Y/N's POV
When I was finished with unpacking my bags, it was already evening. I was in no mood to stay here on my own. I took my phone, the car documents, and key, and took the elevator to the garage. I found the parking spot with the same number as my new apartment and discovered it was occupied by a large white SUV. I slid the key into its slot, and the headlights flared. He couldn't find anything safer and more ostentatious, I thought, clambering up to the bright leather interior. I pressed start and drove across the garage, looking for the exit.
I knew Warsaw pretty well, and I liked to drive around it at times, passing streets and avenues, mindlessly turning here and there. An hour later, I stopped by the house of my best friend, whom I hadn't talked to for weeks. I couldn't go anywhere else, so I just tapped in the entrance code, went upstairs, stopped at her door, and rang the doorbell.
We had been friends since we were five. She was like a sister to me. Sometimes younger, sometimes older, depending on the occasion. She was a hot brunette with an attractively curvy body. Men loved her. I don't know if it was because of her vulgarity, her promiscuity, or maybe her perfect face. Stela was definitely a beautiful woman with an exotic charm. She was half Armenian, and her Eastern genes gave her sharp facial features and—which I envied her the most—an olive hue to her skin.
Stela had never worked. She liked to make maximum use of the effect she had on men. Always a proponent of breaking stereotypes, especially those saying that a woman with many partners is a whore, she had a peculiar deal with men: she gave them what they wanted, and they gave her money in return. She was not a hooker—more like a mistress to men bored with ordinary, stupid girls. Most of her partners were deeply in love with her, but she didn't know what love was. She didn't want to change that, either. Stela was currently seeing an influential man, an owner of a big cosmetics company who didn't have the time or inclination to form any sort of serious relationship with anyone. So she accompanied him to official parties and dinners and massaged his head when he was tired. He, on the other hand, provided her with all the luxuries and comforts she could think of. From an outsider's perspective, it was a real relationship, but neither of them would ever admit that.
"Fuck me! Y/N!" Stela exclaimed as she saw me in the doorway. "I'll kill you one of these days! I thought somebody kidnapped you. Come in, what are you waiting for?"
She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me inside.
"I'm sorry... I had to..." I stammered, and my eyes watered.
Stela froze, looking at me, terrified. She wrapped an arm around me and led me to the living room.
"Somehow I feel you could use a drink," she said, and a moment later we were sitting on her rug with a bottle of wine between us.
"Martin came to see me," she said, sending me a suspicious look. "He was asking for you. Told me what happened. That you disappeared, leaving him a letter. And then you came back before him and took all your stuff from his apartment. Jesus, Y/N, what happened there? I wanted to call you, but I was sure you'd do it yourself as soon as you wanted to talk."
I watched her, sipping my wine and growing certain that I couldn't tell her the truth.
"I just had enough of all that ignorance. Besides, I fell in love." I raised my eyes and sent her a look. "I know how that sounds, so I don't want to talk about it. I need to get my shit together."
I knew she knew I wasn't telling her everything, but she was my friend and she always understood when I didn't want to spill everything.
"Okay," she snapped, flustered. "So, how was it? Everything in order? Do you have a place to live? Need anything?" She spewed questions one after the other.
