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As expected, Ignas was working while we visited. It’s promoted as a reverse Hole Store where men stand behind holes, and women pick a stick to fuck. Ever since Kamila took over, Hole Stores and the other franchise stores have become more unisex. Yes, only women work there, but now, it’s accepted to go there as a woman. The COCKed&screwed near our home has a reputation for all the men that frequent it, Smolyakov being one of them.
I had my notepad with me, ready to take notes, but I couldn’t cope once I saw Ignas atwork. His superiors will notify him that I visited, and I must come up with an excuse on why we didn’t stay.
Smolyakov is brooding in my living room, chatting with somebody on his phone. He hates me for dragging us out of there so soon.
“How can you think of Ignas that way when you know his history?” I ask Smolyakov. He shrugs, and I want to attack him with a pillow.
I let Mr. Winters into my safe space, my home. Now, it doesn’t feel the same anymore.
“Easy,” Smolyakov responds. “I’m a cruel piece of shit that doesn’t care about the details.”
“That’s not even funny.” He’s not being remotely funny. Smolyakov doesn’t lie. It’s not in his nature. He hides things, but he means what he says.
“I fucked Ignas of today, not his past self.” He takes a screenshot on his phone, squinting his eyes at the image. “Want to see a botched dick pic?”
I decline the kind offer by shaking my head.
Smolyakov goes on, “Live in the now. You can’t keep bringing up old shit.”
“An abusive past… An entire childhood of abuse isn’t old shit. I’m wary because I know him. Ignas is sensitive even if he doesn’t outright show it.” I take a deep breath. “Please, be careful.”
“Whatever.” He puts aside his phone for me. “Can you draw me like one of your French—”
Before he can finish his sentence, I’m out of the room. I grab my utensils, sketching book, and pencils. Hurrying back into the living room, I drop half of my stuff. Meanwhile, Smolyakov positions himself in front of the window. He’s looking outside, trying to find a sophisticated pose.
With my sketching book in hand, I get comfortable on the floor.
“Can you hold that position for a little while?” I ask Smolyakov. He’s glancing outside, and I have the perfect view of his thin and straight nose. His face is full of angles, and they’re perfect for sketching.
“Of course, bitch,” he responds, glaring at me. He takes his final position, and I start outlining.
I lose myself while I sketch, forgetting time and place. It’s just Smolyakov and me. He’s vain enough to endure my hobby without complaints.
It gets dark very late on Katantia, and I use every bit of sunray.
We’re both beat from work and our COCKed&screwed visit. Smolyakov doesn’t show a sign of fatigue, but I feel my hand grow heavy. My eyelids flutter lazily.
When it gets so dark that I can’t see the sketch on my paper, I rise from the floor, yawning. While I shut the blinders and turn the lights on, Smolyakov does one of his contemporary dance stretches. He’s a flexible man, and sometimes, he scares the shit out of me.
The city girl in me is easily intimidated by monsters.
And I surround myself with tons of them.
“Good sesh. Let me know if you want the molly. I’m seeing my guy tomorrow. There’s a rave downtown on Saturday if you’re interested,” Smolyakov offers. He picks up his keys, his phone, and his shoes. Barefoot, he leaves my home.
I take a deep breath. I can do this.
After a quick shower, I grab my new drawing of Smolyakov, my hammer, and two nails. Whistling to myself, I enter my bedroom. There’s one empty spot on the wall near the door. It takes less than two minutes to secure my new wall decoration.
When I finish, I take a couple of steps back to admire my work.
I take another step back, and I crash into a warm body behind me. I let out a shriek thathenumbs out by covering my mouth with his hand. He drops the hand when he sees that I’ve calmed down. The shock doesn’t pass, though.
I wasn’t expecting Mr. Winters to show up. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see my pet,” he says matter-of-factly.
“A pet? What pet?” I ask, drawing my eyebrows together.
