Iggy Joutsen – Kill me with your love. Part I (страница 2)
1. Special
When they have been keeping saying all the time since your childhood that you are special, you unconsciously begin to believe it. Such remarks are especially characteristic of loving parents who tell their beloved offspring. Of course, one’s own child will always be unique. No wonder they say that love is blind.
As for me, everything was “even worse.” I was considered special even when I did not do anything outstanding. I had been praised, cherished and idolized since the moment I was born into this world. Day and night, I heard words of support and approval.
If something did not work out or went out of hand, they kept repeating to me: “You can do it, just give it a try. You’re smart and resourceful, and you’ll always find a way.”
I was so inspired by that kind of “super-support” of my parents, who really made me believe that everything was in control. Of course, later life taught “my Majesty” many instructive lessons. I realized that no one needed me in the world; that most people did not care about me and I was not special at all, but quite an ordinary person with own failings.
Who would have thought that many years later, when I had long ago come to terms with the essence of an ordinary person, an unexpected ability woke up in me.
I was devoured by curiosity, but they said “everything in good time.” Life went on as usual, but the secret would never be revealed to me. “Probably they lied to me. There is no “family secret at all”, I thought, until I completely forgot about it. The mystery unfolded by itself one rainy June evening.
As always, on Friday, my friends and I got together to play Mafia in one of the cafes of Kaunas. I really liked this game because of its fun and unpredictability. In it, as in life, you never know who is hiding behind the mask of indifference.
My friends were quite ordinary people, all with college degrees and decent jobs. It is nice to spend time with them and talk on a variety of subjects, but this is not about that, but about the game.
Everything was going smoothly, fun and at ease. We were laughing a lot, drinking alcohol and exchanging jokes, sometimes obscene ones. Suddenly, after another joke, I accidentally showed my card and did not even notice it, which resulted in my merciless “murder”.
Of course, I considered what happened to be an injustice and got terribly upset. I got so angry that, jumping up from the table, exclaimed “May the thunder strike someone on the head!”
I did not know why I shouted out this particular phrase, which had no meaning, but immediately after that, the thunder really struck and with such a noise, that glass flew out of windows all over the neighborhood, and the lights instantly went out. Frightened shouts were heard from everywhere and when, sometime later, the power was on, we got shocked by a scene before our very eyes.
In the corner at the entrance to the café, a man was lying with a smashed skull, from which a grayish liquid was flowing out, as if someone had hit him hard on the head with a heavy object.
2. Ema
A few days later, I was walking down the streets, immersed in thoughts, and did not notice anyone or anything around. Something told me: that incident in the café was not an accident nor a coincidence, as it might seem at first glance. It was all my fault, although it did not look like that at all.
Despite my unstable inner state, I felt fine physically. Some unknown force was spreading through the body like a burning stream. I felt it with every cell of my being. The effect of that force did not bring a relaxing effect, but, on the contrary, drove to an even more anxious feeling.
Mental throwing did not give me peace. I felt like a wild animal trapped in a cage and did not know what to do and how to accept a new “essence” in a new inner “appearance”. There was no doubt that I had been changing. We always accept any changes in ourselves last of all: only after everyone who knows us recognizes them. My friends realized it, and it took them a moment.
“Emilius! Emilius! Wait a minute!” A familiar female voice forcefully broke into the swarm of thoughts that drowned out all the sounds from the outside world, and “woke” me up. I turned around and saw Ema (one of my best friends) coming toward me at a fast pace, almost running.
She was out of breath; it was clear that in an attempt to catch up with me she had been running for some time. Her long fiery red hair fluttered in the strong wind, and her open cloak, like wings behind her back, gave the appearance of an angel descending from Heaven to Earth. Seeing this fragile girl, anyone could think of her being ideal: her figure, face, character, but her life would not seem enviable at all.
She lost her parents at a young age like me. An early marriage did not bring the happiness she had dreamed of. After a few months of marriage, her husband found out that he had a serious form of leukemia, which turned out to be incurable. His days were numbered. But suddenly, unexpectedly and to the delight of everyone, and especially Ema, one day he was getting better out of the blue. Unfortunately, Ema’s happiness did not last long. In six months, the disease returned and took such a merciless and cruel form that it killed its victim in a few weeks.
It took Ema several months to get out of depression and came back to normal. The most amazing thing was that she coped with grief on her own, without the support of close friends. Only a truly strong person in spirit and body is capable of such a thing. Although there were moments when it seemed to everyone that she was ready to commit suicide because of an irreparable loss. Still the girl managed to resist the misfortune. Therefore, I looked at her with great respect and endless admiration.
Although our friendship seemed strong, I still felt like Ema did not let me get close enough to her, so to speak, keeping her distance. Her actions as if were saying: “When I’m ready.” I didn’t insist, even though I didn’t understand what she meant.
“How are you?” Ema asked me.
“I want to know what the hell is going on with me?” I blurted out, again not knowing why. I looked straight into her eyes, and they seemed to encourage me to open up and not be afraid of the consequences.
“All in good time,” replied Ema, coming close to me. Despite the gusty wind, I could feel her hot breath and the scent of perfume.
“Did you know everything? But how?” I was amazed at the discovery.
“I was just waiting for your time to come. It remains to wait just a little bit more.”
She put her arms around my neck. It seemed that we were about to kiss, but it turned out to be just a friendly gesture. We never gave each other a reason for intimacy, even though I always wanted something more.
“Don’t think about anything right now. Forget what depresses you. Go home and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we’ll meet and you’ll be ready for a new stage of your life. Believe me it isn’t gonna be the same as before.”
After giving me a peck on the cheek, she took a step back. I noticed how her eyes sparkled with a green light. Maybe I was dreaming. I was at sixes and sevens at the time. Nevertheless, Ema’s words had a calming effect on me: thoughts stopped getting confused in my head; anxiety receded. I suddenly felt sleepy, and I staggered home, not remembering how we said goodbye.
3. Secret
I had no idea how I ended up in my old house where I spent all my childhood and part of my youth. However, there was no doubt that I got there. I recognized the family estate by the interior. Paintings by numerous artists of various eras and trends decorated the walls of all rooms. They even hung along the hallway and stairs leading upstairs.
The floors, covered with Persian and Uzbek carpets of bright colors, resembled lawns and meadows in the height of summer. They were made by hand, so I was strictly forbidden to run around the house in shoes: only barefoot or in slippers.
Curtains made of delicate silk of different colors covered the window spaces from the ceiling to the floor, barely allowing sunlight to get inside.
In general, everything here suggested that the owners, who were well-off, did not know anything of “design” since the atmosphere seemed rich, but tasteless. At first I thought that half of the house seemed to be missing altogether. It was only later that I realized: I saw only what was most firmly fixed in my memory. In other words, I found myself in my memories, and not in reality, because the family hearth sank into oblivion along with my parents.