Page 113 of Lilies from Hell

“Don’t thank me. After all, you are part of me.” His features tighten with discontent. “I should have done it sooner.” The remorse in his voice makes me shift in my seat.

“It’s okay. They’re your things and…”

“They’re not my things, Lena. They are your things too.” He presses our lips together in a kiss before starting to kiss my face and part of my neck, tickling me.

“Stop. I have to go,” I say, laughing as I wriggle out of his arms.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he murmurs, his forehead resting on mine.

I rest my head on his chest, enveloping myself in his scent until the sky is completely dark and I get out of the car. When I enter the house, the first thing I do is go up to my bedroom and open the black envelope. Inside there are three different sets of keys, but my eyes focus on a black card with the letters American Express at the top. I furrow my brow, checking the card before sending him a message. Maybe he put it there by mistake.

I throw myself onto the bed on my back, waiting for a reply from him, but before it arrives, I fall fast asleep in a matter of seconds. I fear that what I have seen and done this afternoon will reappear in my dreams as a nightmare. But to my surprise, I have slept well. Too well. And that scares me even more.

36

“What did he say?” I ask. Grace, to my left on the sofa, makes a displeased face.

“He made me apologize to that idiot.”

“You owed him that.”

“You were an accomplice too. Besides, he robbed me and humiliated me in front of everyone,” she says.

“And you tried to kill him.” She clicks her tongue and looks away at the TV, where Keeping Up With The Kardashians fades into the background.

“You won’t do anything, right?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. She shakes her head.

“It’s better to leave it alone,” she shrugs her shoulders and narrows her eyes at something on my bed. I follow her gaze to the bank card and keys.

“Is that a black AMEX?” I nod very slowly, looking down at my fingernails. “Damn, girl!” she exclaims with a sly smile. Noticing my silence, her expression changes to a more serious one. “You’re not thinking of giving it back to him, are you?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it,” I murmur with a pout, pretending not to care.

The weekly allowance my parents give me is more than enough to support me for the rest of the year.

“Spend it! What else can you do?” She glances at the piece of plastic between her fingers. “It has to have some money in it, right?”

“I suppose so,” I say in a low whisper. She gives me a look with her head tilted to one side.

“Why the long face? Your boyfriend, Mr. Magic Fingers and Golden Dick, just gave you a black AMEX with tons of money in it,” she scoffs, waving the card.

I let out a long sigh and watch her playing with my fingers until I decide to speak.

“He asked me to move in with him. Twice. And he gave me the keys to his house. Or houses. I don’t know.”

I’m not going to tell her about the other day, even though that’s what really baffles me. I still can’t come to terms with the situation. My sudden lack of sensitivity towards the whole situation, to be precise. Not to mention the tingling in my hands every time the image of his body being riddled with bullets replays in my head over and over again.

Late at night, my stomach churns with the excitement you feel when you’re about to do something you’ve wanted to do for a long time, and my head aches, filling with blurry images that I still can’t make sense of. I want to remember. The uncertainty about what I did in my early teens grows every day. What disturbs me most is the slight suspicion that sooner or later my true self will resurface from wherever it is hidden and I will not know how to handle it.

“We’ll have to find another accountant before this whole mess blows up.” Denis mutters as he glances sideways at the ten-digit numbers on the papers in front of me, on the desk.

“You’re right. In fact, you’ll be in charge of that,” I say with a grin. Denis scowls.

“Now you’re going to make me recruit accountants too? Why don’t you just tell Sergei?”

The office's door swings open a second later, revealing my father with an unfriendly look on his face.

“I’m sick and tired of seeing you here every week, Kristoff. Find yourself another hole to fuck,” I mutter dismissing his presence as I turn my attention back to the documents.