Читать книгу Miranda Sparks’ wonderful life - Danny Osipenko - Страница 14

Some people like the rain in the summer, explaining it by the fact that after it passes, it becomes fresher. Some people like to bask in the sun under its colorful and scalding rays. There are people who like to walk outside and feel the light breeze on their own skin. There are a lot of people like that, but I’m not one of them. The rain gives me a migraine and my hair gets frizzy, and when the rain passes, the road turns into a swamp for me and my shoes get dirty. I rarely go outside, so on the only days I do get out of the house, I am greeted by sunny weather. It makes me wrinkle, my skin dries out, and in the light I start to notice the loose, unruly hair on my head, and I always feel like it’s trying to fall on my face. It’s a terrible feeling. It’s the same with the wind, yes it’s nice, it blows me blue, but it ruins my hair, and from time to time little grains of sand hurt my eyes and even get in my mouth.

To put it bluntly, I am not a pest. I’m not capricious or rude, I don’t have any of those things in me. I’m just very absorbed in every second of my life right now, and it forces me to become more sensitive to what’s going on around me. For the most part, I’m definitely irritable, but not so much that I live like a grumpy grandmother who has a dozen cats in her apartment and swears profusely as she walks past a couple kissing. In some ways I am even happy, and this can be explained by the fact that I never thought to register on some blog or forum dedicated to lowlifes losers and post about how miserable I am. To me, that’s an indicator.

I correctly perceive the one I am at the moment, and I regard my condition more quickly as temporary, which can be completely overcome.

The worst part was that I realized at this point that not only did I no longer love my ex-boyfriend, but that he turned out to be such a jerk. It was natural to believe that after all these years he would fall down and repent and beg me to forgive him, shedding bitter tears. He didn’t know that I’d been aching and pining for him like an idiot all this time. But I expected more from our meeting, because we were so close. Weren’t we?

I fully deserve at least a clarification. Let it be heresy to help me live on, I will accept it whatever it may be. I really wish things could go back to the way they were before. But without Mike’s help, I’m not sure I can find myself the way I was before. That’s why it’s important to end this love story in the end, in the end, in the end and in the end. I have to do it. No, I have to do it!

I walked down the eighth floor hallway toward my room. It hadn’t been the most pleasant day of my life, not because of my meeting with Mike, but because of the migraine that had been haunting me all day. I know it sounds unconvincing for such a statement, but I decided so, and with this, as unfortunate as it sounds, nothing can be done now. Stubbornness along with stupidity is not the best cocktail at the end of this fucking day, so I’ll just go to bed so that tomorrow would be easier.

I didn’t turn on the lights when I entered my own room, so I felt safer. I needed a shower that would wash the remains of the day from my skin and hair. I undressed as I walked to the bathroom, leaving a trail of sandals, my dress, and my underwear behind me. I had had enough of getting rid of these things, as they didn’t allow me to feel free.

I stood under a strong head of cool water in the shower stall. I needed the water to keep me from feeling my tears running and tasting salty. I grabbed a sponge and began angrily rubbing my arms, legs, stomach, and breasts with it. All of my actions were very vigorous, as if I were having a fit of anger or self-loathing. I felt dirty, as if I were in someone else’s skin. It pained me that the only man I had ever adored had abandoned me in such a subtle way. He had traded my love for means, and that hurt even more. How hard it is to think of yourself as nothing, in the eyes of a man to whom you have given all of yourself.

Clutching the sponge firmly in my hands, I slowly rolled down the shower wall. I was shattered and wrung out with powerlessness. After a few minutes, I still managed to get out of the shower and into bed. Curled up, shaking from the cold, I closed my eyes and counted to10. It helped me calm down when I needed it. My psychologist, Mr. Cooper, told me to do this counting to avoid any sensory outbursts, and I only used this technique against insomnia. It worked for me.

I was awakened by a pushy knock on the door. It was very bright in the room because of the glaring sun from the window when I opened my eyes. There was another knock, and I had to crawl out of bed to get to the door.

– Yes?

In my sleep, my voice was hoarse, so maybe they couldn’t hear me at all.

– Miss!? It’s Francis.

When I heard the familiar voice of the guide, I immediately opened the door.

– Good morning.

– Good morning, Miss Spikes!

Her friendly smirk made me a little angry. Maybe it was the way I felt disgusted!

– How did you sleep?

– It’s okay.

There was a look of surprise in Frances’ eyes, apparently because of my displeased tone.

– A bus will be here at one10 o’clock, which will take you to the local markets. – I twisted at her words. – Not good for you?

– No, it’s okay.

I squeezed a smirk out of myself.

– Convinced?

– Uh-huh.

– The general assembly will be at half past ten in the hotel lobby. It’s almost nine o’clock at this point, in case you want to go with all the other participants.

– Naturally. Thank you for you. – I swallowed audibly. – Be in the lobby by 9:30. Oh, that’s great.

– Does that mean you will go?

– Yes, I will.

– Then I won’t take up your time.

– Thanks again.

Frances smiled sweetly before I closed the door. I’d always loved traveling, no matter where it took me, as long as it was food. At times, of course, it depended on the company I was traveling with and the destination, but still, in all travel, there was that pulling road ahead that made my heart pound furiously in my chest. So I can safely say – the best remedy for a disgusting mood, for me, is a trip.

I didn’t wash my head, I just put my hair in a high ponytail. I brushed my teeth quickly, packed everything I needed in my bag, and took my phone and left the room. As I rode the elevator down to the bottom floor of the hotel, Miranda texted me, worried about my health as usual and asked how long I would be in Algiers. Then I got another text from her about our neighbor, Mr. Nice Ass-as her friend called him-that he was now back in his apartment.

Miranda had been madly fond of him ever since he moved into the apartment across the street from us two years ago. In her friend’s eyes, the neighbor was a «first-rate hottie,» though there was one «but» that made her sigh for him and not accept trying to get to know him in person anymore. The whole thing was that the neighbor had a dog. What do you know Miranda does not like dogs, so the main aspect in selecting a partner, she first finds out there is pets in his house or at least the possibility that it will appear. Only then begins to act and show enthusiasm for the man. For her it really is very important! She sighed audibly every time she thought about our neighbor – a handsome man, and I felt sorry for her in those moments. More than once I’d seen the light in her eyes light up when I heard footsteps outside our apartment door. Miranda paced around the room, looking for a reason to come out and talk to him, but she usually gave up with an audible sigh and sat down on the couch, occasionally glancing at the front door. It was a sad picture I’d watched more than once.

I myself did not see anything so fascinating in my neighbor, for me he was just a man living, on the contrary. On the contrary, I liked his dog, a golden retriever, and with a characteristic kindly gaze, like any dreamer of a furry pet, I saw him off with an outstretched hand.

My psychologist, Mr. Cooper, had suggested many methods of getting rid of the emptiness inside me during our conversations, among which was to get a dog, but because of Miranda I never did. So to make up for what I wanted, if you can naturally say so, I enjoyed watching my neighbor’s dog. She is very cute and at one point I was lucky enough to meet her and her owner in the elevator going upstairs and she licked my hand. I then ran my fingers cautiously over her wet nose until her owner could see and looked into her kind, big dog eyes. They were everything I’d been missing in my life, specifically love. Then I thought about not asking my neighbor to temporarily leave his dog with me? It’s just that he was on constant trips just like Miranda – I didn’t follow him, I was just curious where he was letting the dog go while he was gone, that’s all. But we never talked to him so I could just ask and he’d give me his own pet without a second thought.

We are strangers to each other, neighbors to each other, and neither of us pretends to be more than that, at least I certainly am not eager to start a conversation with a man who looks more like a civilized hipster with a womanizing heartthrob tendency. He was the type of good-looking man for Miranda, not for me. The neighbor was very fickle in love affairs, to say nothing of his stay in his apartment. It’s not my place to judge him for his life; it’s everyone’s choice, so it’s not up to me to judge who should exist in this world.

This man also dressed very surprisingly, maybe it had something to do with his frequent absence from his apartment! Honestly, I did not think about it enough, it was just that he always wore not clothes, but some worn-out rags, and that, despite the fact that he lived in a fairly expensive neighborhood. A married couple on the eighth floor often looked at him squeamishly as they rode in the elevator with him. But about any specific smells from his neighbor, he didn’t have any. Seriously, that really struck me about him, because no matter how torn his clothes were, the man himself smelled like a wood-musky smell, the kind that made me feel safe and strong. Mike liked fresh scents such as mint, and it seemed to me that there was no other scent I could like as much as this one, but I realized that this was not the case the moment I first encountered my neighbor.

My neighbor is an ugly man who makes me look down and nervously rub my coat sleeves while we stand in the elevator or open our own apartment doors together. These are always uncomfortable moments that make me feel like an awkward sixteen-year-old girl. But compared to Miranda’s reaction to this man, my condition is just a paltry attempt to show my real attitude toward him. In fact, I was generally more disinterested than a sighing or embarrassed blushing fan of a heartthrob. So I didn’t reply to Miranda’s text about him, and I got off the elevator and headed for the group.