Mantis

43. A drunken escapade

The interior of Victor's apartment was ultramodern. There were many black elements, but the appropriately chosen lighting made sure it wasn't gloomy. In fact, this apartment suited Victor perfectly, like a powerful ruler of his empire, but somehow I couldn't imagine him in this space on a daily basis.

– Nice place – I said, standing in the middle of the minimalist living room while Victor bustled around in the open kitchen for some unknown reason.

– Oh that – he glanced around the interior nonchalantly. – I bought it like this and didn't change anything. I don't have a head for that. I have trouble matching a tie to a suit. Want something stronger to drink?

– Do you have that whisky of yours?

– Of course, I do – Victor beamed at me. – Sit down. I'll bring it right away.

He placed two glasses on the kitchen counter, then reached into the cabinet behind him and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid.

– Here you go – he said, placing one of the glasses, filled to a quarter, in front of me. – The immortal Jack Daniels. It has cheered up many a person.

I accepted the glass gratefully. Victor sat on the couch next to me and took a sip from his glass, while I quickly emptied mine and, not waiting for Victor, refilled it. I downed another portion of whisky and grimaced slightly as the alcohol scratched my throat, but I reached for another glass. I really wanted to get drunk and feel pleasantly light. To leave my problems somewhere and not think about anything specific.

Victor watched me intently.

– Can I ask you something? – he blurted out finally, as he finished his first glass and I reached for my fourth and began to feel a pleasant sway in my head.

– Ask – I muttered, swirling the freshly filled glass because I had already drunk enough alcohol to not care what he asked.

– In the hospital, you told your father you regretted not letting him die.

– That's not a question – I said in a colder tone than I intended. – Besides, I don't feel like talking about it. Pour me another – I demanded, jerking my head towards the empty glass.

Victor flinched and rushed to the whisky bottle. He filled my glass, then started looking at the amber liquid in his own, glancing at me timidly.

– You know, I'm asking because... – he began cautiously, but with each word he sounded more confident. – I remember your dad from when we went to school. Great guy. I always wanted to be like him when I grew up.

I sighed deeply and looked at him with tired eyes. What was I supposed to tell him?

– The bastard has a bad heart – I muttered with disgust, and I wasn't surprised when Victor looked at me as if I were preaching heresy. But he didn't understand. – Unlucky for me, about a year ago it decided to stop beating, and I stupidly resuscitated him. Don't look at me like that – I snapped, seeing his horrified face. – You don't know him. He doesn't deserve the life he has. And you can think whatever you want about me. I don't have the strength to explain it to you. And I don't have to – I said with a breaking voice, completely out of control, and jumped up from my seat intending to leave his apartment.

It was too much already. I felt as if the ceiling had collapsed on my head, and Victor was still throwing tiles at me to finish me off. I just wanted to escape it all.

– Of course not – Victor immediately agreed and also stood up, his voice very warm and gentle. – You're tired. It's normal that everything seems harder than it really is. You don't have to do anything – he murmured softly and reached out his hands towards me.