Chapter VI

I had a twinge of Déjà vu while I smoked a cigarette on the roof.

I feel like I'd planned my escape many times, each with their own faults. But every time I sit up here, the desire grows.

Waiting for this night felt like counting the seconds on a clock. Grueling days, but this one is finally here. I wonder how it'll go. I wonder if he'll even come. Don't get your hopes up.

I started my descent on the slippery bricks. The sprinkling rain was common this time of year. The thing I liked about it the most was the smell of grass it left behind.

I stepped off the last bricks into the grass below, this time it felt more like mud. It squished and created little puddles.

I held up my nightgown while walking on the slick asphalt. I chose the dark red one today, my favorite one. I wanted to look just a little good, but I'm sure the rain will make me look like a wet dog once I see him.

The ground was cold on my feet. Every step took focus for me to not slip.

Though the walk was peaceful, I racked through every scenario in my brain that would make tonight a disaster.

Stefan doesn't recognize me, Stefan forgot, Stefan is going to use me.

Stefan will take me home and everything can be over.

His name felt so sweet, but the thoughts afterwards were awfully bitter.

And what if I get caught? How many lashes would I get? Before my back could even heal? The wounds were already such a burden now, dressing them and undressing them and having to sleep on my side. The last thing I want is for them to make it worse.

I came to the turn by the fir tree. Only a few more steps.

I saw some lights in windows, their glassy exterior dripping with rain. The streetlamps illuminated the reflective puddles and made the falling raindrops sparkle. It was much prettier than the snow. Four crows watched me from atop the lamp.

Then the park was in view.

I bouncily ran, trying to see his figure on the bench. I inched closer.

There was a black umbrella in his usual spot.

I stopped running to not scare him. He can't know about the excitement that's boiling in my chest, it would be way too embarrassing.

And he's gonna see my wet hair and ruined nightgown and I'm barefoot! He could never fall in love with me like this. But I don't even know him.

His legs were crossed on the bench, holding the umbrella with clear droplets gliding off the sides. His hair was wet and slicked back, and it still looked like he'd spent time on it. And he was waiting.

My feet splashed with careful steps.

"Stefan," I called out. My voice was quiet alongside the rain.

His head quickly turned, like he'd been expecting a voice.

His eyes brightened when he saw me. He scanned me up and down like he wanted to see me.

"You're her," He began, "Lana."

I laughed. Butterflies fluttered from my heart.

"You're the Izbran girl, I knew it was you." He exclaimed. With the happiness of his remembrance also came disappointment. Now he knows what I am.

"So, did you actually want lessons on Dushanism?" I asked playfully.

"Hell no, I wanted to make sure it was you! You know, I thought I was having one of those hyper realistic dreams or something, and you were this girl I'd never see again."

I laughed even though I didn't know what a hyper realistic dream was like.

"I'm really someone you'd want to see again?" I sarcastically replied.

"Well, I usually never see someone just out and about in their nightgown," he began, "so it's like, a big question mark that I kind of want to know more about." He smiled.

Embarrassment rushed to my cheeks.

"My God I'm rude. Come sit under the umbrella,"

"It's barely any use now," I joked. My hair was dripping and plastered to my skin. Nonetheless, I sat under it.

He sat for a while, watching the rain meet the top of the lake. I saw his eyes, and I did the same.

"What do you teach?" I asked, breaking the ice.

"Literature," he responded, "like poetry. You ever read any?"

"Romeo and Juliet." I instinctively answered. That, alongside the Book of Dusha, are the only books I've ever read.

"A beautiful story, but overdone if you ask me."

"Then what's a better story?"

"King Lear, also by Shakespeare,"

I listened eagerly.

"A story about a world governed by cruelty. It makes you think about your true self, the vulnerability within you, and if knowing yourself is fulfilling or painful."

I was reminded of my own questions. Ever since I was young, I wondered why it was me to be in this position. If being a chooser of fate was inherently bad.

And it reminded me of my choosing last night.

I don't even know who my mother is.

"Do you think you know yourself?" I asked.

"Not yet," He replied thoughtfully, "But I'm not sure if I want to know. I'd rather live in blissful ignorance." His smile cut the unnatural nature of the question. It was contagious.

Under his mask of unseriousness and approachability, I could see a different side in him. A more philosophical one than I would've pictured.

"Do you know a lot about Shate-sear, being a professor and all?"

He instantly laughed at my question.

"Shate-sear? You mean Shakespeare, right?"

"Yes, Shakespeare, I meant. How am I supposed to know his name?"

"He's only one of the most famous authors of all time?"

I looked at him with confusion.

"Come on, you really don't know? Uh, how about Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace?"

"Hm,"

"Edgar Allen Poe?"

I didn't reply.

"Stephen King?"

Blank.

"J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter?" His questions seemed to rise with concern rather than curiosity the longer it went on.

I shook my head to all of them.

"I don't read much,"

"You think?" He laughed. I didn't really laugh much.

His assumptions only made me think of the things I missed out on.

"If you don't read much, what have you read?"

There wasn't much to think about.

"The Book of Dusha." The answer felt cold to release.

His smile faded a bit.

"Oh," He responded.

I think this moment hit him with the realization of how different his life may be to mine; I could tell his eyes seemed regretful.

"And?" he asked politely, expecting another answer.

My mouth twitched, and I said nothing more.

"Ah, I can give you some books? The school has a big library full of classics,"

Where would I put them?

I've already contemplated giving away Romeo and Juliet. It's a burden to always keep hidden during cleanings.

"I'm not really allowed," was the quickest excuse I could think of, but it was the full truth.

He didn't have a response.

The air got colder.

I wondered if there was tension, or if it was just in my head. Maybe he was only thinking. Maybe I'd said enough to make myself seem sheltered and boring. That was my guess.

"What's it like?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Being an Izbran. What does that life look like?"

I bit my lip to hold back the things I truly wanted to say.

"It's not pretty," I smiled, "it's quite restrictive,"

He listened intently.

"In the institution you sleep in the same room with 30 girls, you bathe with 30 girls, there's not much privacy," I began. "And you spend your days learning about the Book of Dusha, then you go to sleep, and the next day it starts all over again. And a lot of times it feels animalistic. Like a cage, like you can only have so little."

Did I share too much? I'd never spoken about these kinds of things out loud, not even to an Izbran. It's only been bursting in my head for as long as I can remember.

"Sometimes I felt like I was in a cage too, growing up."

He twiddled with his fingers anxiously.

"My mom was like this," he held up a fist, "And my dad was like this," he put up his other fist while holding the umbrella, "and together, they were like this," He punched his fists together.

"And they never quite meshed, but they stayed together because of me." He said, reminiscing.

"And I wanted nothing more than to make them proud of me, but it seemed like all I could do was disappoint them. Like forever having growing pains. I was in this box of who they wanted me to be," he gestured like he could still feel the walls of it, "and I could never live up to that."

"You're trapped mentally, and I'm trapped physically," I noted.

"Hey, we can relate on more than you think." we laughed pensively.

And we continued to talk, all the way up until the moon reached the top of the sky, and the night was deep. We talked about sad things, and funny things, and related on things, and my cheeks hurt from how much I smiled.

His pen fell out of his pocket and rolled in the puddle beneath us. "No, my pants are tight!" he bellowed in surprise while pathetically trying to get off the bench.

I quickly got up to grab it before it rolled any farther into the lake before us.

"Almost lost it!" I exclaimed while picking it up. I admired its shiny exterior, engraved with Stefan Listratov.

When I turned around, I expected Stefan to happily thank me or at least be smiling, but he was not.

His eyes were widened, his mouth opened slightly. He looked at me fearfully, like something was immensely wrong.

What could I have done? Did he see Mother Ulyana back again? I just knew she was going to catch me, and I'd have to go back again.

"What happened to-" he asked cautiously. He touched his back.

My train of thought abruptly stopped.

I touched the bandages. They were soggy and stained, evident from my hand being smeared with my own blood. The rain.

Some of my wounds hadn't fully closed yet.

"My back?" I asked.

He nodded hesitantly.

There was nothing I could say to cover myself. I fell down the stairs? I got attacked by an animal?

There's no excuse that will cover slashes from a whip. Everyone can see what they are. I curled my hands in frustration. I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want him to pity me.

But the second he ended his sentence, a spark connected in my brain.

This could be my chance.

I'm already outside of the institution. I have nothing to go back for.

It could all be over if I say the right thing, and maybe he'll take me with him. I already have him in my hands. I could taste freedom.

"I was punished."

"But for what?" His voice was full of concern.

"I was late to class," I blurted. That would be quite a heavy punishment. "And after they punish you, they make you sleep outside on the street for a while,"

I'm getting closer.

Just let me.

"My God," his face curled in empathy.

He believed it.

Lying to him felt wrong. It felt so much worse than lying to a mother, or a sister. But I kept reminding myself that I'm lying for my own good, for my freedom. If I just get him in the right spot…

"Do you have anywhere I can go? Or maybe," my heart beat forcefully, "Maybe you have a place for me to stay?"

He put his hand up to his mouth, but stressfully. His eyes went in all directions, thinking.

It felt like forever waiting for him to reply, and the thought of having to sneak back in made me sick.

"I don't have much to offer, but- "He shook his head like he disagreed with what he was about to say. "Look,"

I listened carefully.

"I don't think I can do that tonight,"

My heart shattered into pieces. It fell on the ground and crumbled, and it wanted to pull me to the ground with it.

I had it in my hand, and it escaped.

"With you being…younger than me and all, I don't want to overstep my boundary,"

 "No, but it's okay, I'm saying it is, really it is." I frantically responded. My voice was filled with eagerness. I had lost my front of being complacent.

"It's- I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Nothing is going to happen to me."

I wished I was one of those people that didn't need to cry, and were strong. I held the lump in my throat sensitively, but carefully. I couldn't cry. It felt pitiful.

I could still see thoughts waving through his mind, maybe about to burst.

"How about we meet in the middle," He touched my shoulder.

I watched him tentatively.

"I can see that you aren't in a good position, and I wanna help you, but I want to make sure I protect both of us in the process."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"How about I drive you back to the institution today, and I'll tell you the building I live in, but only for an emergency."

An emergency? How much worse could I feel about being trapped there?

"And we'll keep meeting each other, and each time I want you to let me know what's happening,"

My eyes scrunched in confusion. Where is he going with this?

"And if all that you're telling me is true, I'll let you stay with me, and we'll talk to the police about this 'institution',"

"So, this is a long way to say, yes?" The hope began to drip once more.

"Yes, but we need to be smart." He tapped his head with content. "But if something happens, call me or…here," He scribbled loosely on a wet piece of paper in his notebook. The pen reflected the lights from all around. Pervomayskaya Building 3. Call 034; Listratov.

I folded it and held it tightly.

An intervention. That's what it felt like.

Getting as much dirt as possible on the institution.

Finally punishing them before they can destroy me. It was perfect.

"Someone told me that I'm gonna get in trouble for the dumb decisions I make," Stefan laughed.

And though I'd love to leave with him now, I understand. I've told myself a million times, I don't know him. Who says he hasn't thought the same about me? How could he trust me? How could he know that I'm even telling the truth? And if I was, would taking me away now be the best option?

He's not stupid.

"Let me take you back, it's getting late."

 ☨

I had never been in a car, so to answer if his was new or old, nice or unkempt, I wouldn't know. But it moved fast, and the little bumps and movements made my stomach churn.

The ride back was quiet, but that was okay. I had more interest looking at the pins of lights and dark green foliage pass by in a flash. Even the raindrops were pushed by the wind, almost like they were racing on the window. It was peaceful.

Not exactly comfortable though, due to the large jar of coins by my feet. I had to sit awkwardly to avoid it. Stefan said he collects coins.

When the short ride came to an end, a much shorter journey than walking, I stepped barefoot on the gravel with a belly full of dread. I don't know how many times I'll get away with it.

"Thanks," I said wryly, feeling envy towards Stefan as he sat in the warm car. "Be safe, I'll see you tomorrow?" He asked.

I nodded my head.

Then when he left, it wasn't just me. It was me, and the daunting shadow of fear at my feet.