ANYA. Me neither.
YANA. He’s so sad, I want him to feel better. Maybe that is my coming of age? And right now I’m becoming a woman?
ANYA. I don’t know.
YANA. It’s cold. Or maybe it’s just me shivering? His dick is barely standing. But I’m still resisting. He just can’t break me. And keeps going.
ANYA. And she even starts blacking out into microdreams. Sinking down.
YANA. And he keeps on.
ANYA. She’s all sore.
YANA. Forty five minutes. Like a school class. Like this and like that. And he finally.
ANYA. Cums?
YANA. I don’t know, I don’t remember. I see loathing in his face. Eyes wild like a beast. He says, there’s no blood. Bitch. Who was it?? So you’re also a whore. Just like the rest.
ANYA. And hits her in the face with all of his might.
YANA. I crash against a concrete wall. I hear his steps, he’s cursing, walking away. Trips over and falls. Tries to get up. I notice myself thinking that I gotta help him, call him a taxi. That he won’t make it home without me, but do I have enough cash? I focus and see a stain. I throw up. But not because of the booze. I realize that it’s blood. From my temple. And that Mark and I are over. I’m puking my guts out.
I know no one will feel sorry for me, for what can I tell? Had drunken sex at eighteen with a boyfriend three years into a relationship and he pushed me against the wall because he failed to finish what he started? That’s ridiculous. I’ll never tell anyone about that. No one tied me up. No one put a knife to my throat. No one twisted my arms. I sometimes think, I’d rather it was like that, so I could claim I was a victim and ask for help and be mad at that asshole. And I still didn’t know I’d be so into baggy clothes when they come into fashion. And I still don’t know when I will stop torturing myself thinking about what a fool I was and what I have done wrong. And I don’t know how many years I’ll spend going to gynos by the clock, because one disease will come after another, until I get that it’s just me, that as long as I’m sick it’s like I have a justification and a kind of atonement.
17.
ANYA. I didn’t know back then what a torture it would be to just talk about it. Like everything would come to me as a shock. How every story would be about me. And how hard it is to see the other in it. I’m sorry I had no time to say that to Maya.
I haven’t seen Maya in a long while. She disappeared quite soon. I think someone said they’d met her once in the street later. She was saying her folks got her a camera and now she was gonna be a film director and make a film. But even if she never said that, even if she’s gone for good, I still can make that film for her.
We’ll find the money, we’ll have an amazing team. This will be a real film, very honest, very
painful, but anyway, whatever happens, there’ll be a light at the end of the tunnel. We’ll have our word. And we’ll be heard. And it will save someone’s life. And we’ll travel to the best film festivals. I wonder where Maya wanted to go. US? France? Her name will be in the credits. She’ll be offered a choice of the best outfits ever. She’ll be wearing a long high-necked dress, looking so gorgeous and independent. The journalists will fight to talk to her. But she’ll be bored with them, because fame is boring. And her Cumberbatch will be standing next to her on the red carpet just a few feet away. And he will approach her. And ask her how she’s doing and if everything’s alright. She’ll thank him for being there for her on that damned balcony. And he’ll shrug, like, no big deal, that’s the least I could do. And he will only look her in the eyes. And will offer his arm. And she’ll hold on to that strong arm in a perfectly tailored suit. And they’ll walk together. Maya, he will be looking at you. And you’ll be looking straight ahead. There are so many great things ahead. Do you hear me?
MAYA. The end.