Butterfly's Year

47. That terrible woman

I didn't voice my doubts about where Wiktor had been the previous night. I didn't want to ruin the recently regained peace, nor did I want to make a fuss over nothing. After all, many women could wear similar perfume. Just because I wasn't familiar with the scent didn't mean Wiktor hadn't met someone in a bar, for example, who wore it.

I didn't want to come across as a jealous hysteric just because the scent reminded me of his ex. And even if it were Lena's perfume, Wiktor had signed a contract with her, so it made sense that he had to meet with her. She wore so much of that perfume, she practically saturated the air with it.

"How would her scent linger on him?" – the little voice inside me remarked, clearly unconvinced by my arguments as I continued to ponder the different scenarios over the following days. – "She'd have to rub against him like a wild animal marking its territory on a tree. A scent doesn't just transfer to another person during a casual, professional encounter. And it certainly doesn't last all night."

I sighed in frustration at the lack of support from that little voice, then got up from the couch and began preparing breakfast. Pondering how much time my boyfriend spent with his overbearing ex wouldn't make her disappear, and we still had to eat, even if she did invade our bed.

I focused intently on slicing peaches for the oatmeal, imagining that they were Lena and I was cutting her into tiny pieces. On further thought, this seemed like an unappetizing vision – who would want pieces of a boyfriend's ex in their morning oatmeal? – so I returned to thinking of the peaches as peaches, but the feeling of satisfaction from having mentally destroyed that imagined Lena stayed with me for a few minutes.

Maybe my improved mood would have lasted longer if Wiktor's phone hadn't started ringing, while he was showering in the bathroom at the end of the hallway. I automatically glanced at the device left on the kitchen counter within my reach, and my face fell. With a suspiciously unpleasant pang in my stomach, I registered Lena's name glaring at me from the screen.

I stood paralyzed, as if the sight had disabled all my muscles, staring at the phone. Eventually, it stopped ringing, and I remained frozen until it rang again.

Once more, Lena's name appeared on the screen, causing another momentary paralysis, but this time I shook off the odd numbness right after the phone went silent. I tried to nonchalantly pour the prepared peach oatmeal into two bowls, but the phone rang yet again, making me jump.

The woman was calling Wiktor like a madwoman. I tried to ignore the increasingly irritating ringtone and calmly eat breakfast, but when Lena's name flashed for the sixth time, I grabbed the phone.

For a moment, I struggled not to throw it against the wall, then I marched resolutely to the bathroom where Wiktor was showering.

The sound of water could still be heard from behind the door, indicating that my boyfriend was still enjoying a hot shower. However, I decided he'd been in there long enough that I could interrupt and deal with this incessant caller.

I knocked energetically on the wooden door and, not waiting for permission, turned the handle.

Wiktor, upon noticing my presence, gave me a charming smile that quickly faded as he saw my expression.

– Lena's calling. For the sixth time. Doesn't she know about texting? – I responded to his unspoken question.

Victor's concerned face instantly brightened, and he spoke in a light, airy tone.

– Maybe she has memory lapses and forgot – he muttered, winking at me playfully. – Answer and put her on speaker.

With that, he leisurely turned off the water, stepped out of the shower in his birthday suit, brushing against my hip as he did so. Then he grabbed my butt and gave it a gentle squeeze.

I returned his playful smile and then answered the call.

– Hi, sweetheart – came a lazy, seductive female voice from the phone's speaker, leaving me stunned.

The little voice inside me raised its eyebrows in surprise. What?

The atmosphere of love and carefree excitement that Victor had just conjured vanished from the bathroom at the speed of a racehorse.

Sweetheart? What was that? Some kind of hotline for the lonely and desperate?

I shot Victor a questioning look, but he waved dismissively, signaling that it was nothing important, and began brushing his teeth.

– Hello? Victor? – Lena's voice came again, hesitantly, likely puzzled by the prolonged silence. – Are you speechless with excitement, or are you already coming at the sound of my voice?

Victor spat the remaining foam into the sink and wiped his mouth casually with a nearby towel.

– Good morning, Lena – he finally greeted her, much to my relief, in a professional and very cool tone, then resumed rinsing his mouth.

– Good morning? – Lena responded in a condescending tone, as if speaking to a child embarrassed to address an adult informally. – I've already told you to stop being so formal. You've seen my tits and had a great time in my pussy. We couldn't be any closer. No need to waste time on pleasantries. Oh, by the way, before I forget...– she changed the subject, still in a light, breezy voice, – I think I left my scarf in your car last time. Please look for it and let me know if you find it.

For a moment, Victor's carefree demeanor seemed to falter. He stiffened and straightened up a bit too abruptly. But this lasted only a fraction of a second, so I couldn't definitively say whether Lena had said something Victor wanted to keep from me, or if he had simply slipped on the steam-dampened tiles while reaching for the towel he was now wrapping around his hips and momentarily lost his balance.

Whatever the cause of that odd tic, listening to Lena's seductive, self-assured voice was testing the limits of my patience. I barely restrained myself from grabbing the phone and smashing it against the marble tiles. Instead, I turned on my heel and left the bathroom.