with my legs, I pulled up and toward myself. And then literally a weight lifted from his shoulders: the injured man groaned!
My knees finally got their way: I plopped down next to the man on the wet asphalt and began quietly patting his cheeks.
- Boy, come on, open your eyes! If you have a concussion, you can’t sleep! Let's open...
The eyelids opened. Black pools poured out hatred and malice, and the stranger’s hand quickly rushed to my neck.
The next moment I realized how a balloon feels when its tail is tied. It hurts terribly! The sudden change in pressure on my throat made my eyes pop into my head, and my lungs began to ache with the desire to breathe. It became incredibly scary... Fingers scratched along the man's hand in a powerless attempt to get rid of the suffocating grip.
The dim light from the street lamp began to fade when a cold and angry voice reached my ears:
- Who are you?
Apart from a strangled wheeze and fear in her eyes, she couldn’t offer anything in response. The man apparently realized this, as his grip loosened slightly. True, they were still in no hurry to let me go.
- Who are you? – he asked again.
“I’ve come to help,” I croaked with difficulty. - Let go, the bandits might come back, we have to leave.
The fingers again squeezed my neck more tightly, and it was as if they had crawled into my head with dirty boots and began to trample on me. And it made me so disgusted that I even felt nauseous.
So I helped a dying man! And no one will help me...
The nasty feeling dissolved along with the last thought, even the lump in my throat rolled back into my stomach.
- Take me home, assistant. – The stranger’s words sounded somehow doomed and... tired, or something.
The hand moved from the throat to the shoulder. I immediately tried to break free and run away, but the tenacity of the victim never ceased to amaze me. I had to follow the order.
It was difficult to get to our feet. As it turned out, the victim of my accuracy only lay cheerfully, but when it came to vertical movement in space, problems began. More precisely, I had to practically carry it on myself.
However, either the adrenaline in the blood increased the efficiency of the muscles, or the genes decided to remember the contribution of the grandmother, who during the war was a field nurse and carried the wounded, but we got to the entrance quite quickly. And then Everest appeared before us in the form of a staircase to the fourth floor.
I cursed everything in the world. I especially got it from the “tick”, which grabbed me tightly and weighed, it seemed, a hundredweight!
There is nothing left until the treasured door. Getting wet like a draft horse, I could barely move my legs, and then the “rider” decided to hang completely on me.
My leg immediately slipped past the step, and the other gave way, refusing to bear the double load.
- No-no, my friend! – I exhaled, almost falling. - At least wait until you get to the sofa! There's still a little bit left. And there is no point in pretending to be dead! When he was strangling, you know, he was so cheerful...
My words inspired the injured man so much that he growled and rushed the rest of the way, dragging me up the flight of stairs at the same time. Clicking the lock, I opened the door and pulled the guest into the apartment. After which, after checking the evenness of the walls and counting the number of corners, she unloaded it onto the sofa and sighed tiredly. No, weightlifting is definitely not for me.
Only now, in a calm environment, was I able to examine the midnight guest more carefully.
His facial features signaled to any female that this was not a boy, but a macho. A straight nose, a clear jawline and cheekbones, long black hair - in a word, an aristocrat. It’s just that he has the habits of a maniac strangler. True, many medieval aristocrats also had a penchant for murder and torture... however, it doesn’t matter.
The man was dressed strangely, like all role-players. The stranger's tight knitted pants were tucked into high black boots. And from under a short leather jacket with two rows of buttons a small frill of a silk shirt peeked out. “So, not a Tolkienist, but a lover of medieval fantasy,” I made a mental note.
The man was breathing heavily, and so was I. He was bleeding and so was I. What the heck?! Is it really all over the head?! Damn, he can't die here!
I jumped up to the stranger in fear and touched him on the shoulder.
- Hey, come on, sit down, I’ll look at your head.
He only winced in response, but did not move.
Gathering the remaining strength, I pulled the man by the chest. The wounded man honestly tried to sit up, but he was constantly being pulled back. I had to kneel behind the man’s back and play the role of not only a sister of mercy, but also a support.
What he saw was not pleasing. The wound on the top of the head was not very large, but it was torn, and without stitches it was unlikely to heal easily. There's a lot of blood, but...
- Listen, you need to go to the hospital, you need to stitch it up. “I’ll call an ambulance now,” I decided and tried to pull away.
But it was not possible to implement the plan. They grabbed me by the throat again and pinned me to the sofa. The stranger loomed over me, blocking the light. So close... Despite the threat, my breath instantly caught, and my body froze, awaiting the result of the battle between the mind and the crazy, suddenly surging desire.
Not understanding myself and unable to control myself, I kept looking into the eyes of the handsome black-haired man. They were simply incredible: the left one is so dark that the pupil is not visible, and the right one is like an emerald. Does this really happen?
The man grinned and put his index finger to my lips. I involuntarily shuddered from the touch, and my mind began to retreat under the pressure of a strange desire. What's wrong with me?! It became scary.
- Not a word to anyone about me. “You’ll do everything you need to do yourself,” the man with different eyes said categorically, and coldness spread across my lips. - Understood?
In response, I just swallowed nervously and nodded quickly. It’s better not to argue with someone who’s been hurt, otherwise they’ll start strangling you again.
The cold tone of the stranger helped my mind push hormones into the far corner and focus on current circumstances. When the guest pulled away, I realized: my inattention should be placed on the top step of the podium. The jacket on the side of the odd-eyed man was torn. The shirt was soaked through with blood and stuck to the body, covering the wound from me.
“Come on, let’s take off your jacket and show me where it still hurts,” I demanded, surprised at my businesslike tone. Apparently, their nerves, shaken by frequent mood swings and adrenaline, went on vacation.
The brunette chuckled strangely and began to pull off his leather jacket. And when, under his groans and my hissing persuasion, they managed to remove the jacket and shirt and I saw the wound, it became scary.
Without declaring war, I rushed to the phone and dialed 03. Honestly, I was ready to run from this psycho until the last minute, until I told the operator the address. But, surprisingly, they didn’t catch up with me. The man was still reclining on the sofa and smiling disgustingly. And when the dispatcher responded, I understood the reason for this behavior. I couldn’t squeeze out anything other than “hello” and “sorry”; my lips themselves were numb.
- How did you do it? – I indignantly pointed my finger at the stranger. True, the pointing finger trembled slightly from the onslaught of fear. - Hypnotized? Well, give me the code word here and I’ll call the doctors! I can't sew this up! I have neither the tools nor the skills!
“You don’t have a choice either,” the newly minted Alan Chumak croaked in response and began to roll his eyes.
- Damn, damn, damn! “Running to the kitchen, I grabbed the nearest cup and splashed my guest with half-drunk coffee, fortunately it had long cooled down.
The man hissed, but changed his mind about losing consciousness.
– Don’t you dare close your eyes! Be patient! “I dragged my laptop from the kitchen and, trying not to notice the withering gaze, plopped down in a chair.
As they say, if there was the Internet, there would be a solution, a couple of clicks and you would be a jack of all trades. I quickly looked through a few links on mending wounds. General idea: you need painkillers, bandages and seamstress skills. Of all the anesthetics, I only had two bottles of vodka in my house from my last birthday. But the strategic supply of bandages, cotton wool and hydrogen peroxide was surprising. There's enough for two mummies!
Returning from the kitchen, I handed the man one of the available bottles.
“Drink and don’t squirm, otherwise you’ll endure without pain relief,” I demanded, while carefully examining the wound. - Listen, you really were born wearing a shirt! Although the muscle was cut, the knife did not reach the internal organs...
“A sword,” the patient corrected and took a sip of fire water. At least he would wince!
I decided to leave the remark without comment. Roleplayers are not like people. Showdowns also take place with bows and swords, instead of pistols and baseball bats. I imagined the size of the sword and the force of the blow and came to the conclusion that the guy was born not just in a shirt, but in chain mail.
When I had a needle and thread in my hands, I realized that reading about the darning process is much easier than putting the advice into practice. My hands were shaking. I stood next to the patient and could not decide on the first stitch.
- Give it here. – Taking the bottle, she took two large sips. My throat burned and became clogged. I had to cough twice to get air into my lungs again.
My hands didn’t stop shaking, but my courage increased, so I got down to business. By the way, the willpower of the odd-eyed one turned out to be incredible. The man silently endured repeated pokes with a needle in the same place, until, without making a sound, he lost consciousness. Whether from a large loss of blood, or from pain, I don’t know. But there was nothing more I could do to help.
For the life of me, I don’t remember the details of the darning. But the feeling of horror and panic I experienced, especially when I was sewing up my head, will stay with me for a long time.
Half an hour later I was sitting in the kitchen in front of a quietly humming computer and healing my nerves by getting shamelessly drunk.
“That’s how you become an alcoholic,” I muttered.
Then I looked at the glass of vodka and decided that after three without a snack it was time to at least switch to cocktails with chocolate.
Having found half a pack of tomato juice in the refrigerator, I made a “Bloody Mary” and began to stretch out the “pleasure”. After a couple of small sips, I realized that I was shaking not only because of stress, but also because of the cold. With a new gust of wind, shivers ran down my spine.
Fresh air is good, but you don’t really want to freeze the rest of the night.
Climbing onto the windowsill, I grabbed the shaft of the arrow and pulled it down. It didn’t give in right away; it had to be rocked, breaking out large splinters. Well, a hole that can be plugged is better than a wide open window.
The arrow turned out to be short and thick. Probably a crossbow. What are they called there? Bolt? That's right, a bolt.
I decided to keep the trophy as a souvenir. Then I will tell my grandchildren how their grandmother heroically scared off the bandits with a plastic flower pot and saved a dying man by personally sewing up his wounds.
And then came the delayed reaction to stress. It all started with a big smile. Then my consciousness helpfully completed the picture of my gatherings with my grandchildren, and that’s when I gave up. She was embarrassed to laugh out loud and simply giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.
Slightly discharged and calmed down, I realized that I really wanted to sleep. But where? The sofa in my apartment was wide, but there was only one, and it was already occupied by a man’s body. Although... it shouldn't be on the floor? Therefore, with drunken carelessness, disregarding decency and fears, she plopped down between the wounded man and the wall.
“If you let go of your hands, you’ll sleep on the floor!” – for some reason I threatened the brunette lying unconscious and fell into pleasant blackness.
CHAPTER 2
“I opened my eyes and stretched blissfully. Everything that happened was just a dream, a nightmare..."
Forget this nonsense. This only happens in novels. My awakening was marked by a headache, aching muscles and terrible nausea. The hilly part of the body, which had found adventure yesterday, at night, as it turned out, lived its own life and moved close to the black-haired one. The back supported the willful dissident. And the wounded man, snoring through two holes, brazenly took advantage of my helplessness and hugged me around the waist. Nice. But... damn it, he’s a maniac strangler, and I’m not crazy yet to allow someone like that to hug me!
The nausea has reached the point of no return. I had to postpone the proceedings with the guest and run to the bathroom.
After scaring the toilet, she moved on to scaring the mirror. And how did it not crack from my “beauty”? There were black circles under my eyes, a crow’s nest on my head, and Shrek would nervously smoke on the sidelines with envy if he saw my greenish skin tone.
Having made sure that it was quite possible to show my face to the people, I began to solve the charade of how to get to the chest of drawers with linen and a change of clothes. She cast a sidelong glance at the sweater and trousers piled up in a heap. After yesterday's adventures they were all covered in blood. Putting something like this on a clean body is at least disgusting, but I also have no desire to parade around the apartment wrapped in just a short towel.
My gaze settled on a small basin with my training uniform: a loose white T-shirt and black tight pants with bright pink stripes. Washed and dried on the winding radiator of the bathroom, they looked like they had been chewed by a cow, but were quite suitable for my needs. But there was an ambush with the laundry.
Pulling on the thong, I made plans to change it to normal panties later. She covered her shame with her sweatpants and ran her hand over the covered fillet.
Hmmm, such an immodest piece of clothing should probably be changed at the first opportunity. Thanks to regular trips to the gym, I don’t complain about my figure, but I don’t want to show it off to all sorts of role-playing maniacs, to avoid it.
Having dried her hair, she gathered it into a ponytail at the back of her head and looked out into the room. The guest was still sleeping, and it was not yet my plan to wake him up. Suddenly he starts choking again, and I haven’t left the night session yet. We need to figure out how to send the brunette away in an amicable way.
Nothing useful came to mind. The brain demanded morning coffee, saying that otherwise it would not work.
She tiptoed into the kitchen, but the floorboards creaked ungodly, forcing her to freeze and cast frightened glances at the sleeping man. Having finally reached my goal, I exhaled with relief and clicked the button on the electric kettle.
Thoughtfully, she went to the window and, looking down, bit her lip in annoyance. A white flower pot and an avocado that miraculously did not fall out of it lay in the grass. Leaving the plant there would stifle the toad. I put so much effort into raising him, but then in a state of passion I almost killed him. It’s not good, and it’s a shame for the tree.
-Are you waiting for someone? – a cold voice hit me in the back.
The heart tried to escape out of fear, breaking its ribs. I instantly turned around and stared at the odd-eyed man. He stood with his elbows over the door frame and, for a seriously wounded man, looked, I must say, very cheerful. The survivability of the “guest” was surprising. According to all the laws of medicine, he should now lie flat and wince with every movement. A children's rhyme popped into my head: “They brought a dead man to us, an hour has passed - he opened his eyes, in two he’s already sitting, in three he’ll be running...”
I glanced over the wounded side of the odd-eyed man, but the half-buttoned shirt provided a view of the pumped up torso and only part of the bandage. My body again began to bend its line and reach out to this stranger. She swallowed loudly.
– And yesterday she was so talkative. – The man arched one eyebrow and smiled crookedly. - Will there be breakfast?
Fear instantly gave way to anger. No, just think: I, one might say, picked him up on the street, treated him, and he still gets impudent!
While I was breathing angrily and looking for decent words to answer, the man approached my very nose. The curious organ immediately signaled that it liked the way the odd-eyed one smelled! I desperately wanted to snuggle.
Due to the sudden change in mood, I fell into a stupor. What's going on? She quickly closed her eyes and bit her lip. That's right, you need to look for a boyfriend, otherwise your body without affection is ready to throw itself at maniacs!
Suddenly I was lifted off the floor and moved away from the window. Now he was looking at the street. I admired the view from behind. The eyes slid over the male figure: they started from the broad shoulders and went down to the lower back. And where do such beauties come from? Surely there is a nature reserve somewhere. This one escaped, and yesterday they tried to return it to its natural habitat.
- Well, will there be breakfast?
She shuddered and returned to reality, where all the handsome men are rude and strangling maniacs. And why am I drawn to this individual? Of course, I understand everything: I haven’t had a relationship with the opposite sex for a long time. But not so much as to hang yourself on potential murderers!
All the time that I was demonstrating my culinary skills and sculpting an omelette from the last two eggs, the man was looking out the window.
- Listen, maybe you could at least thank me? – I couldn’t stand it, I muttered.
- And should?
– Do you think that saving your life is fully paid for by five long bruises on your neck and a nervous breakdown?
The man thought for a moment, rubbed his chin and said:
– Right now I don’t have enough money with me, but as soon as...
I waved my hand resignedly.
- Forget. Everything is clear with you: another materialist who measures everything by money. – Pointing to a place at the table, I put down a plate of breakfast and a mug of coffee. – Eat and think about how you will get home. And I’ll go and pick up my flower pot.
The odd-eyed man turned away from studying the black drink and raised an eyebrow mockingly.
- Aren’t you afraid?
- What? Why are you robbing me? – she grinned in response.
I had nothing to take from me, and I was going to give him five hundred rubles anyway, so he could call a taxi and go to hell.
- I got your junk. “He got angry at first, and then said ironically: “Although you don’t have to be afraid.” Fools are usually amazingly resilient.
Snorting, she proudly walked away with the sweet thought: “The fool himself is tenacious!”
This time I prepared for going outside more carefully: I put on sneakers instead of ballet shoes, and a windbreaker instead of a knitted sweater.
The gray morning greeted me with cold drizzle and a nasty wind, which tried to push as many small droplets hanging in the air under the hood as possible. I shivered and headed towards the scene of yesterday’s massacre, carefully jumping over the puddles.
The pot and the tree were still lying forlornly on the ground and waiting for the owner. A quick inspection showed that the avocado had lost a couple of branches, and the pot was cracked in the middle.
Such a sad sight awakened my inner wickedness. I did the right thing by calling this rude guy a fool, and I couldn’t find any reason to apologize or thank him. Yes, if it weren’t for me, they would have killed me! Fucking smart guy!
- Girl, can I help you?
A pleasant male voice made me flinch in surprise. While thinking, I didn’t notice the blue-eyed blond approaching. He smiled widely and extended his hand. I just didn’t want to accept help. Recognizing him as my guest’s “friend” was a piece of cake. Long hair, the same style of clothing and the same high boots.
I looked around the street in search of adequate passers-by, but, alas. The desert is even more crowded!
“Th-thank you, n-no na-do,” I muttered and slowly backed away until I hit something hard. The elbow instantly found itself in a trap.
Quickly turning around, I saw that I was grabbed by some bald jock with a scar across half his face. At the same time, the man grinned evilly and his black eyes sparkled.
– We really want to help you! – the blond sang again in the same sickly sweet voice.
It seems that nervously swallowing lumps of fear is becoming a habit for me.
- Is this your flower? – asked the fair-haired roleplayer, pointing to the avocado in my hands.
I shook my head. Like, we don’t know whose pot it is, and we just passed by. But the hands, contradicting the answer, grabbed the “treasure” more tightly.
“Well, well, lying is bad and very dangerous,” the guy said insinuatingly and came almost close.
To avoid another strangulation, she admitted:
- And if it’s mine, then what?
- Where? - Act like a fool until the last moment.
- Home, girl, home.
Instead of answering, I wanted to scream, but changed my mind when two more role players showed up. What frightened me was not the increased number of my potential killers; for this, one odd-eyed one is enough. It’s just that the new arrivals had swords in sheaths fastened to their belts. If major boys fearlessly walk around with bladed weapons in broad daylight, then it is useless to seek salvation from law enforcement officers. And how can you look for this very salvation if role-playing criminals are surrounded on all sides? Once you make a sound, they’ll kill you right away.
- Why go home? – I decided to stall for time.
Maybe someone with odd eyes will see this chaos through the window and help. But who am I kidding? At best, he will reel in the fishing rods and give up. But this is also an option.
The blonde came close, took me by the chin and looked into my eyes.
“You hid Roval there, didn’t you?”
My lips were numb again. So the odd-eyed one is called Roval. A strange name, and it sounds unusual for a surname... A nickname, or what? The hypnotist is crooked, at least he left the opportunity to lie. And then: “Not a word about me!”
“You don’t have to answer,” the blue-eyed man assured in a friendly manner.
And then something began to happen...
The black pupils in the men's eyes dilated so much that they practically swallowed all the blue of the iris. I looked into the pools and could not tear myself away, and my head exploded with pain, burning and nauseating. It was not possible to break free and “pour out my soul” with a clear conscience - the bald man grabbed the other elbow.
“He’s there,” the blonde finally concluded and let go of my chin.
At the same time, the headache and nausea disappeared. How little a person needs to be happy...
I couldn’t resist and breathed out a sigh of relief. True, I hissed angrily almost immediately, as I was discourteously shoved in the back.
I had to move my legs and... Otherwise, I risked repeating the fate of the bag being dragged along the ground.
When we approached the entrance door, I began to pray intensely that one of the neighbors would meet me on the stairs. But according to the law of meanness, no one today is thirty-three square meters I didn’t want to leave. What kind of nonsense is this? Where are all the people?
Opening the lock, I prayed that there would be no odd-eyed person in the apartment.
The door moved to the side, and I was immediately moved away from the passage, allowing two swordsmen to pass forward. This was clearly not the first time the bandits took part in a seizure. They rushed into the apartment, drawing weapons as they went.
My heart sank like a driven hare, my hands pressed the avocado tighter to my chest. Now there will be a corpse in my apartment. And then go and prove that it wasn’t me who killed him!
My throat was dry and my knees were weak. If it weren’t for the bald man’s strong hand, he would definitely have fallen.
And a short fuss in the apartment ended with a falsetto “Ah!” and the sound of a falling body.
- Drang, you are not warriors with you, but wimps!
– Son of Krakow, when did you manage to recover? Did this witch help? – the blonde shouted into the darkness of the apartment, and gave me a murderous look.
- No, I just needed to take a larger dose. The alienation potion wears off very quickly,” came the mocking answer.
Drang wanted to answer something, but on the fifth floor the lock clicked and a creaky door opened.
- Oof! – The Rottweiler notified the entire entrance that he was being taken out for a walk.
I took a deep breath for a loud “help,” but they pushed me into the apartment and slammed the door. I had to blink several times to get used to the dimness of the hallway.
When my eyes adapted, I saw the night “patient”. The odd-eyed man stood on the threshold of the room and wiped his sword kitchen towel. My head was spinning, and now I was grabbing at the bald man myself, and he was kicking back and hissing:
- Fool, don’t interfere!
I'm not in the way, I'm falling!
While she was clinging to the hands of the scarred jock, she felt something large and wooden in them. She sharply pulled her limbs back and took a closer look. The bald man held a crossbow and pointed it unequivocally at my black-haired guest.
So that's what you are - a target for an avocado! Where did you hide this miracle of medieval engineering? In a subspace pocket?!
Logic took pity and gave a reasonable answer: on the back. In order not to slide to the floor from the conflicting feelings that came over me, I again grabbed the crossbowman with one hand.
“You’ll shoot, and together with him,” Roval pointed to the frowning blue-eyed man, “you’ll live out your life in this crazy world.” Release the girl and we will discuss the terms of your return to Lyrand.
I immediately changed my mind about fainting after the words of the odd-eyed man. Concentrated on what was said. They'll let me go - that's a plus. They are all crazy - this is a minus.
“Drang, you yourself know perfectly well how we ended up here and that you need me to return.” But I can easily leave alone, with the help of an artifact.
“I’ll let the girl go, and you’ll give me the Radiance of Ilider,” the blond man demanded and, snatching a dagger from under his jacket, put it to my throat.
The omnipresent hand of the bald man, which this time decided to test the strength of my hair, did not allow me to recoil. I groaned and Roval laughed. And his laugh rang like steel.
– Why did you decide that she was worth such an exchange? And what’s the point if you can’t use the “Shine”?
What do you mean – standing?! Yes, I’m worth more than some roleplaying artifact!
From the rush of resentment and fear, a painful lump squeezed in my chest, and my eyes stung. I helped this boor, and he, one might say, gave me a death sentence!
“Then it’s better to kill her so she doesn’t get in the way.”
The blade twitched slightly, and a warm drop ran down my neck. The place of the cut stung ungodly. I was dumbfounded with horror.
No! I'm not ready to die! I don't want to die! Just not like that...
- Let's. With her last breath, I will leave through the portal, and you will remain,” the odd-eyed man said in a bored tone.
Dreng growled, but put away his weapon and nodded to the bald man, saying, let him go. As soon as my hair was free, I rushed into the room. Roval intercepted me on the threshold and whispered:
“Don’t be afraid, stupid, I give you my word: no one will kill you.” And it's not worth going there.
I sat in the small kitchen in front of the monitor screen and nervously tapped my coffee mug with my fingertips. The open Internet page pleased with the title: “Svetlana Popadalova. Welcome to my fantasy worlds." But the comments were not at all encouraging.
"But why? – was constantly spinning in my head. – Why are there negative reviews again? Why don't people like my stories? What is strange about a warrior-sorceress with a strong character? As if all women were supposed to be weak, naive fools! Yes, if I were in her place, I would behave exactly the same!”
Suddenly, interrupting the angry thoughts, a sharp gust of wind threw open the window. Cursing, I shivered chillily and stood up: the autumn night air is not a very pleasant thing. She reached out with her hand to the door, when she suddenly froze. It was as if electric discharges ran through my skin, and I really wanted to be outside. Right now.
What's wrong with me? I shook my head, with difficulty driving away the obsession, and then I noticed some kind of fuss right under the windows. There, on a street illuminated by a lonely dim lantern, something incomprehensible was happening.
Are they beating someone?
That's right, a fight. It's in the center of the city! And as always, there is no one to disperse the hooligans. Wow, there's not enough evil!
Taking more air into my lungs, I shouted:
- Hey, stop it! I'll call the police now!
As if in response, something immediately whistled near his face and stuck into the wooden frame with a slight jingle. I slowly raised my eyes up and swallowed: a feathered shaft was sticking out above my head. Arrow?!
Damn it, it really is an arrow! The most real one. Its sharp tip pierced the old wooden frame so that it cracked.
The fingers squeezing the latch-handle went numb, and so did the legs... Why bother listing them, everything went numb!
What is this, a disassembly of role players? Crap! Yes, they could kill me with their games!
Somehow I felt sorry for myself and the damaged window. Righteous anger replaced fear and demanded vengeance. Not knowing what I was doing, I grabbed a pot of grown avocado and threw it down.
- Come on, catch it, you bastard! He'll still shoot at me!
And I got it! Just not quite like the offender... More precisely, not like him at all. It went to the only sufferer who was beaten. Crap.
The man, defeated by the pot, fell, and the four attackers in unison rushed towards the nearest bend.
- Stop, you bastards! - Taking more air into my lungs, I cried out inspiredly after those running away. - Police! Mi... ugh, police-ah!
The bandits disappeared, and the unfortunate victim of my “accuracy” remained lying. At the sight of his lonely body, his conscience perked up and began to perform the direct duties of a soul-eater: “Yes, dear, you’re the one who gave him the potty. The guy held himself up well, and you hit him on the head with some Russian land - ah!”
Completely frightened, I rushed into the corridor, put my feet in ballet shoes, grabbed the keys with shaking hands and rushed down the stairs. “Oh, mommies, if only he didn’t kill me, if only he was alive!” “Thoughts worked instead of whips, urging my legs on.”
The entrance door spat me out into the night and cold.
The ballet shoes got wet in the first puddle and squelched unpleasantly with every step, but I wasn’t in the mood for that. True, although I ran around the house quickly, I was immediately afraid to approach the motionless body like that. The sense of self-preservation reminded me of four not quite normal role-players with arrows. And the connected imagination instantly painted a scene of death from medieval weapons. It’s beautiful, of course, and very original, but you don’t want to experience something for yourself.
I cautiously looked around the surrounding area and listened. It seems like nothing: everything around is dark and quiet.
Taking a deep breath and mustering up my courage, I approached the victim. The man lay on his stomach and did not move. My hands began to tremble slightly, and my heart started beating fast and fast around my knees. Apparently, for this reason they tried to bend over.
- Hey, can you hear me? – I called quietly, but I didn’t even hear a weak moan in response. - Crap!
A panicked thought flashed through my mind: “What if she killed me?”
I looked closer: it seemed to be breathing, which meant it was still alive. But for how long? We need an ambulance, and urgently! And why did I come here without a mobile phone?! Now go back, waste precious time!
However, as soon as I turned towards the house, a tingling wave ran through my skin again, and I suddenly realized that I couldn’t leave without a man. At least cut, but the whole body resisted the lonely run for help.
Cursing, I began to frantically remember the lessons of first aid to the victim. To begin with, I probably should have given it a horizontal position, face up.
Grabbing the sleeve of the man’s leather jacket and bracing myself with my legs, I pulled up and toward myself. And then literally a weight lifted from his shoulders: the injured man groaned!
My knees finally got their way: I plopped down next to the man on the wet asphalt and began quietly patting his cheeks.
- Boy, come on, open your eyes! If you have a concussion, you can’t sleep! Let's open...
The eyelids opened. Black pools poured out hatred and malice, and the stranger’s hand quickly rushed to my neck.
The next moment I realized how a balloon feels when its tail is tied. It hurts terribly! The sudden change in pressure on my throat made my eyes pop into my head, and my lungs began to ache with the desire to breathe. It became incredibly scary... Fingers scratched along the man's hand in a powerless attempt to get rid of the suffocating grip.
The dim light from the street lamp began to fade when a cold and angry voice reached my ears:
- Who are you?
Apart from a strangled wheeze and fear in her eyes, she couldn’t offer anything in response. The man apparently realized this, as his grip loosened slightly. True, they were still in no hurry to let me go.
- Who are you? – he asked again.
“I’ve come to help,” I croaked with difficulty. - Let go, the bandits might come back, we have to leave.
The fingers again squeezed my neck more tightly, and it was as if they had crawled into my head with dirty boots and began to trample on me. And it made me so disgusted that I even felt nauseous.
So I helped a dying man! And no one will help me...
The nasty feeling dissolved along with the last thought, even the lump in my throat rolled back into my stomach.
- Take me home, assistant. – The stranger’s words sounded somehow doomed and... tired, or something.
The hand moved from the throat to the shoulder. I immediately tried to break free and run away, but the tenacity of the victim never ceased to amaze me. I had to follow the order.
It was difficult to get to our feet. As it turned out, the victim of my accuracy only lay cheerfully, but when it came to vertical movement in space, problems began. More precisely, I had to practically carry it on myself.
However, either the adrenaline in the blood increased the efficiency of the muscles, or the genes decided to remember the contribution of the grandmother, who during the war was a field nurse and carried the wounded, but we got to the entrance quite quickly. And then Everest appeared before us in the form of a staircase to the fourth floor.
I cursed everything in the world. I especially got it from the “tick”, which grabbed me tightly and weighed, it seemed, a hundredweight!
There is nothing left until the treasured door. Getting wet like a draft horse, I could barely move my legs, and then the “rider” decided to hang completely on me.
My leg immediately slipped past the step, and the other gave way, refusing to bear the double load.
- No-no, my friend! – I exhaled, almost falling. - At least wait until you get to the sofa! There's still a little bit left. And there is no point in pretending to be dead! When he was strangling, you know, he was so cheerful...
My words inspired the injured man so much that he growled and rushed the rest of the way, dragging me up the flight of stairs at the same time. Clicking the lock, I opened the door and pulled the guest into the apartment. After which, after checking the evenness of the walls and counting the number of corners, she unloaded it onto the sofa and sighed tiredly. No, weightlifting is definitely not for me.
Only now, in a calm environment, was I able to examine the midnight guest more carefully.
His facial features signaled to any female that this was not a boy, but a macho. A straight nose, a clear jawline and cheekbones, long black hair - in a word, an aristocrat. It’s just that he has the habits of a maniac strangler. True, many medieval aristocrats also had a penchant for murder and torture... however, it doesn’t matter.
The man was dressed strangely, like all role-players. The stranger's tight knitted pants were tucked into high black boots. And from under a short leather jacket with two rows of buttons a small frill of a silk shirt peeked out. “So, not a Tolkienist, but a lover of medieval fantasy,” I made a mental note.
The man was breathing heavily, and so was I. He was bleeding and so was I. What the heck?! Is it really all over the head?! Damn, he can't die here!
I jumped up to the stranger in fear and touched him on the shoulder.
- Hey, come on, sit down, I’ll look at your head.
He only winced in response, but did not move.
Gathering the remaining strength, I pulled the man by the chest. The wounded man honestly tried to sit up, but he was constantly being pulled back. I had to kneel behind the man’s back and play the role of not only a sister of mercy, but also a support.
What he saw was not pleasing. The wound on the top of the head was not very large, but it was torn, and without stitches it was unlikely to heal easily. There's a lot of blood, but...
- Listen, you need to go to the hospital, you need to stitch it up. “I’ll call an ambulance now,” I decided and tried to pull away.
But it was not possible to implement the plan. They grabbed me by the throat again and pinned me to the sofa. The stranger loomed over me, blocking the light. So close... Despite the threat, my breath instantly caught, and my body froze, awaiting the result of the battle between the mind and the crazy, suddenly surging desire.
Not understanding myself and unable to control myself, I kept looking into the eyes of the handsome black-haired man. They were simply incredible: the left one is so dark that the pupil is not visible, and the right one is like an emerald. Does this really happen?
The man grinned and put his index finger to my lips. I involuntarily shuddered from the touch, and my mind began to retreat under the pressure of a strange desire. What's wrong with me?! It became scary.
- Not a word to anyone about me. “You’ll do everything you need to do yourself,” the man with different eyes said categorically, and coldness spread across my lips. - Understood?
In response, I just swallowed nervously and nodded quickly. It’s better not to argue with someone who’s been hurt, otherwise they’ll start strangling you again.
The cold tone of the stranger helped my mind push hormones into the far corner and focus on current circumstances. When the guest pulled away, I realized: my inattention should be placed on the top step of the podium. The jacket on the side of the odd-eyed man was torn. The shirt was soaked through with blood and stuck to the body, covering the wound from me.
“Come on, let’s take off your jacket and show me where it still hurts,” I demanded, surprised at my businesslike tone. Apparently, their nerves, shaken by frequent mood swings and adrenaline, went on vacation.
The brunette chuckled strangely and began to pull off his leather jacket. And when, under his groans and my hissing persuasion, they managed to remove the jacket and shirt and I saw the wound, it became scary.
Without declaring war, I rushed to the phone and dialed 03. Honestly, I was ready to run from this psycho until the last minute, until I told the operator the address. But, surprisingly, they didn’t catch up with me. The man was still reclining on the sofa and smiling disgustingly. And when the dispatcher responded, I understood the reason for this behavior. I couldn’t squeeze out anything other than “hello” and “sorry”; my lips themselves were numb.
- How did you do it? – I indignantly pointed my finger at the stranger. True, the pointing finger trembled slightly from the onslaught of fear. - Hypnotized? Well, give me the code word here and I’ll call the doctors! I can't sew this up! I have neither the tools nor the skills!
“You don’t have a choice either,” the newly minted Alan Chumak croaked in response and began to roll his eyes.
- Damn, damn, damn! “Running to the kitchen, I grabbed the nearest cup and splashed my guest with half-drunk coffee, fortunately it had long cooled down.
The man hissed, but changed his mind about losing consciousness.
– Don’t you dare close your eyes! Be patient! “I dragged my laptop from the kitchen and, trying not to notice the withering gaze, plopped down in a chair.
As they say, if there was the Internet, there would be a solution, a couple of clicks and you would be a jack of all trades. I quickly looked through a few links on mending wounds. General idea: you need painkillers, bandages and seamstress skills. Of all the anesthetics, I only had two bottles of vodka in my house from my last birthday. But the strategic supply of bandages, cotton wool and hydrogen peroxide was surprising. There's enough for two mummies!
Returning from the kitchen, I handed the man one of the available bottles.
“Drink and don’t squirm, otherwise you’ll endure without pain relief,” I demanded, while carefully examining the wound. - Listen, you really were born wearing a shirt! Although the muscle was cut, the knife did not reach the internal organs...
“A sword,” the patient corrected and took a sip of fire water. At least he would wince!
I decided to leave the remark without comment. Roleplayers are not like people. Showdowns also take place with bows and swords, instead of pistols and baseball bats. I imagined the size of the sword and the force of the blow and came to the conclusion that the guy was born not just in a shirt, but in chain mail.
When I had a needle and thread in my hands, I realized that reading about the darning process is much easier than putting the advice into practice. My hands were shaking. I stood next to the patient and could not decide on the first stitch.
- Give it here. – Taking the bottle, she took two large sips. My throat burned and became clogged. I had to cough twice to get air into my lungs again.
My hands didn’t stop shaking, but my courage increased, so I got down to business. By the way, the willpower of the odd-eyed one turned out to be incredible. The man silently endured repeated pokes with a needle in the same place, until, without making a sound, he lost consciousness. Whether from a large loss of blood, or from pain, I don’t know. But there was nothing more I could do to help.
For the life of me, I don’t remember the details of the darning. But the feeling of horror and panic I experienced, especially when I was sewing up my head, will stay with me for a long time.
Half an hour later I was sitting in the kitchen in front of a quietly humming computer and healing my nerves by getting shamelessly drunk.
“That’s how you become an alcoholic,” I muttered.
Then I looked at the glass of vodka and decided that after three without a snack it was time to at least switch to cocktails with chocolate.
Having found half a pack of tomato juice in the refrigerator, I made a “Bloody Mary” and began to stretch out the “pleasure”. After a couple of small sips, I realized that I was shaking not only because of stress, but also because of the cold. With a new gust of wind, shivers ran down my spine.
Fresh air is good, but you don’t really want to freeze the rest of the night.
Climbing onto the windowsill, I grabbed the shaft of the arrow and pulled it down. It didn’t give in right away; it had to be rocked, breaking out large splinters. Well, a hole that can be plugged is better than a wide open window.
The arrow turned out to be short and thick. Probably a crossbow. What are they called there? Bolt? That's right, a bolt.
I decided to keep the trophy as a souvenir. Then I will tell my grandchildren how their grandmother heroically scared off the bandits with a plastic flower pot and saved a dying man by personally sewing up his wounds.
And then came the delayed reaction to stress. It all started with a big smile. Then my consciousness helpfully completed the picture of my gatherings with my grandchildren, and that’s when I gave up. She was embarrassed to laugh out loud and simply giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.
Slightly discharged and calmed down, I realized that I really wanted to sleep. But where? The sofa in my apartment was wide, but there was only one, and it was already occupied by a man’s body. Although... it shouldn't be on the floor? Therefore, with drunken carelessness, disregarding decency and fears, she plopped down between the wounded man and the wall.
“If you let go of your hands, you’ll sleep on the floor!” – for some reason I threatened the brunette lying unconscious and fell into pleasant blackness.
Chapter 2
“I opened my eyes and stretched blissfully. Everything that happened was just a dream, a nightmare..."
Forget this nonsense. This only happens in novels. My awakening was marked by a headache, aching muscles and terrible nausea. The hilly part of the body, which had found adventure yesterday, at night, as it turned out, lived its own life and moved close to the black-haired one. The back supported the willful dissident. And the wounded man, snoring through two holes, brazenly took advantage of my helplessness and hugged me around the waist. Nice. But... damn it, he’s a maniac strangler, and I’m not crazy yet to allow someone like that to hug me!
The nausea has reached the point of no return. I had to postpone the proceedings with the guest and run to the bathroom.
After scaring the toilet, she moved on to scaring the mirror. And how did it not crack from my “beauty”? There were black circles under my eyes, a crow’s nest on my head, and Shrek would nervously smoke on the sidelines with envy if he saw my greenish skin tone.
Having made sure that it was quite possible to show my face to the people, I began to solve the charade of how to get to the chest of drawers with linen and a change of clothes. She cast a sidelong glance at the sweater and trousers piled up in a heap. After yesterday's adventures they were all covered in blood. Putting something like this on a clean body is at least disgusting, but I also have no desire to parade around the apartment wrapped in just a short towel.
My gaze settled on a small basin with my training uniform: a loose white T-shirt and black tight pants with bright pink stripes. Washed and dried on the winding radiator of the bathroom, they looked like they had been chewed by a cow, but were quite suitable for my needs. But there was an ambush with the laundry.
Pulling on the thong, I made plans to change it to normal panties later. She covered her shame with her sweatpants and ran her hand over the covered fillet.
Hmmm, such an immodest piece of clothing should probably be changed at the first opportunity. Thanks to regular trips to the gym, I don’t complain about my figure, but I don’t want to show it off to all sorts of role-playing maniacs, to avoid it.
Having dried her hair, she gathered it into a ponytail at the back of her head and looked out into the room. The guest was still sleeping, and it was not yet my plan to wake him up. Suddenly he starts choking again, and I haven’t left the night session yet. We need to figure out how to send the brunette away in an amicable way.
Nothing useful came to mind. The brain demanded morning coffee, saying that otherwise it would not work.
She tiptoed into the kitchen, but the floorboards creaked ungodly, forcing her to freeze and cast frightened glances at the sleeping man. Having finally reached my goal, I exhaled with relief and clicked the button on the electric kettle.
Thoughtfully, she went to the window and, looking down, bit her lip in annoyance. A white flower pot and an avocado that miraculously did not fall out of it lay in the grass. Leaving the plant there would stifle the toad. I put so much effort into raising him, but then in a state of passion I almost killed him. It’s not good, and it’s a shame for the tree.
-Are you waiting for someone? – a cold voice hit me in the back.
The heart tried to escape out of fear, breaking its ribs. I instantly turned around and stared at the odd-eyed man. He stood with his elbows on the door frame and, for a seriously wounded man, looked, I must say, very cheerful. The survivability of the “guest” was surprising. According to all the laws of medicine, he should now lie flat and wince with every movement. A children's rhyme popped into my head: “They brought a dead man to us, an hour has passed - he opened his eyes, in two he’s already sitting, in three he’ll be running...”
I glanced over the wounded side of the odd-eyed man, but the half-buttoned shirt provided a view of the pumped up torso and only part of the bandage. My body again began to bend its line and reach out to this stranger. She swallowed loudly.
– And yesterday she was so talkative. – The man arched one eyebrow and smiled crookedly. - Will there be breakfast?
Fear instantly gave way to anger. No, just think: I, one might say, picked him up on the street, treated him, and he still gets impudent!
While I was breathing angrily and looking for decent words to answer, the man approached my very nose. The curious organ immediately signaled that it liked the way the odd-eyed one smelled! I desperately wanted to snuggle.
Due to the sudden change in mood, I fell into a stupor. What's going on? She quickly closed her eyes and bit her lip. That's right, you need to look for a boyfriend, otherwise your body without affection is ready to throw itself at maniacs!
Suddenly I was lifted off the floor and moved away from the window. Now he was looking at the street. I admired the view from behind. The eyes slid over the male figure: they started from the broad shoulders and went down to the lower back. And where do such beauties come from? Surely there is a nature reserve somewhere. This one escaped, and yesterday they tried to return it to its natural habitat.
- Well, will there be breakfast?
She shuddered and returned to reality, where all the handsome men are rude and strangling maniacs. And why am I drawn to this individual? Of course, I understand everything: I haven’t had a relationship with the opposite sex for a long time. But not so much as to hang yourself on potential murderers!
All the time that I was demonstrating my culinary skills and sculpting an omelette from the last two eggs, the man was looking out the window.
- Listen, maybe you could at least thank me? – I couldn’t stand it, I muttered.
- And should?
– Do you think that saving your life is fully paid for by five long bruises on your neck and a nervous breakdown?
