MAYA. Yana is on the floor. The stench. Loud music, lagging sometimes, then uploading again. Max is surely not here, he’s run off. And no one is here for Yana. Someone’s turned off the lights. Just phone screens flashing here and there. The sweat. Clothing folds. Friction. Someone’s tongue in her ear. That taste in her mouth she’ll now never misidentify. The pain doesn’t matter anymore. Like that time she fought with the girls. Someone is holding her arms. Yana is not resisting anymore. There’s no point. She blacks out.
15.
MAYA. I don’t know how. But it’s over. Yana finds herself on the balcony. Enter Ilya. Shining with sweat, sobering up. Pulls out cigarettes. Hands them to Yana.
ILYA. Wanna smoke?
MAYA. She says nothing.
ILYA. Babe, all good?
MAYA. She says nothing.
ILYA. Come on, it’s alright, it was just some fun with the boys. A bit over the top maybe. But it’s alright, innit? You’re beautiful, you’re cool, you’re our friend, come on. They’re taking the lads to the army. You don’t know yet. We just got plastered tonight. So pissed. We’ll make up for it to ya, you know… We’re the clout.
MAYA. She says nothing. Turns her face and stares at him. Ilya says, cold and angry…
ILYA. No one made you.
MAYA. She’s silent. Stares blankly. And Ilya’s yelling, just like her dad in her childhood.
ILYA. No one has made you do this, you get it?! You came all by yourself.
MAYA. Ilya tosses the cigarette away. They’re high, up on the twelfth floor.
YANA. You’re a faggot, right?
MAYA. Ilya turns white, spitting out the words.
ILYA. You know nothing about me. You’re just a whore.
MAYA. Ilya leaves, of course. Yana is standing on the balcony. Enter Max, with a stupid smile. Doesn’t look at her, lights a cigarette too, exhales the smoke all over her. Chats.
MAX. Yana, listen. Let’s just go, you and I. Huh? They’re just jerks, come on. A rush of sperm to their heads. Let’s just, you know, go have a walk, you know, like we used to.
MAYA. Max nods to the street down below.
MAX. You may like them, I know. But they don’t respect you, trust me. I’m sick of them. They just talk shit. I’ve realized there are more important things in life. Listen up, found this vanilla post on VK, you’ll love it.
MAYA. And Max reads.
MAX. One should live for the little things. Live for the sunrise at 5 am, for road trips, for biking with music in your ears and wind in your hair, for dancing in the rain, for laugher that makes your stomach hurt, for smiles that have no reason, for tea and cookies, for long conversations, hugs…