Iggy Joutsen – Люби Меня До Смерти/Love Me To Death (страница 2)
“Emilius! Emilius! Emilius!"
How could this even have happened? Was that the secret that my parents had been mentioning all my childhood? Something in me was evolving at a terrifying speed that could not be stopped or reversed. But I didn't need any changes. They might spoil everything: the usual routine of life, everyday habits…
“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 her the appearance of an angel descending from Heaven to Earth. Seeing this fragile girl, anyone could think of her as 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 got better out of the blue. Unfortunately, Ema’s happiness did not last long. Within 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 some time to get out of depression and come 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 seemed to say: "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 her 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 longer.”
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 tangled 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 had gotten there. I recognized the family estate by the interior. Paintings by numerous artists of various eras and trends decorated the walls of all the 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 about "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 had sunk into oblivion with my parents.