The key turned in the lock with a strained creak. I was so tired that even this sound seemed deafening. Three in the morning.
First, a shift at the office, then four hours at the cash register in a 24/7 supermarket, and then another two hours at home on the laptop—translating a stupid technical manual. My legs ached as if I had walked to the Dnieper and back. All I wanted was to collapse onto the bed and pass out.
The apartment, inherited from my grandmother, greeted me with silence, but I knew it was the calm before the storm. On the sofa in the living room, illuminated by the blue screen of the television, lay Pavel. He lay motionless, but I could feel his tension.
— Yana… — His voice was weak, cracked. It always became like this when he was feeling particularly bad.
— I’m here… — I exhaled, pulling off my shoes. Every movement was painful. — How are you?
He slowly turned his head: his face was full of suffering, sweat on his forehead. A true actor of grand and minor theaters.
— Bad, Yanochka, very bad. The pain is just burning me up today. I thought I wouldn’t make it until you came back.
I walked over and sat on the edge of the sofa, trying not to touch him.
— Did you take your pills?
— I did, — he winced. — But they barely help, and they’re running out. There are only two left for tomorrow.
Here we go. I closed my eyes, mentally counting what was left on the card. After yesterday’s transfer for a new batch of “Neurostabil,” there was only about three thousand left. To live on for two weeks.
— Pasha, I just paid almost thirty thousand for them yesterday. That’s my entire salary from the office. Where am I supposed to get more now?
His face changed instantly, suffering giving way to bitter resentment. He looked at me as if I had just slapped him.
— So, it’s about money? It always comes down to money? I’m lying here, unable to move from the pain, and you’re talking to me about some pieces of paper?
— That’s what we live on, what we use to buy food.
— What food, Yana? — His voice grew stronger, ringing with indignation. — I can’t even swallow a bite. Do you think I enjoy lying here like a log, watching you slave away at three jobs? Do you think I don’t want to get up, go out, and be a normal man again? But I can’t. This ‘Neurostabil’ is the only thing that gives me any relief. My only hope. And you? You’re stingy with the money?
He turned to the wall, and his shoulders began to shake with silent sobs. Classic manipulation, honed to perfection over the last six months. And the worst part—it still worked. Guilt slithered up my spine like an icy snake. “I’m a monster. He’s dying, and I’m counting pennies.”
— I’m sorry, — I whispered, a lump forming in my throat. — I’m sorry, I’m just so tired, that’s why I’m snapping. Of course, I’ll find the money. We’ll order a new pack tomorrow. Sleep, my love, everything will be fine.
He didn’t answer, his shoulders just continued to tremble. I went to the bedroom, feeling like the lowest form of life. Collapsing on the bed in my clothes, I buried my face in the pillow to keep from screaming in helplessness. “Everything will be fine.” Except I no longer believed it myself.
The morning began with a phone call. The sharp trill of my mobile phone pulled me from a heavy, sticky slumber. Vera Andreevna, my mother-in-law, appeared on the screen. God, not this. I slipped out of the bedroom so as not to wake Pavel and answered the call in the kitchen.
— Hello, Vera Andreevna.
— Yanochka, hello. — Her voice was sweeter than honey, which meant poison was about to be poured. — How is our patient? How is my Pashenka?…
Comments are closed.