Craved (Twisted Book 2) (13 page)

‘Life is full of challenges. You can’t falter every time it presents you with the next one,’ Natalia says warmly, still hugging Lena. She pushes her away to look at her. ‘This is another challenge. And you can decide to be a victim and moan about how unhappy you are or to do something about it. Do some fertility testing or think about alternatives like adoption. Besides, as I understand it, you have Mark’s full support.’

Lena dries her cheeks with the sheet. ‘You’re right. I should think of solutions instead of pitying myself. It’s just that the thought that I may have done this to myself when I decided to have an abortion is eating me up.’

‘How are you, honey?’ Mark walks into the room with a plastic cup of ice-chips. Tom follows him. ‘How do you feel?’

Natalia and I get up. Mark sits on the side of the bed, takes Lena’s hand in his and presses it to his lips.

Lena takes the plastic cup and frowns, ‘Ice-chips? What am I? Dying or something?’ Lena’s pampered tone makes Natalia and I roll our eyes.

Drama queen indeed.

23

‘Hi Julia.’

‘Hi Mom, how are you?’ I reply. My muscles tighten. No matter how much time goes by, and how much we get used to the idea that our father may never recover or even survive, each time I get a phone call from Mom the terror pumps my veins.

‘You know…’ she exhales, ‘I am good. I am holding up.’

‘Glad to hear. You are a real trooper. How’s Dad?’

‘He is good too. The other day, his doctor also called him a trooper.’ She laughs softly, but it comes out cheerless.

‘Julia, tell me how you are really doing?’ She brushes off the sadness.

‘I am fine. It’s the three of us here. We stick up for each other,’ I say, hoping it comes out as confident as possible.

The last thing I want is to worry about her worrying.

‘I know you girls work hard to help your father. But I’ve been wondering, is it worth it? To push yourself so hard. It’s like saving for the price of destroying.’

‘Don’t worry, seriously. No one is pushing anything.’

‘Lena told me you wanted to come back home. You don’t like it there... But you stay because of Dad.’

I roll my eyes. Lena and her abundance of time and absolutely nothing else to do but… Why can’t she keep her mouth shut?

‘Mom, I am fine. I am more useful here than at home. Besides, I love Cape Town.’

‘I am worried about you. You know, your father may not survive.’

‘Please don’t say that. He is going to be fine.’

‘Julia, I… we may lose him, but I don’t want to lose you because of that.’

‘I am perfectly happy here. The club is beautiful. People are friendly and the job is fun most of the time.’

‘I am not stupid. I see how much money you send every month. It’s not the kind of money that’s easy to earn. I know you push it hard, and sacrifice for the sake of Dad’s recovery.’ She falls silent, but this time I don’t say anything. Maybe she just needs someone to listen to her.

‘When I left Ukraine,’ her voice is hushed and trembling, ‘it was out of desperation. Your father had lost his job. The teachers had not been paid for months. We were constantly looking for money to buy food. Having three beautiful teenage daughters I couldn’t even feed, was hard. I couldn’t dress you properly to go to school. It was embarrassing. We had no place to go to complain or even to borrow money – all our friends were in the same position. Your dad also did whatever he could. But there was just no choice... I went to Turkey. It was rough there. Plenty of our women, ready to do anything. Desperate and miserable. Well... I was one of them. The teaching came up only later. But when I had just arrived... it was either sell yourself or go back home with nothing.’

The blood hits my ears.

This is not happening. It can’t be for real.

‘Why are you telling me this? Oh God...’ My throat is suddenly dry and itchy.

‘I want you to understand that I know what I am talking about. I know you do it for your father and it’s amazing, but I don’t want you to forget about yourself, your own well-being.’

‘Why? Because you fucking forgot about him back then in Turkey?’ I gasp for air.

‘Julia! What's with the language?’

‘Language! How could you? And now you are telling me all this for what? So I will take pity on you? Or maybe you are simply proud of it?’ I yell. My hand hurts from clenching the phone.

‘Julia?’

‘Oh my gosh! I can’t believe this is happening. What were you thinking by telling me? That we would become fucking bosom whore buddies after your confession? You cheated on my father to cover up financial difficulties!’

‘Maybe I made a mistake sharing it with you. But you have no right to judge me!’ She falls silent for a moment and I hear her quiet sobbing. ‘And I will not let you.’ She whispers and hangs up.

I look at the cell phone in disbelief, feeling the warmth of the tears on my face. I hadn’t even realized I’d started crying too.

Natalia walks into the room.

‘What happened? I heard the screaming all the way from the kitchen?’

‘It’s nothing. Nothing I want to talk or think about.’ I wipe my face with the back of my hand. ‘I am all right.’

24

‘Wow, doll, you are so... awesome!’ He looks at me with genuine amazement. Regardless of the hot weather he is wearing a beanie, accompanied by oversized jeans and a hoodie.

A thirty-year-old man trying to look like an eighteen-year-old Eminem does not look cool... at all!

I smile, pretending I am flattered. ‘Thanks, would you like another dance?’

The aircons are not working properly today, and I’ve been on top of him for at least twenty minutes. I am hot and sweaty.

He rubs his crotch outside his jeans, staring at my tits, and licks his lips.

‘Yo… I like skinny girls like you... but I want more than that… I want to come on your flat tits,’ he says, as if it’s the biggest compliment ever.

Dumb prick.

‘I don’t think that’s going to happen,’ I say, keeping it friendly. I get up and dress, starting with my G-string.

He is young and kind of handsome. But he is jumpy too. I bet he is using hard. Besides, he doesn't look like he even has a job. He can forget about paying for my services.

‘Come on, doll! I’ll pay…’ He leans forward on the couch, grabs my hips, turns me around and pulls me towards him until his face is right at my belly. He looks up at me with a puppy-dog stare, his warm breath tickling my skin. ‘Come on, Julia ... tell me what the damage will be.’

I smile. ‘You can’t afford it.’

He laughs, throwing his head back. ‘Try me!’

‘If you want me to leave with you now, it’s going to cost you 7,5k plus club fees,’ I say with ease, knowing there is no way he can afford it. ‘The total is 9k.’ I put my hands on his, slowly push them away and take a step back. ‘It’s Saturday, the fees are higher than on a normal day. Sorry.’ I grab my purse and slide the door open, indicating that the audience is over. ‘You want to come back next week?’

He reaches into one of the many pockets of his oversized jeans and pulls out a thick roll of two hundreds. ‘I feel like having fun tonight. Shall we?’

I look at it for a second, trying to make up my mind, then smile.

‘Okay.’ I wait for him to count the money. ‘I’ll go get changed. Stay at the bar, have another drink, I won’t be more than ten minutes.’

He reaches to grab my hand and pulls me back. His lips are on my belly. He cups my ass with both hands, slides his fingers under my panties and feels my slit.

‘Hurry, doll. I can’t wait to nail that hot wet pussy of yours.’

I roll my eyes, slap him on the shoulder and head to the changing room.

He stops in Long Street, squeezing his old, battered Honda between the tightly parked cars. Saturday is happening. The street is packed with dressed-up girls and guys, waiting to enter the clubs or just smoking. Loud music and laughter fills the street.

How could anyone live here? And yet... looking at him, I am not surprised he picked the loudest street in all of Cape Town.

We walk up the street for a while, then turn right and stop at an old three-storey building. Inside, walls are covered with graffiti. We walk up the unlit stairs and stop at a door on the third floor. In the dark it takes him a while, but at last he gets the door open and we go inside.

He steps on the foot switch of the standing lamp at the entrance. Then he switches on another one, on the other side of the room, which colors the room an intimate red-orange.

The studio is simply furnished: untidy king size mattress at the window in the right corner; in the middle, two red beanbag seats with an upside down plastic storage box for a coffee table, filled with empty beer bottles and a butt-stuffed ashtray; a tiny, shabby kitchen, separated from the room by the counter, on the left; and the bathroom door at the back.

‘Let me organize us some drinks.’ He gestures to me, inviting me into the kitchen. ‘What would you like?’ He opens the fridge.

‘A Coke?’

He takes out a bottle of beer for himself and leans in again. He searches, moving some containers from one shelf to another.

‘Cream Soda?’ He pulls out the green can. ‘Sorry, I haven’t been to the shop for ages. The glasses are in the top cupboard. There is ice in the freezer if you want.’ He takes a little plastic bag out of his pocket, empties it on the table and starts shaping the lines.

‘You want some?’ He blows one and rubs his nostril.

I turn away, ‘No thank you.’

‘Okay, doll, give me five, I’ll take a quick shower.’ He heads out of the kitchen.

I glance at the cocaine and sigh. ‘No matter how appealing you look to me,’ I say quietly, ‘I am not touching you.’ I open the Cream Soda and gulp it from the can.

He comes back wrapped in a towel from his waist down. He stops in front of me, looks into my eyes, then at my lips, and whispers, ‘You are so fuckable.’

He grabs my ass with one hand; with the other he holds my neck and kisses me, wildly biting my lips.

Hmm... not a bad start.

He stops impulsively, goes to the counter and sniffs more. The snorting sound makes my mouth fill with saliva, as if I haven’t eaten for three days and he is biting into a juicy burger in front of me.

He comes back to me, pulls my top up and starts sucking my nipples. Then he lifts me up, holding my waist, and places me on the kitchen counter. He pulls down my panties and skirt and throws them somewhere on the floor. His towel slips to his feet. While kissing my neck he leans over to reach the candy jar on the counter. He gets out a condom, rolls it onto his hard cock and penetrates me with a raging growl.

‘I love... your slit... it feels... amazing...’ he moans, striking me with his crotch.

Then he pulls me off the table, turns me over and pushes me down, squashing my face on the coolness of the laminate surface. He stops for a moment, sniffs more, without taking his cock out of me, and continues fucking me from behind.

The session draws out, long and unsatisfying. His penis goes limp and slips out; he tries to push it back without success.

From a hot beginning to powdered sex – the brain is high and wants it all, but the poor cock can’t live up to it.

He sniffs more and orders, irritated, ‘Now suck me and I’ll come on your tits.’

I slip down onto my knees and start blowing his half-dead member, pretending to be as enthusiastic as if it was hard as rock.

The noise of glass breaking behind the entry door makes him stiffen.

‘Shhh.’ He stops me, putting his hands on my shoulders. I glance up at him. He’s pale with fear.

More cracking sounds, as if someone is walking on the broken glass.

He grabs my shoulders, breathing heavily, lifts me onto my feet and hisses at me, ‘Who did you bring with you? Have you brought a tail? Who hired you?’ He shakes me. His wide-open eyes are filled with rage.

‘What are you talking about? You picked me up yourself in the club, remember?’

He seizes me by my throat. It hurts. His other hand covers my mouth. ‘Who are you working for, you little bitch? Anton? Vladimir? The money is mine! I am not giving it back to anyone!’

I try to shake my head, struggling to breathe, but I can't move it. I give it my all to pull his hands away, but his grip is too firm. I make every effort, suffocated with terror. My body loses the strength to resist.

Why? Just like that? Now?

Another cracking sound. He jerks, looks at the door and thrusts me away, hard. I hit the kitchen cabinet with my head, bounce off it and fall to the floor. I breathe heavily, feeling a physical relief as my lungs fill with air.

‘Fuck... I’m not giving it back. It’s mine,’ he hisses, and walks towards the washing machine. He opens the door and pulls a red sports bag out of the drum, drops it onto the floor and unzips it. It’s packed with rolls of cash, just like the one he’d showed me in the club. He bends down, searches for a moment inside the bag and pulls a big shiny handgun out of it.

I squeak. Ignoring the pain in my head, I get onto my feet.

Everything is happening so quickly. My mind, shocked with adrenalin, refuses to follow the developments of this escapade. In just a few minutes a regular working night has turned into a brutal thriller.

In which, without my okay, I’ve taken a leading role.

He pulls the slide, checking that the gun is loaded, grabs me by my arm and throws me to the door. His face is crippled. Sweat runs down his pulsing temples. He pushes me again on the left side of the door and stops at the handle. He leans with one ear to the door.

I look down and realize that my hands are clenching his wet towel, which I grabbed while I was lying on the floor. I think to wrap myself with it, but decide not to move, afraid to make him even more nervous. It all seems absurd – both naked, out of breath, we lean into the door. But the shine of the barrel in his hand and my pain reminds me that it’s not a joke.

‘Shhh.’ He presses his forefinger to his lips, and slowly takes the door handle. He freezes for a moment, trying to hear what’s happening behind the door. Another glass crack breaks the silence and he hurls the door open, jumping out, pointing the gun into the darkness.