Kovalevsky sent a killer. Isn't it funny yourself? Elisha, of course, reviewed crime detectives. Rather, a girl is driving, and she just got lost. And then I sharply applied the brakes, and jumped out of the car like a scalded. Frightened, here it is at a distance.

A gust of wind blows snow from the forest. The face is covered with an ice whirlwind. A heavy branch flies off a tree and crashes onto the hood of a red/crimson car. The car, still without its headlights on, starts moving backwards.

I return to my father.

His head is thrown back. He holds a handkerchief to his nose.

- Lean forward, what are you doing? I put my hand on his shoulder blades. - Drop your chin. Lower, press to the chest.

I breathe heavily. If he gets a coughing fit, he'll suffocate right here. I didn't have to go. Then none of this would have happened.

I gently press the gas, and in ten minutes we enter the village. As soon as the arch of the gate is left behind, the salon is flooded with light. Compared to the unlit road along the forest, it always seems that you are entering another world.

Some houses are already decorated with garlands. There were none last year. Although no. The year before. That November, I was insane.

- Where's the remote? - I rummage in the glove compartment.

- In the armrest compartment.

Brown doors are assembled like an accordion under the ceiling of a two-level garage. Father still completed the second floor. He always dreamed of making a billiard room there. So it was fashionable in the nineties. It's like there isn't enough space at home.

I look at the balding back of my head for a long time. The feeling of pity pulls from within.

- How are you? Let me see, - he hits me on the outstretched hand.

Gets out of the car. And before slamming the door, he throws:

- Tomorrow I will re-register the clinic for you. If you want your offspring to die, kill it yourself.

Chapter 4.

He promised me food. It's like a hole in my stomach. I would never have thought that hunger could overcome fear. Shame. Cold.

Taste - for the sake of this feeling, I am ready to give all the others at once. Accept any food. At least a little. Just to feel it on your teeth, chew it, moisten it with saliva. Feel on the tongue.

The jaw reduces with desire. I bite into my own lips, squeeze, hurt myself. Tongue rushes about in search of a drop of blood. Salty. At least something. At least something.

Click. And the door opens. I rise sharply. Buzzing in my head. Silver spots before eyes. The knees are bent.

I suck in the air that comes with it. Dizzy. The body is shaking like a fever. I feel the drops of sweat appear at the temples. And saliva fills my mouth. Like a dog, I react to the owner. I am waiting for him. This is fine?

Step towards him. The leash holds against the wall.

He sits on the floor in the lotus position. Away from me. Holds a transparent bag tied at the top like a sack. Unwinds the knot, runs his hand inside. The rustling makes my heart beat faster. Cheese chips packaging creaks. He tears it down without taking his eyes off mine. Pulls out one slice. And puts it in his mouth.

The smell of cheese permeates the room. The stomach beats with a pulse.

He is silent. He eats with his lips closed tightly. But my hearing picks up every movement inside his mouth: crispy fried potatoes, flavored with cheese powder, gradually and methodically grind, crumble, fill everything around with a salty-spicy taste.

It suddenly dawns on me: he is waiting for me to ask. This is such a strategy: dismember the personality, but first tear the shell alive. Not a one-time act. And rip off gradually, in small patches. If you ask once, you will always have to ask. Cross this line and I will become a victim.

I take a step back.

- You're not hungry?

I sit on the floor. I lean back against the wall. Fear. Shame. Cold. I will step over. But not pride.

He unpacks the nearly empty package. He lifts his head. And the smallest crumbs slide down the fold like a hill into his open mouth. A few things fall on the mask, they cling to the fabric and stay there, on the black-covered chin.

People can live for a very long time without food. They set fantastic records: weeks, months. And I've been here less than a day. What am I? Weakling? No. Dick you wait for me to ask.

He gets up. He looks at his palms. Cheese powder remained on his fingers.

- I'll feed you, - smiles. He nods at the package, which contains several more packages. But I need to know something first.

Comes to me. I'm leaning against the wall.

- Which one do you like best? He slips the toe of his boot under my bent legs and pushes them up a little. - With salt? With sour cream? Or the ones I just ate?

His hand touches my cheek. I turn away. He thumbs to my lips.

- Try. I have more, - wants to push it inside. - Lick.

I clench my teeth. I twist my neck until it hurts. Just to stay away from him. And he's moving on. Now his hand is close to his stomach. Another grabs my head. Makes her face turn towards him. His body looms over me. Blocks out the light. Only black clothing. Too tight. Fitting every bulge.

I close my eyes.

- Lick, and I'll feed you, - his words fall on me from above.

The hand squeezes the chin. I twitched. He grabbed tighter. Pressed. Like in a vice. Teeth are in pain. Her cheeks seemed to be pierced with narrow hollow tubes. My mouth opens on its own, sucking in his finger along with the air. He rubs against my tongue, filling everything inside with salt along with saliva. I scrape my feet on the floor like a fallen bird, unbend them. I kick the air desperately, once, once, and again, until I hit someone else's body.

He takes a step back, letting go of my face. The crease of his finger between his upper and lower teeth. I feel the round tip of the knuckle. Her teeth are slipping off her. And I clench my jaw as hard as I can.

Scream. He pulls out. He recoils. I spit his blood on the floor along with saliva. And I dare to look into his eyes. Openly, with a challenge.

The masked man turns his back on me. He walks to the center of the room. With a sharp movement, he picks up the package from the floor. He picks it up like a dusty rag. Packages of chips fall onto the concrete.

Returns to me. He jerks himself to his feet. I scream.

Rustle at the waist. I'm no longer chained to the wall. Only a knot of handcuffs behind his back.

He's behind. Cries in the ear:

- You should teach a lesson, - and pushes to the door.

Roof. Flat. Pieces of roofing material are scattered like blasted asphalt.

He's slippery. And he loses his balance. I am momentarily free from his arms. But to me this freedom is a fall. Catches. Pushes forward. My boots are resting with their toes on a concrete platform. Behind him is the edge.

Press on the back of the neck.

- No need! - I wheeze.

The sky falls behind. Ten floors to death. I close my eyes. The edge of the roof cuts into the ribs. The air is a heavy slap in the face.

Don't look down. Don't look down.

He shakes me. I scream. I will break. There is death. So scary. Nothing will ever happen again.

- Enough? he asks. “Enough to make you obedient?”

He holds me with only one hand. One second weakness - and I will not be. And I pray that he will be strong. Strong enough to hold me in your arms.

“I will,” I mumble. - I will.

He picks up, turns sharply, on the shoulders with his palms. I collapsed onto the concrete.

- Lick, bitch, - under the nose of your hand.

The knuckle of his thumb touched his lips. Forces them apart. Touches the corner of the mouth with a fingernail. Flying inside. I accept. There was blood on his wound. A scar on smooth skin. He plunges his finger into my mouth completely. I hug him, pinch him between my tongue and palate. And I suck.

- Look in my eyes.

I get on my knees, raise my head. In the slits of the black fabric are the eyes of the beast. Crows fly overhead, jet-black against a dull gray sky. Their croaking merges with his affectionate:

- Good. You deserve food.

He pulls out his finger slowly. I don't close my lips. I breathe through my mouth. As if the air could be purified. Saliva flows into the cheeks. It will be disgusting to swallow it.

He squeezes my face and makes me stand up.

- But first...

His pupils dilate. I'm starting to shake. I move my legs slowly. The blinking sky before my eyes.

I manage to take a breath.

There is a package on my head. It is compressed so tightly around the neck that not a drop of moist air comes through.

I'm taken. Laid out on concrete. His body is above me. Like a voice through a helmet:

"I've done that once before." His hand gropes around my stomach. Fingers slip under the elastic band of panties. - Introduced one girl to the world of forbidden pleasure, - in a cloying voice, and a contented groan when he gropes for the clitoris. He presses his other hand on his neck. I choked her and caressed her at the same time. And when she started to lose consciousness, I entered her, and she doused the sheets from a jet orgasm. Do you want like this?

He rolls onto his back, dragging me with him. I see the sky Not his face in the black mask. Thank you. The last to see the sky.

Transparent polyethylene hits my lips. And when I breathe out, it disappears for a while. And hits again. These slaps on the lips I will remember forever. They don't have pain. But they lead to animal horror. And this rustle. Such a disgusting sound. Like chirping insects in tall grass - and you fall into it.

His belly rests on my lower back. My body rises and falls, echoing his breathing. One of his hands caresses my body. The other is destroying my life. Panic sets in. Am I going to die now? Now?!

Not! Not! Not!

Whiskey reduces from asphyxia. Vessels stony, or swell, or rupture. Prickly at the bottom of the abdomen. I can't breathe anymore. Only a long, endless breath that poisons me with carbon dioxide. Legs shaking, hitting concrete, straightening. Numb fingertips on hands. And then the dumbness spreads further, to the shoulders, to the heart.

I don't want! I do not want!

Something is changing.

Relieves pressure. Paralysis recedes. I lie on my stomach. I gasp for air as it seeps through the open edges of the bag. Transparent polyethylene climbs to the throat. A roar from his chest met him. Throat cramps. As if I want to say, but I stutter. Suppress nausea. Breathe. Tongue helplessly thrashes about in his mouth, trying to push the bag out. Hands twitch. They want to help. Untie me!

He rips off the package. Air.

He picks me up and leads me on the roof. Or carry. Staircase in the dark. The steps are countless. I don't hit them. Body in weight. Pressure on the abdomen. He grabbed me with one arm.

I start to kick. I scream. The face is sticky and wet. Cheeks itch. Eyes sting. Tears cover them. He almost killed me. For what? What is it for me?

Click. I'm on the floor

I'm shaking. Hair fell on his face, climb into his open mouth. Howling everywhere. My.

“Calm her down,” he says.

I'm so shaking that the handcuffs jingle behind my back. Fast rhythm. Dzynk. Dzynk. Dzynk. Dzynk. Like a ticking bomb, their clang.

Hands on my shoulder. I shudder and freeze. They are different. Delicate. Barely perceptible, like a little girl's.

- What is your name? Her voice is on my face. She detangles my hair gently, pushing it back.

I stared at the girl. She sits on her knees in front of me. Dressed. Not at all scared. Smiling like a kind nurse. Gently strokes my shoulder.

- Quiet. I'm Masha. Try to breathe deeply and evenly.

We were in Park. My biggest fear is the cold. Once the news showed about a girl who got lost in the winter in the forest. When found, she was already dead from hypothermia. Her body was covered with a smudge on the screen. But my childish imagination opened this veil. And I remember what I saw.

I was already cold after ten minutes of walking. But Seryozha talked so enthusiastically about the affairs in the restaurant that I did not want to interrupt him. What a fine fellow I am, that I begged him to get a job there. Now I know from a reliable source how things are going in the Northern Lights.

The trees parted. We have a slope. Gorki. Seryozha took me there.

- Shall we take a ride? - offers.

I circle the crowd. There are several adults at the top. They chat, glance at a flock of kids who make a fuss on the hill.

- Only children ride. Somehow uncomfortable.

- Come on, Pulka, it will be even more fun on the contrary. Well? A smirk stretches his plump lips. - A touch of carelessness, and you will finally start laughing. I want those sad gray eyes to shine.

- We will ruin your clothes, - I look at his sheepskin coat.

He certainly won't back down. Now with me he tries to be stubborn, to bring everything to the end. I felt that I was weak. And so imperceptibly, quietly, began to make its way into my life. And he got further than he could have imagined. Sometimes, like now, for example, it comes over me - like a revelation - what the hell is happening? Is that Seryozha next to me? Aunt Natasha Seryozhka? I now allow him to call me "Pulka". Yana-Yana, because only dad could. And I portray a complaisant girl. Isn't that a betrayal of yourself?

- I'll buy a new one. Soon you won't even have to think about such trifles.

You say things are bad.

- Now that I have become a manager, everything will change in a maximum of a year. I already have so many options. I have been monitoring articles about successful restaurant owners for the second week. Wrote strategies. Based on them, I will compose an individual, suitable "Sesi".

- What?

- That's what I call our restaurant. Short and sweet.

- Do not even think about changing the name - my tone comes out threatening, and Seryozha frowns thick eyebrows. The crease at the bridge of the nose raises the golden hairs on its hind legs.

- I didn't mean to. His broad chin is receding. - It's just, my cat was called that in childhood, so here I am ... in short ...

- I understand, sorry.

- Nothing. Let's ask someone for tubing. Looks like a homeless one there.

Seryozha approaches one of the adults and asks permission to ride.

- Please, - a red-black tubing rolls up to my feet, sits down to the edge, and invites me to sit in front of him.

I lower myself into the "boat", pressing my knees to my chest. Seryozha pushes us off the top with two frictions. Compresses me from all sides.

I squeal. For decency. I'm not scared at all. I admit - I even like it. Irregularities of the ice slide give the slide a jagged rhythm. Then we start to spin. My fellow traveler laughs, and the vibration of his chest tickles the back of his head.

The edge of the tubing cuts the layer of snow, and the cold scattering beats on the cheeks.