Strawberry Shortcake

chapter 03

Olma
......

In need of support, I lean my weight onto the wall beside me as I take in the house which could easily be an interior architecture's wet dream.

I'm greeted by the warm smell of wood, and I inhale a large breath through my nose to savour the home-y smell. The house isn't of a grand size, but more than enough for two people with it's open-plan living room and kitchen. My gaze wonders over the wooden cabinets, evidentally hand-crafted, with white countertops to contrast the sage green tiles. The gold handles of the cabinets and counters cast a reflection of the sun rays on the island counter in the middle. The window in the center of two cabinets, is large, overlooking the woods on its right, the thin veils unable to hold back the sunlight seeping in. 

Igor and I stand at the doorway, too afraid to move or break the peaceful silence, and I steal him a quick glace, just to find out he's watching my reaction with his hooded dark blue eyes and their hint of excitement. "I..." I attempt at speaking, but change my mind and instead turn my head from his striking gaze, vaguely registering the wooden flooring, and instead taking in the light blue sofa in the middle of room, and a navy blue mini-couch on the side. The couches are placed overlooking a large TV, with wooden shelves on either side. A gallery of flowers encompass the shelves, and books line the left hand side. A coffee table made of wood sits infront of the couches, and plants in pretty vases map the walls to all sides. There's a glass door which let's in more welcomed light, and even from the doorway, I can tell the door leads to the beach and my heart skips a beat in elation. 

All of a sudden, the door opens, and a woman walks in, letting in a light waft of salt. She closes the door behind her, and turns her body towards us, her neutral expression slowly becoming shocked as she spots us in the doorway. 

"Valja." Igor exclaims next to me and stretches out his arms as if expecting a hug, and I give her a smile as she begins to walk towards us with one small hand covering her mouth in shock, "Oh my gosh, no no no!" Her soft laughter enters the air as she lowers her hand to her sides and smoothes out the creases in her white dress, "You're here already? I didn't expect you two so early." Her Russian accent gives away her position as Igor's wife and I watch them embrace in a quick but cute hug before she moves over to me and pulls me into her arms. I inhale the smell of gingerbread stuck onto her off-the-shoulder, wavy dress and hug her back even tighter before pulling away and saying, "I'm Olma." My eyes meet her light blue ones and the smile thats evident in them, "Valja," she introduces herself, "I just finished tidying up over here." Turning her head to her side, she scans the room as if to check for anything she might have missed. Looking back at me, she tuts to herself, "I wanted to greet the two of you at the front of the house." A light angry expression overtakes her face. "Igor, you said half past one!" 

Ignoring her angry accusation, Igor beams as he takes in her appearance, "You look beautiful, Valja." and, like magic, all of the anger seeps out of her, giving away her flustered expression. Her light brown hair is secured in a messy bun, a few curls escaping and streaming down her face, her cheeks a fresh, rosy pink and her thin lips spread in a wide smile. Her skin creases at her eyes, the only evidence of being an older age, and the light tan layered on her smooth skin, makes the blue of her eyes pop. She rolls her eyes and gives Igor a light slap on his arm before taking mine and moving me further into the house. I laugh at their banter as she walks me over to the middle of the room. 

"I hope he wasn't too annoying on the way here," She looks behind her and sends a scowl over to Igor. I look over to Igor too, seeing him set down my suitcase beside the counters and slowly strut over to where Valja and I are stood with a mischevious look on his face. I laugh and she moves her attention back to me, "I would have come, but the house required cleaning. Rilo isn't really a good house guest, you see." 

Rilo. The housemate. The initial shock caused me to forget that I'd have to share the house. 

Igor comes to stand with us, smoothing out his shirt from the car ride. "I had to kick him out this morning to clean up," Valja critisises, "He's such a messy boy." She shakes her head side to side with dissapointment and moves to fix the flowers sitting in a vase on the coffee table. From what Valja has said about him, I now know this man, called Rilo or whatever, is most likely younger than the forty-year-old I somehow expected. Which is on the plus side. I'm not too keen on sharing with a male stranger much older than me. Unless it was Igor, of course. I wouldn't mind sharing with him. And he can't be that much trouble or Igor and Valja would have kicked him out? Right? But the way Valja has spoken about him makes me think they have a closer relationship than I initially thought they would. Perhaps she's bias. I know I only met them today, but I'm sure they wouldnt purposefully put me in danger. Or at least I hope not. Either way, it'll be worth it if this is the place I'll be staying.

"I'm sure I won't mind," I say, trying to make light of the situation. 

Igor looks up at me, the creases on his shirt forgotten, and instead twists the cuffs on his shirt to hide the tattoos drawn up his arms. His dark blue eyes cut into mine with seriousness, the hint of excitement from before gone, "If that boy gives you any problems, you tell me straight away. Understand?" 

Goosebumps rise on my skin. "Me too. The boy can be a handful, sweetie." Valja says, looking back at me. I nod, but keep my gaze averted, letting it wonder around the room. Noticing the tension, Valja changes the subject. "Anyways, let's get you settled. Your room is upstairs."

Valja and Igor move towards the stairs, Igor grabbing my suitcase on his way, leaving me a couple of steps behind them to continue taking in my surroundings.

I walk past kaleidoscopes of colour, handpainted artworks which adorn the walls, each of them conjuring different emotions. "Who painted these?" I ask, pointing towards my favourite one depicting Igor and a bowl of apples in his hand. But as I move closer, I notice the bowl doesn't contain apples. It contains bleeding human hearts. 

Igor turns back and looks to where I'm pointing. A smile breaks out on his face as he looks up at the painting in awe, "My daughter." he says.

I lower my hand and nod. "She's talented. I'd buy the crap out of these paintings." 

"I'll tell her you said that," Igor smiles before turning back around to catch up with Valja, who is already halfway up the stairs. 

Stood in the middle of the room, blessed by the purity of silence, I hear the faint crash of waves fighting to enter through the walls of the house which instantly raises my spirits. In this quiet moment, where the wind has become still air, and it sounds as if the world has paused to take a moment to breath, I know that I'm safer here than I was when I lived with my parents, so I take initiative and brand this house with the name of home.

Here I will heal, and here, I will eat.

I do a quick turn of my surroundings, calm filling my veins once more, before I grab the wooden railing of the stairs, and make my way up them.