Extraversion Of Death

Illustration: https://sun9-70.userapi.com/impg/FeVijJwIrOXStWJRzGTFfcDbpvKtJHudjjpTuQ/scAlKuVH6Yg.jpg?size=1919x1079&quality=95&sign=020fed8549d51a17c8bc6be092ccad08&type=album *** To see the bad and the good in everything is both a gift and a curse. © Marianne *** So, what could I tell him? Where should I start the story? What would he like to know — maybe about my imprisonment in a mental hospital, where every day is a new scar in a crippled soul? Or about orgies held in brothels and making me feel like a weak-willed slave? Or how the invention of one substance allowed me and my friends to produce a drug that all addicts on this damn planet have become crazy about? But you know, it all started much earlier… “A-a-ah! Gosh!”, the muffled moan of my mother, coming from the bedroom, “don’t stop…” I remember perfectly how that day began: I was walking down the corridor to the kitchen to breakfast. “A little more… Andre”, a sigh, and then a second and a third, “oh…” two bodies fell heavily on the mattress. It was as if I was paralyzed by the sudden realization that this was the first time she called my stepfather by name during sex. “Damn” There was some noise and rustling. Then he swore loudly due to the fact that he didn’t have time to get his dick out in time. Meanwhile, I was already lazily making a chicken sandwich for myself, treating everything that was happening with maximum indifference, not even thinking about the scale of the approaching catastrophe. “You’re an idiot…” While the situation was heating up more and more, I calmly sipped orange juice until the essence of the chaos reached my ears. I almost threw up. “You don’t know how to use your penis at all?!”, mom was furious and kept accusing him. “It’s your own fault!” “What is my fault?” “That you called me by my first name.” It was impossible not to listen to their dialogue further, because they, having briefly quieted down, were shouting again, and I grinned to myself. All normal teenagers are woken up in the morning by an alarm clock, and I am woken up by my mom and stepfather. It had been going on for several months, and every time I hated his face. I blamed this particular dude for my mom’s breakup with my father, who left for Germany two months ago to run a new business instead of a pastry shop here in Paris, and since then we have never talked. If I stayed at the table even for a minute longer, I risked seeing both of them, so I got up and went to the mansard, to my room. Anyway, I needed to get my stuff for my first day at the new college. After moving to a new district, my mother also changed my place of study. Andre even paid for part of it… On the move, grabbing all the necessary things from the table, I noticed out of the corner of my eye Ryan Types smiling maliciously on the laptop screen — a blogger the same age as me, a blond guy with gray eyes posing for perfume and clothing ads. I really admired him because few people are capable of achieving so much at the age of fourteen! I froze, staring like an idiot at a collage of his photos. One of them even stood on the main screen of my smartphone — I was once again convinced of this by pulling it out of my pocket — in the photo the guy was smirking smugly. With an effort of will, I looked at my watch and realized that I could take my time, but I really want to get out of the house. I blocked the screen and saw myself in the dark reflection — with a neat oblique, clean and smooth skin without makeup, with a slightly upturned nose, blue eyes that seemed colorless now. I want to escape from here. I would have been happy to put it on the wish board hanging over the bed—it was almost full. I noticed this as I was walking towards the stairs. There, down in the kitchen, these two stood embracing. Totally sucks. My plan to disappear has failed spectacularly. “If you ate,” Mom nodded at the leftovers and a dirty glass, “then why didn’t you cook us something?” I was just outraged by this impudence! At such moments it seemed that I was absolutely not her daughter, despite the same brown hair color and identical facial features. One thing about us that was very different: the attitude towards my father. “Have you forgotten what day it is today?!”, I wanted to explode out of nowhere, just to get out of here as soon as possible. She didn’t want to hear anything more about him. “But you’re not late…”, she drawled meaningfully, expecting to cause a feeling of guilt. “By the way, a surprise awaits you in college,” Andre was twirling my mother’s curls with his fingers, gently stroking her shoulders as well. I looked them up and down with disdain on my face and shrugged my shoulders. “See you soon.”, I don’t care. I was already heading for the door when my mom stopped me by shoving an oblong golden box with cakes inside. “Share with someone…” With a clear hint that I should make friends with someone. I thought it doesn’t bother her anymore. This box is the last reminder of happy days in the candy store. There won’t be any more. There are no more cakes. There is no family anymore. *** And what kind of surprise could he give me? I was thinking about this as I walked along the road to college next to the hypermarket where I hoped to buy a magazine with Ryan. A new issue, a new interview and a new photo shoot — they shot it on my birthday. I won’t miss this issue for anything! Yes, I drew a lot of his portraits and pasted them on the wish board like a madwoman. But it still wasn’t the same. Already in the store, having quickly found the copy I needed, I was looking forward to the smell of glossy pages and fresh photos. The fact is that I have an obsession to save up and have something related to him. It was like the meaning of life, too. I couldn’t wait to open the transparent wrapper, but I decided to postpone this entertainment until the break between classes. Does it make sense to say that all the photos on the wish board hanging over the bed were with Ryan? It was for the sake of meeting him, at least once, for a second, that I began to want to wake up in the morning. My last birthday was disgusting — just before that, my parents finally broke up. But on the twenty-second of June, when there was no hope for anything, and my mother was in such despair that Andre began to comfort her, I saw a photo shoot of Types on the Champ de Mars, in the evening, just passing by. He laughed happily at the camera, and then shot a video for his channel, wrapped in a blanket and holding a candle, because it was getting cold quickly. The fact that he was surrounded by couples who arranged romantic dates there did not particularly bother him. And I just went crazy. I only saw the guy for a few minutes, but he quickly became a beacon in this darkness. From that day on, I became obsessed with the physical presence of things related to him in my life. I became obsessed. The person didn’t even know about my existence —and I cherished the hope of one day declaring myself. I don’t know how. But I wanted to live for it. Tunnel thinking was becoming more and more a characteristic feature. At such an early time, almost no one was in the store except for rare visitors and sellers. When I bought the magazine, I was torn between the desire to tear the film and flip through the pages, or leave it for a while and go to college for the promised surprise. Until I heard a cry for help. “Anyone…” Then I rushed to the exit — the voice was clearly senile, and I could not callously pretend that nothing had happened. The sun blinded me so fiercely that it darkened my eyes. The voice came from somewhere to the side, from a shadowed alley. I had to guess blindly where to go, and under such an early, but already scorching September sun, I could barely see objects around. Narrow walls, dirt, darkness, coolness and two twisted figures — one lay in the fetal position, covered in bruises and abrasions, and the other bent over her. “Call an ambulance,” the old man tried to feel for a pulse, clutching the pale, insensitive wrist of a skinny, flawed guy who looked to be only twenty years old, “he hardly breathes.” I leaned over too, peering, as if I hadn’t heard his words. There was no one else around. “Faster”, it was as if I had been electrocuted and, without remembering myself, I dialed the numbers, dumbfounded, handed the old man the phone, and he said what I remembered for the rest of my life, “Overdose. Yes, yes. There is almost no breathing. The pulse is very weak. Cold sweat, he vomited, — he clearly and accurately described to the doctors everything that happened here.” How? How could he have come to such a life? How? I just… leaned closer to him and winced at the smell of sweat, urine and vomit. He was foaming at the mouth. “Shake him”, — again a strong, confident voice brought me out of a trance, — otherwise he will die before the ambulance arrives. We can’t let him sleep. The guy was in a kind of semi-conscious state. It’s as if the body is here, and the soul has flown far away, but not so far to bury him. At such moments, some believe that a person is fighting for his existence. But I could have sworn that this particular guy didn’t give a damn. It was as if he didn’t exist among us. He was in an unfamiliar and very far away world from me. The old man, meanwhile, demanded from the guy that he talk to him, well, or at least mumble. He shook him by the shoulder, hit him on the cheeks, and ordered me to pinch his ear. When the addict rolled onto his back, he pushed him on his side again so that he would not choke. The guy seemed like a lifeless corpse. The old man undid the buttons on his battered, worn-out shirt and rolled up the sleeves on it, not noticing the burnt holes that were, it seems, from cigarettes. I saw black craters on the bends of the elbows. Not holes, not dots, but craters, no, even pits, from intravenous administration of substances. Of course, I had no idea what kind of drugs he was using. The old man just said the mysterious word “opiates” on the phone. That’s where he got the bruises and that general creepy look. The old man bent down to him and began to do an artificial respiration. Everything got mixed up in my head. At first, I thought that it was he who needed help, and not a young guy. It is the young who should help the elderly with high blood pressure, or what else worries older people. “This poor guy definitely needs rehabilitation”, he told me while shaking the motionless body, “I’ve worked with such.” While we endlessly waited for an ambulance and made sure that the guy did not finally give up the ghost, my interlocutor told me that he tried to treat addicts, but they very rarely get out, and most often it is simply useless. They don’t see anything but the dose. They absolutely don’t care about the people who surround them and the things they once loved. “I’ve lost faith in people” He looked at me while I frantically tried to help. “Will he recover?”, I specifically shifted the topic to distract him and remove the awkward pause. “A drug addict once is a drug addict forever”, that’s how he answered my question, and I didn’t take it seriously, I didn’t take it at all. The whole scene resembled an illusion that did not concern me in any way. The ambulance finally arrived: the drug lay motionless and showed no signs of life. One of the doctors quickly examined him while the other was preparing an ampoule with a solution. They injected him with liquid from a syringe directly into the groin, not paying attention to my presence. They were unhappy that there were no more healthy veins left. “It’s a great misfortune to be in his place,” the old man said it in the air, barely audible, but so that I could definitely hear it. The ambulance left, leaving us, random witnesses of the accident, alone. “I hope you’ll never know what it’s like.” Why would I know?! Nothing, even energy I’ve never tried. I was surprised by these moralizing, but I was silent. “Thanks for the help.” He disappeared, and I stared at the asphalt for a few more moments, where this junkie had recently been lying, until I remembered where I was going. My purchased magazine turned out to be soiled — I even forgot that I automatically put it on the ground in a hurry to help. It’s a good thing I didn’t pull off the packaging — the cover with Ryan would have been in shit. Picking it up and shaking off the dust and dirt, I followed the old man out of the alley. In general, I saw two completely opposite sides of life: in one, a young Ryan participates in photo shoots and achieves success, and in the second, a junkie who is clearly older than him does such crazy and flawed things that he literally lies in a puddle, choking in his own saliva. This picture alarmed me incredibly. I had no choice but to run to college, because I was afraid of getting lost in a new place and, as it turned out, for good reason: there were fifteen minutes left before classes, and I didn’t find my class. At such moments, you realize that the campus is extremely huge. Every minute the crowd of people increased, because everyone was in a hurry to meet with classmates and take the best place. I stopped next to the lockers for things, thinking about the password. Which one to choose? Although, we have security and cameras… “Get out,” I heard an extremely irritated female voice, and then the girl pushed me so hard that I almost slammed into the iron door, “did you come to block the passage?” “And you — to push anyone?” A dyed blonde with a high ponytail managed to move a meter away when she stopped abruptly and turned her head slightly in my direction. “Should I add more?” Grinning, the blonde disappeared in front, while I almost tore off the burr on my thumb out of anger. Huh. Blondie. “Bitch” I muttered, but the next second I noticed how she continued to push everyone she met in her way. Yes… someone obviously had a bad day. I had to calm down and enter the first password that came to mind: “2206” — the date of my birth and the first meeting with Ryan. There is no time to come up with something else that I will definitely remember. Ten minutes remained. Strange, I’ve seen this Blondie before. But I couldn’t remember where. I ran through several more staircases, corridors and halls until I found myself in the courtyard. There were ball rings on both sides of it, and a rolled—up net exactly in the center of the court. During the game, most likely, it is unrolled and fulfilled its purpose. Not being particularly interested in sports, I now just meant that there is such an opportunity. At the top, in addition to the stairs, there was also a second level: there must be the right class. After a quick glance at the lists on the doors, I soon saw my name in one of them. There, inside the classroom, it was easy to understand that almost all the desks were occupied. Except for the very first and the second at the door. Well, I took the farthest one because it made me feel psychologically more comfortable: less pressure from teachers' views on your person, less stress. Even if no one sits at the desk in front of me, it’s still calmer. It works, although I do not know how. I was shivering from the presence of strangers, and to calm it down, I took out cakes for a snack. Trying one, I stole a glance at everyone from behind: two cute giggling girls, one with a piercing above the eyebrow and lip and with dark shiny hair, and the other cut very short, like a boy; a guy continuously drawing something in his huge black notebook; the other, an androgynous guy in a rainbow T-shirt was typing text on his smartphone. A few more unremarkable personalities. Almost everyone looked at me in unison, and I turned back. “Hey, is this place free?” After everything that had happened in that short morning, I wasn’t thinking very fast. The girl pointed to the seat next to me, smiling sweetly. She was distinguished from all the surrounding biomass by the bright red tips of her hair, resembling a flame. She was a brunette herself. “Ah… yes, of course. Sit down.” I tried to smile back, but it came out very crooked. In order not to spoil the impression of myself even more, I handed her almost a whole box from a former pastry shop. “Take some more.” She moved closer and carefully took one, watching me slowly finish the dessert. “Thanks, uh…” “Marianne.” She nodded and also introduced herself — my new friend’s name was Jade. After thanking me dozens of times for the treat, she finished eating, and I happily thought that I was able to share with someone. There were still a couple of pieces left. “Look, I don’t think you should have sat down here.” “Why?” “Well…” Jade began to tell me that she has been studying here for several years and everyone is used to taking last year’s places. She used to sit right in front of the teacher’s nose—where I least wanted to be. “I don’t think Charlotte will like this trick, unless, of course, she transferred to another college.” These words flew past my ears until I saw through the panoramic windows facing the corridor, the same blonde with a high tail, walking with another, fair-haired, to us, to this class. She was actively gesticulating and her mood changed from proud to furious in a second. When she pushed open the classroom door in a rage and saw me, I couldn’t predict her reaction at all. “Is it you again?!”, something really pissed her off, because she just wanted to snap at someone. “It’s me again,” Jade was apparently talking about her. “This is our place!”, the fair-haired girl looked at me, then at my new acquaintance and assessed the reaction. After all, she didn’t transfer. “Get out of here,” Charlotte hit the table and noticed a box of cakes on it. I sat silently in my seat, not wanting to move. “Fuck off,” I just said. At that moment, Charlotte shut up. But not because I told her. But because a guy came into the classroom… It was Ryan Types. “Do you know who you’re telling this to?”, She turned her gaze back to me while Ryan looked appraisingly at the class and thought about where to sit. Is this the surprise Andre was talking about? I almost had a panic attack. I didn’t hear that hysterical girl anymore. I didn’t hear anything, no sounds, I didn’t see anything but him… Sitting in front of me. The insults continued, only as if already in a dream. Ryan didn’t pay any attention to us, took out his iPhone and unlocked the screen until Charlotte started to get hysterical and pushed me to Jade. “I don’t care who you think you are,” I said through my teeth in an icy tone and sat back down, “just shut up.” Of course, she didn’t calm down. She lost her temper and started yelling so that her skin turned red. Ryan sighed very irritably and turned to us. “Didn’t you hear what she said? Stop disgrace yourself,” he stared straight at her and rolled his eyes, and then condescendingly hissed, “you’re annoying everyone today. You couldn’t even get what I asked for.” Then Charlotte exploded, and, grabbing the lid from the box in a fit of anger, crushed the cakes with it so that they turned into porridge. Once again insulted me and went with her friend to an empty seat next to the window. I didn’t know who she was, but I knew exactly who Ryan was. He humiliated her in front of everyone. Destroyed her. And it worked. Because he was mad as hell, too. The guy didn’t look at me—he didn’t look at anyone at all after that hateful, black-filled look of gray eyes. Obviously, it was vital for him to get what he was talking about. Now I had to find out what it was. I wouldn’t just leave it like that. At that time, I could not have imagined that our first meeting would be like this… That Ryan would use it to his advantage.