MARBLE & SALT (Lesbian)

Chapter 10 MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE WARDROBE

Her black, brand new laptop was forgotten on the white sheets. I went straight to the bed and, after a few minutes of hesitation, I opened it. She does not have a password – I don't have any choice: my phone and all personal belongings (except for my panties and T-shirt that remained somewhere in the bathroom) were left at home.

I don't open any of the witch's personal folders, although, the folder named "my photos" looks very tempting. Tossing my head, I click on the browser and, with no delay, log in my twitter account... on the third try. I'm unbelievably bad at remembering passwords: they are written on all "secret" pieces and snippets and scattered throughout the shelves. Sometimes Dasha or Danya find them and triumphantly present the passwords, looking at me as proud as cats that bring tortured mice to their owners.

I'm texting to dad. The time difference is five hours: they must have already left for my aunt. As dad says, repeating the words of one Russian classic author "to the aunt, off the beaten path, to Saratov"* Mom is probably driving now (she loves it), while dad is dozing in anticipation of meeting local flora and fauna, which, in my humble opinion, is not much different from the one he left from. When mom is spending her time gossiping with her older sister, my aunt, discussing her idiot boss, the head of the department of applied arts, dad at this time will be running through the nearby forest, taking pictures of all the "local inhabitants", and then torment his students with these very pictures the moment the semester starts.

"Hi, how are you?" I write, but inside of me everything is compressed into one painful lump. "We are at Danya's grandparents' country house. WiFi is pretty medieval. Are you all right?"

Dad replies rather quickly, before sending some unrelated emoji message out of place, "We are fine. Mom wants you not to stay in the sun for a long time," I shudder as if she knows that I am in the middle of the tropics, "We will be arriving soon. Have a rest and go out into the sun more!"

I smile. They never change: good cop, bad cop. Their trip, of course, is my chance not to be asked questions: my mother will be busy chatting with my aunt; and my father does not usually bother me with stupid questions, but... my heart is very heavy. All I have to do now is to bring my cunning plan to the end: I sigh, texting Danya. On purpose I avoid Dasha's smiling avatar, where she pouts her lips while her lovely cheeks are shining from an expensive Rihanna's highlighter.

"with my parents. going to Saratov to visit aunt. be back in 2 weeks."

I see that he is texting something back to me, as if he sat waiting all that time! I was seized by some strange disgust and anger, and I quickly log out, closing her laptop.

I stay motionless for a couple of minutes, covering my mouth with my hand, more likely trying to hold back a cry of despair, but I'm not even sure about my own feelings.

A knock on the door. Hebe? Is it Hebe? I jump out of bed, but I stop abruptly when I hear a cheerful voice of THIS boy. I see his brazen silhouette through the dull glass of the front door. I twist my mouth; my lower lip keeps on trembling. I hate him. I don't understand what he is talking about behind the door that separates us. I don't understand; I don't understand anything!

He knocked a few more times. I purse my lips. He seems to be leaving at last. I hate him and Danya too. I hate them all!

TV does not help: most of the channels are broadcast in Tagalog, and a few are in English, but they are for children. Sighing together with tired Squidward, I click the remote and lie on my back in a star position, arms and legs outstretched to the sides. The ceiling seems a bit soothing.

I don't know how long I slept, but when I woke up, I felt very hungry. I should have eaten normal lunch with her when I had the opportunity... I wish everything were different, but I don't want to take any of my words back.

On the porch the boy left food in a freezer bag: if not for this, then the food would have definitely been spoiled in such merciless heat. I swiftly grab the handle, almost pulling a muscle in my arm. I don't want to take anything from him! But hunger prevails, and I take out a bottle of lemonade, throwing (pretending to be titanically strong) the bag into a corner. Something cracked according to the plaintiff sound that came from the bag. I felt ashamed: the guy has just brought me some food. It seems to me that something has been cracked inside of me too.

Sniffing with my nose, I sit on the balcony floor, drinking lemonade, dipping my feet into the water that has become amazingly warm during the day. Hebe was right, I haven't swim in the ocean yet: what if it's my last day here? The heartbeat of the tide calms me down, but I'm still scared to be alone in such a large house. It's scary to turn to the dark, lonely bedroom behind me. It seems that all the ghosts of this island have been gathered there. What are you afraid of? Turn around and calm yourself down – you are alone! You will see for yourself. Turn around...

Her body shouldn't look like this. What's wrong with her? My heart stops, I can't breathe, I can't think, I can't exist...

"Hebe!" I scream louder than ever in my life. I think my scream is drowning out all the sounds around. For the most terrible fraction of a second, it seems to me that she was cut in half, but then I somehow calm myself, realizing that she's partly fell out of the wardrobe mirror portal. There is so much blood, and I slip on it, but I stubbornly continue moving towards her on all fours. How long has she been here? Why didn't I hear her, didn't turn around earlier?

I think I see something gray and dull in the mirror. I do my best to drag Hebe into the bedroom; then I grab that beautiful ivory lamp... and shatter the mirror with it.

*A. Griboedov "Woe from Wit"

Thank you, Nat!