First (9)
First (9)
I walked down the corridor.
Anyone in my way, I shoved aside and kept moving.
Shoulders collided. Someone cursed behind me. It didn't matter.
Right now, I wanted to go back.
Back to the place I used to live. Back where no one called me Ravin.
But I didn't know the way back.
Though I had a rough sense of the direction.
I stopped in front of a familiar door.
Turned the handle. Opened it.
Serepina was still there.
Just as she'd been when I left—standing motionless beside the door.
It looked like she hadn't moved a single step since I'd walked out.
Like a figure frozen in a black-and-white photograph.
"You came back."
Her voice was frayed at the edges.
I didn't answer.
I didn't have the energy.
I wanted to be alone. At least for now.
Looking around, I saw she'd straightened up the room.
The empty bottles that had been scattered across the floor were now lined up neatly in one corner. The ashtray had been emptied and wiped clean.
Crumpled clothes were folded tidily on the sofa.
The window was wide open, the cold evening air pushing out the stale smell.
She'd always done this.
Whatever Ravin left in disarray, she'd put back in order.
Even after he stopped making messes, she'd kept finding things to clean up—scolding him all the while. Whether it was his heart, his sincerity, his memories, or whatever else.
I walked past her and collapsed onto the bed.
The groan of the springs pressed down on the room's silence, making it heavier.
"Don't just stand there. Sit down. Your legs must hurt, Serepina."
At that, she moved awkwardly to the sofa.
Her eyes were wet, bloodshot red.
Our gazes met once, then we each looked away.
She fidgeted with her fingers, stealing glances at me. I stared at the empty bottles she'd arranged, then picked up the last one still on the table and drank straight from it.
"I'm sorry."
She broke the silence first.
The word hung in the air a moment, then dropped, weightless, to the floor.
"Yeah."
I answered flatly.
The alcohol burned down my throat and into my stomach.
A thin warmth spread through my body.
"And Kyle—it's not like that. We just happened to become friends. Not the kind of thing you're thinking...."
"You do know that's the cliché excuse, right?"
I took another swallow and spoke.
Her face stiffened.
"......."
"It's a joke. I know perfectly well Kyle isn't that kind of friend either."
The bottle was empty.
Undoing her careful work, the empty bottle went rolling across the floor again.
After a full day of drinking and tossing bottles around, I'd apparently gotten good at throwing them without breaking anything.
The bottle rolled across the carpet and came to a stop, well-behaved, beside the others she'd collected.
"So why now?"
Originally, I'd been a painfully boring person who didn't care for drinking or smoking.
I didn't like the bitter taste of alcohol or the acrid sting of cigarette smoke.
Those had been Ravin's pleasures, not mine.
But now I enjoyed them too.
No—enjoyed is the wrong word. I depended on them.
"...What do you mean, why now?"
"All of it. Cleaning the room, saying you're sorry, waiting for me. Why now?"
How did it come to this?
Why had I turned into someone no different from him?
Why was I in love with the childhood friend sitting in front of me?
"That's...."
Serepina couldn't finish the sentence.
She just bit her lower lip.
"And why does it have to be now, of all times?"
Her blue eyes were trembling hard.
Whatever either of us said now, it wasn't going to help anything.
I spoke to rein in the emotions threatening to rise.
"It's fine. People are like that.
The heart doesn't do what you tell it to."
And I stopped talking.
Because it didn't seem to be helping much.
The truth was, it wasn't fine. Not even a little.
That was exactly why I wanted to go back, right this moment.
Back to when we were close—no, that was when Ravin was close to her.
Back to my original world, where I wouldn't even have these delusions.
A modest studio apartment, neat stacks of cheap one-liter coffee cups from every day, a single laptop sitting alone on the desk—my clean, solitary space.
"It's not official yet, but still. Being alone like this with your former fiancé—probably not a great look."
"Why—why do you only bring that up at times like this? Like you're suddenly so concerned about appearances?"
"Because I don't want to talk to you. I'm tired. I just got back from being tormented by your esteemed elder sister."
I couldn't tell what expression crossed Serepina's face.
Her head was down; all I could see were her fingers, restless, unable to stay still.
"You said you were sorry."
"Yes. Everything I said before. I wanted to apologize for all of it."
"It's fine. When people get angry, they say things."
I looked down at the empty bottle.
Like the inside of my head, it was completely hollow.
"Still, though. It would've been nice if you'd told me from the start.
If those letters I wrote every day disgusted you that much, you could've said so earlier.
Then I wouldn't have done something so stupid."
"It wasn't like that from the start. At first, I was happy because it seemed like you were trying to change. I mean it.
But—but every time you caused trouble, it all started to feel like a lie...."
"When did I cause trouble? Ah, the Forbidden Archive?
I told you I didn't do that."
Her eyes were still unsteady.
Still not quite believing, but maybe because she didn't want to get thrown out of this room, or because she didn't want to argue with me anymore—Serepina nodded.
"Because I heard things every single day.
That you'd hit someone. That you'd extorted the medicinal herbs you gave me from somewhere.
That you took male lovers, that you ran around with other girls.
Nothing but that. Day after day, that's all I ever heard.
And at the end of it, always those pitying looks—like I was someone to feel sorry for, your poor fiancée...."
The ends of her words began to tremble.
As emotion rose, her eyes reddened. Serepina spoke, her unsteady voice laced with resentment.
"And whenever I asked you, you never said a word! Not once!"
Because it was garbage not worth answering.
"Right. The useless chatter from those friends of yours who never shut up—I guess that mattered more."
"No, that's not what I meant...."
"Then what did you mean?"
"......."
She didn't answer.
Or chose not to.
Instead, she threw a different question at me.
"Then why didn't you ever say anything either, all those times?"
"Would you have believed me if I had?
Back then you never believed a thing—you just piled on the blame.
Don't make me look like an idiot for no reason, Serepina. You still don't believe me now."
A predictable question with a predictable answer.
Why were we even having this conversation again?
"I'm always miserable around you.
The version of me in your head—the infamous degenerate, the bastard, the bastard-born wretch, the useless idiot who can't do anything without you... that's what I am to you."
"That—you made yourself that way. Every time, every single time you betrayed my trust."
"What exactly did I betray?"
"Everything. All of it. Every time I tried to believe in you, you always....
Every time I thought things would get better someday, you just kept lying to me.
When you ran around with that gang of thugs, when you had some strange girl hanging off your arm—you just brushed it off, teased me, said it was nothing!"
"Because it was nothing."
"How—how am I supposed to believe that!?"
"Hard to believe, isn't it. You never believe the truth even when it's said to your face.
So it must've all been lies to you. The letters. My gifts. My feelings.
Sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you with worthless things. That's what you're saying?"
I pulled the tobacco pouch from my coat.
"What does any of that matter now?"
I stuck a cigarette between my lips, struck a match, drew in the smoke, then let it drift slowly downward.
About halfway through, my eyes met Serepina's. Suddenly I didn't want to smoke anymore. I crushed it out in the ashtray and spoke quietly.
"Time to go, Serepina.
We're not in a relationship anymore."
"No. I don't want to."
She rose from her seat and walked toward me, unsteady.
"I've realized I can't do that."
Her hand reached for my cheek.
I slapped it away.
The sound wasn't loud, but in the silence of the room it rang out especially sharp.
The back of her hand flushed red.
She clutched it and wept, gnawing at her lower lip.
Serepina stood there dazed, still holding her reddened hand, looking at me.
The silence stretched. Maybe five minutes.
"Ravin."
"What."
"Starting tomorrow—can I come by in the mornings?
I want to finish tidying up your room."
Her question was absurd, irrational.
But looking for reason in this conversation would've been the most foolish thing of all.
"Do whatever you want."
I answered without feeling.
Whether she cleaned the room or set it on fire—it had nothing to do with me anymore.
I watched Serepina's back as she shuffled out.
Even after the door closed behind her, I sat there for a long time.
A trace of lilac drifted past the tip of my nose.