Pelle and Amara have to answer some very important questions. When does love become toxic? At what point do you gain the courage to realize the perfect relationship has turned into a mascarade? And when exactly do you see the abuse you've put each o...
That New Eve was indeed strange. Amara begged me to celebrate New Eve with her friends from the university in a cabin in Kotka, and I was confused since we already had a great group of friends that we had invited. But I said yes.
At that time I was working hard on making myself better for her. But sobriety sucked and I had started to find my job stressful.
Even so, I managed to not let Amara see me drunk again.
Kotka felt lonely comparing to Helsinki. Soon enough, I understood why Amara didn't want to celebrate New Year's Eve the way I had planned: our group were no longer our friends, they were my friends.
I knew all the people that came to Kotka, they were all old colleagues from university and we used to have a great time together. As time passed form when I dropped out, I pushed all of them away, because they were too serious, or even because I considered them inferior. Of course, at that time, I thought I pushed them away because we weren't having fun together anymore.
And indeed I didn't have fun. I saw them dull, or even pathetic, comparing with my good friends who were getting high in Helsinki without me.
My way of living had changed so much, and at that party I figured that out more than ever. I used to enjoy playing bord games, telling stories and talking about controversial stuff. Now I was longing for alcohol and miserable jokes.
All of that while Amara thrived between these people and talked so much that every 10 minutes she'd ask for water so her mouth wouldn't run dry.
We fired fireworks at midnight and Amara wanted to stay longer, and I smiled and told her I'll be waiting in the cabin.
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And in the cabin, all the ghosts of the past flooded me. And out of nowhere came a bottle of vodka, forgotten on a counter.
''Pelle, Vladimir is dancing Rapsutin you need to see this...''
Amara was dressed in leather pants and had a fur coat on, and she looked nearly ridiculous, but she was, still, the most beautiful woman I had ever sat my eye son.
''Pelle, what the hell are you doing again?!'' she launched at me like a cat and pulled the glass out of my hand and smashed it in my head. It was the first time she ever hit me.
''Do you want me to leave, huh? How much more do you think I can stand that? You have any idea how you are when you're drunk? What I have to go through? Remember when you wanted to smash the TV?''
I didn't.
''Remember when you broke all of my mother's crystal glasses?!''
I didn't.
''Remember when you hit me so hard that night at Kyros' that I had a bruise on my collarbone for 3 weeks? 3 weeks goddammit!"
"Hold on, what?"
"Oh, right, you were too drunk. I wanted to drag you out of the cold on the balcony and you threw a bottle at me you donkey!"
My eyes filled with tears of joy. For weeks I thought the bruise belonged to that sinner's mouth, I had lived in despair and agony of knowing my most beloved one had given herself to a southerner, forgetting my poor pale faith in her and only her. But she didn't. She never did.
I hugged her, crying, while she hit me with her tiny fists and pulled my hair and screamed, and I was laughing out of pure joy.
'I love you, I love you, I love you,'' I kept muttering, forcing her down on the floor, both of us on our knees, so she would stop hitting me with her feet. ''I'm never drinking again, my love.''
But that same night as we were watching Vladimir dance and Amara was cleaning the mascara that had poured on her cheeks, I remembered about the leggings, and my soul grew dim once more.
