Twisted

by Lola Smirnova

  A splash of cold water onto my face brings me back to consciousness. I return to the horrifying reality very slowly, feeling more and more pain with every second.

  ‘Stay still, Julia.’ I recognise Mehmet’s voice. It’s calm and friendly. He is sitting on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees and looking down at me, ‘It’s going to be a long and rough night for you, so let me help you to reduce the pain you are about to go through. Besides, it looks like your nose is broken so sniffing is not an option for you right now.’

  There is a small black bag in his hands. He unzips it and takes out a syringe with a rubber tube. I shrug away in a weak attempt to object, but the movement only whips up my agony.

  He cords my arm and gently injects me, disregarding my faint supplication that’s smeared with the blood and tears from my face.

  The warm and persistent wave enters my body, as if it’s not a two-mil syringe but a bathtub filled with bubbly hot water that’s been shot inside me. I close my eyes and drown in a pleasant world, one so generously quick to take over the reality that’s poisoned with terror and suffering.

  * * *

  Hi my Poppy-seed,

  What is going on? You are really making me worry now .

  You don’t answer my emails any more. I tried to call you today too and your cell is off. Please answer me asap.

  We are back home. So happy to see mom and papa .

  The only thing that keeps me sleepless is you .

  Please Jul! Let me know what is going on.

  Love you a lot.

  xxx

  54

  I come alive, shivering. I am freezing. It is so cold that my numb body is unbearably sore. I am lying on the ground and bright sunlight is hurting my eyes. As I force myself to lift up my head, in extreme pain, I see nothing but miles of tall, dry grass around me.

  I look down at myself. My sweater is ripped in a few places. My skinny jeans’ fly is not closed. They are not worn properly, hanging below my thighs. There are no panties or shoes at all. I am camouflaged with stains of blood and mud. I don’t even want to imagine what my face looks like – it’s bloated and covered with curdling blood, which I feel as I wince from the sun’s rays.

  The memories of last night start flashing through my head, sharp, distressing.

  They didn’t kill me … I am alive …

  Despite that I am cold, hungry, injured, and have no idea where I am. I cannot believe I am alive. I don’t remember much of what happened after I was shot with crack or heroin, except for some short moments of coming back to consciousness and witnessing every kind of twisted sexual abuse they were coming up with.

  The terror, humiliation and pain were all damaging, but the worst experience, it turned out, was the fear of death and then, when the terror exhausted me completely, the comprehension and acceptance of the fact that I was going to die. I guess now I know that there is only one thing that can be worse than death, and that is to wait for it – the absolute certainty that your life is over while you are still breathing.

  I start crying, but my body is so dehydrated that there are no tears. As I slowly get off the ground and pull my pants up, I hear the noise. It takes me some time to understand where it comes from. There is a road! And there are cars! I can call for help!

  I walk quickly, ignoring the piercing ache that each step brings me. I hug myself, trying to warm up and stop the shivers, which pitilessly worsen the pain.

  I wave, but none of the first three passing cars stops. My desperation and self-pity turns my tearless weeping into a wild howl. My vision is blurring, so I feel even more lost and isolated than before. I try to wave more cars down but with no success, until I run into a police car, which pulls off as soon as the cops see me.

  ‘Ma’am, are you all right?’ One of the policemen hurriedly gets out of the car and walks towards me. ‘What happened, ma’am? Do you need us to take you to the hospital?’

  I want to reply yes, but a weird, persistent rumble plugs my ears and the darkness blinds my eyes, inflating me with unpleasant feeling …

  I must have passed out. The next thing I see is an upside down newspaper folded in the back pocket of the front car seat and the sleeve of a police uniform. I am lying on the back seat with my head hanging down off it. I close my eyes again and try to focus on what they are talking about, activating all my brain cells to be able to translate from Turkish.

  ‘Julia Lazar. Year of birth 1983. Ukraine.’ The uniform sleeve is reading aloud from the paper in his hand.

  ‘There is no way we are taking her to the hospital. She is just a stoned Ukrainian hooker. Aliens department,’ the one in the driver’s seat replies.

  They had found the copy of my passport in the back pocket of my jeans.

  Crap. This cannot keep happening to me.

  I sit up and lie back down straight away, fighting the dizziness.

  ‘I need help. I didn’t do anything wrong. They hijacked and raped me.’

  ‘Don’t even try,’ one of them interrupts me, then continues speaking Turkish, with a tiresome tone to his voice. ‘First, we do not speak English. Second, we deal with orospu23 like you every day, and I have no desire to listen to your bullshit right now. So shut up.’

  An hour later, after being fingerprinted and signing some papers I didn’t even understand, I am jailed in a cell with another five women. I know all of them speak Russian, although none of them have said a word. The only two short benches are occupied by four of them, two on each side, and the fifth one is just sitting on the floor, opposite a little smelly loo, which is separated from the cell by a short brick wall.

  I go to the free space against the wall, drop myself onto the floor, and close my eyes.

  55

  I keep waking up. I am in so much pain that even when my exhausted body fades into a short and troubled sleep, my mind doesn’t switch off; it keeps throwing me into a mass of agony. On top of my injuries, the withdrawal symptoms are worsening. My skin is dreadfully sensitive and it feels like my blood is boiling, as if I am burning alive.

  The hard, cold concrete floor makes my state deteriorate even more. Every time I move my joints, unconsciously seeking relief, it feels like they will crack into pieces.

  I am dying … or I wish I would just die …that this suffering would end … not even another second …

  The desperate thoughts of how good it would be if those bastards had killed me while I was still high are fucking me up completely. I can’t endure it … no more … I need some drugs … not another second! I can’t!

  I get up, fighting the severe dizziness, and step to the cell bars. ‘Someone, I need help! Please … I need a doctor!’ I shout to nowhere with a hoarse voice.

  It’s dark and quiet. Probably night-time now.

  I hear nothing in response and try again, louder. ‘I need a doctor! Help me please!’

  ‘Oh just shut up!’ one of my cellmates sluggishly objects. ‘No one will come to rescue you, Princess, so stay quiet and let us sleep.’

  I step back from the bars, rubbing my arms and shoulders, trying to ease the burning sensation on my skin.

  ‘For how long will they keep us here?’ I say to the darkness, towards the voice of the woman.

  ‘Nobody knows,’ she responds in the same sleepy manner. ‘We stay here until they find a place on the bus or ship to deport us. It could take a day or a week. Is it your first time?’

  I don’t answer, swallowed up by an extreme desperation. I need a dose and there is no way I can get it here. The withdrawal is getting worse and worse, and I don’t know if I can take it anymore.

  I go back to my place at the wall, lean against it and slowly slide down to the floor, letting the hot stream of silent tears abundantly wash my face.

  I don’t know how long I sit there for, staring into the darkness, trying to talk myself through. I force myself to think the only thought that my brain is capable of accepting: that, no matter how painful it is now, it won’t go on forever.
Until I pass out …

  The dry cough that burns my lungs wakes me. My body is shivering. I have a fever. I don’t know if it is the withdrawal that’s mutated into some kind of cold or flu, or if I’m sick for real from lying on the cold floor for so long. I open my eyes. There is half a slice of white bread on the floor and a bottle of water next to me. I greedily eat it without looking around, ignoring the pain in my face that the chewing is causing, then close my eyes and go back to sleep.

  * * *

  What is happening Jul?

  Are you in trouble?

  I managed to call Inna. She told me a lot of things, but I didn’t believe her. She is just a jealous alky!

  I am worried. It has been two weeks since your last email. And your phone is dead! Please reply to me as soon as you can.

  We love you very much …

  xxx

  56

  The doorbell rings, interrupting me from finishing my homework, which I’ve been trying to get out of the way for the last hour already. It’s the beginning of May. Summer has come early. It is hot and seductively pleasant outside. But I have a Chemistry test tomorrow and cannot understand a word I am reading in my textbook.

  All that seventh-graders can think about is dating and partying. Why can’t adults simply understand that and leave dodgy things like physics and chemistry out of our curriculum?

  I am alone in the apartment, so I have to get up to open the door. Lena is still at school, my father is working, and mom and Natalia are away in Istanbul.

  ‘Hey, Jul, is Lena home?’ It’s Serega with his friend.

  ‘No, she is at school still, should be home soon,’ I answer, trying to sound cool, but feeling shy: I’ve been caught in my old home dress by two eleventh-graders, even though one of them is my sister’s boyfriend.

  ‘Can we wait inside?’ Serega’s friend jumps in. I think his name is Pasha.

  ‘Sure. Can I get you some iced water? It’s really hot today.’ As we walk into the kitchen, Pasha hugs me from behind and jokingly exclaims, ‘Uff ... what a pretty sister Lena’s got. Maybe I should date you. What do you think, Jul?’

  They grin as I try, blushing, to pull my dress back down, which has ridden up from Pasha’s unexpected grab.

  ‘What are you up to? Studying?’ Serega asks, while winking at his friend. ‘You know, Pasha is an outstanding student in our class. He could teach you a lot of things.’

  They grin again, looking at each other, and I realise that they are making fun of me.

  ‘Okay, I really have to study. I have a Chemistry test tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, Chemistry?’ Pasha interrupts me and they laugh again. ‘That’s my favourite.’ He moves closer to me and hugs me again, this time from the front, pressing his crotch against me.

  I push him away, trying to free myself. ‘Okay, guys, you wait here. Lena should be back soon.’ I leave the kitchen. But Pasha laughs again, which irritates me, and follows me to the room.

  ‘I can teach you some …’

  As we walk in, he grabs me in a tight hug again and starts kissing me, while groping my ass under my skirt. I try to push him away again but this time he forcefully grips my hair, making it very painful for me to move.

  ‘What are you doing? Stop it, you idiot!’ I scream.

  ‘Serega, come help me! The doll doesn’t want to study!’ he shouts while pushing me onto my desk.

  ‘What are you doing? Her sister will come back soon! Are you crazy?’ Serega exclaims as he walks in. He knows what is about to happen.

  ‘Tell him … tell him to stop!’ I shout now at Serega, while trying to fight with his friend. But as he approaches us he grabs my hands and pulls them down to the desk.

  ‘Let’s do it quickly …’ I hear, and still cannot believe that it is happening to me …

  Pasha closes my mouth with his sweating hand, rips my underwear, then falls on and forcefully penetrates me. I look up with a stare full of pain and pleading, hoping that Serega will take pity on me and stop this nightmare. But it is Alexandra now, who with her animal smile is firmly holding my hands and repeating her sugary ‘You really enjoy this, Victoria, right? You really do?’

  A stronger wave of pain and terror suffocates me … the greater the horror in my eyes, the more Pasha gets excited … all of a sudden my whole world narrows down to drops of sweat that are falling from his chin onto my cheeks … one after another, echoing his rhythmical, aching strikes … one after another …

  ‘Wake up … wake up … your sister is here.’

  I jerk, trying to understand where I am and what is going on. The dream was so real that I am actually surprised that I am not in my room in Kherson. I’ve had nightmares about it once in a while, but they’d never been so detailed and close to what had happened to me as this one.

  ‘Jul, oh my God! What happened to you?’ I hear the voice that’s almost crying, and it takes me a few seconds to recognise it.

  It’s Natalia!

  I get up and walk to the bars.

  ‘Nata … Nata … how did you find me?’ I start crying as I see the pity and horror in her eyes. I know she is shocked to see me like this. I stretch my arms through the bars and hug her. ‘Oh, Nata, you were so right … it’s all my fault …’

  She hugs me back, very firmly. ‘Don’t cry, my baby sister … everything is going to be fine … we are going home.’

  Her sobs make her voice quiver.

  * * *

  THREE MONTHS LATER …

  ‘Jul? I am busy here with a client. Can you please write down the appointment for this lovely lady?’ Natalia is shouting from the men’s part of the hair salon.

  ‘With pleasure,’ I reply with my welcoming smile to the ‘lovely lady’ as I walk in.

  I’ve been working in my sisters’ salon for two months. Natalia has done some short hairdresser’s courses, and now does some of the easier cuts if the three hairstylists who work for them are busy or have a day off.

  Lena has learned how to do acrylic and gel nails. It was our mother’s idea to expand our services, and since my middle sister set up a table in the women’s part of the salon, business has picked up even more.

  I’ve always found touching people’s hair freaky, so I deal with supplies and the clients at reception.

  I’ve been clean for three months. As soon as Natalia had got me out of my fucked-up situation she insisted on me going to rehab. I agreed. ‘We both know you need it, Jul. It’s really difficult to do it on your own. You will have to get proper help if you want to stop,’ she told me on the way home from Istanbul. ‘Besides, Jul, you look like shit and you don’t want mom and papa to see you like this. I found a good rehab a hundred kilometers away from Kherson. Let me take you there.’

  I just nodded and we went there straight from the airport. It was not easy, but in the end I came out of that place brainwashed and ready to start a new drug- and alcohol-free life. Now and then I still have my mellow moods and light depressions. It’s really not easy, but ‘one day at a time’, and I do generally feel like a new person.

  The most difficult part was coming back to the real world after the month in rehab, when one on one I faced all the evils inside me. My second week ‘out’ was the worst. My depression put me into such misery that I couldn’t even get out of my bed for five days. The only thing that could lull me was a line of coke that I wanted to get, despite the clear understanding that I may not have a second chance to survive. As I was losing it completely, Natalia walked into our bedroom with a cup of hot tea and some astonishing news about my ex-roommate Inna. Apparently she was on one of her regular trips back home on the ship to renew her visa. Obviously wasted, she fell overboard and drowned. It was night-time so the crew only noticed her absence in Kherson port when it was too late even to search for her body. The story was awful, but it encouraged me to stay strong and eventually helped me to climb out of my fucking depression.

  It could have been me instead of Inna. It can still be me, if I do not stop moaning
and take control of my life … oh, Nata, what would I do without you …

  All the way from Istanbul I couldn’t stop crying and apologising to Natalia for what I’d said and done. ‘You were right. I was irresponsible. I put you girls down and almost killed myself … you were so right, Nata,’ I mumbled, wetting the sleeve of her sweater.

  ‘Don’t cry, my baby! I never should have said those things to you. No one is perfect and anyone can make mistakes.’ She was calming me down, gently stroking my hair. And, after a deep sigh: ‘Including me. I’ve also done a stupid thing.’

  I looked at her with worry and surprise.

  Nata? A stupid thing?

  ‘What do you mean? What happened?’

  ‘Agh … you know the story about my Russian boyfriend in France …’

  ‘Yes, Lena told me in her emails that he’s a perfect guy, and that you two are serious about each other.’

  ‘Yeah, turns out I can be as blind as Lena. He seemed serious about us, and kept telling me. And then I fell pregnant …’

  She paused, trying not to cry.

  ‘What? Are you? Now?’ I stared at her, pointing at her belly.

  ‘Yes, and the bastard disappeared as soon as he found out about it. He said congratulations, then stopped returning my calls …’

  She sighed and looked away. She was ashamed. ‘Yeah … so, as you see, I am not Miss Perfect either …’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked. ‘Are you going to keep the baby?’

  She sighed again and said, with desperation in her voice, ‘I don’t know, Jul. I don’t know what I want to do about it … I haven’t figured it out yet …’

  ‘Oh, Nata, don’t worry. Whatever you decide, I am sure it will be the right solution. Besides, you have us to support you, right?’

  She hugged me again and I fell silent, trying to process the information she’d thrown at me. I was a little shocked. I would be ready to hear that from Lena, but not my big sister …