Breathe the ocean in

24

MARI

Time flies by, and the winter storms take away from me the joy of sea journeys. On Sundays we're walking round the city, visiting old Kir's friends or staying home which is more often. It's February when Kir tells me surprisingly we're invited to his parents. Both of us. Kiram doesn't visit them a lot, once a couple months at most. And he normally drives to his father's house alone which makes me indescribably happy. But this time something went wrong, and I'll have to go through the evening of concealed insults and humidity as I fairly believe.

On Sunday Kir insists that I have to wear some of the jewels he gave me. That's the rule of good taste and the indicator of his care for family. Sifting through the golden trinkets I wonder who helps him to chose all of this stuff.

- Sellers, - the boy answers artlessly. And I feel like facepalm.

Everything that's available looks blatantly tacky. Choosing the less eccentric variant I still can't decide which dress would suit to such a brilliance for a long time. I settle on a plain black silk covered with a black lace – Dina talked me into buying this one in the fall, but it's hanging idle in the wardrobe since then. Comes in handy. Some sleek make up with the focus on eyes, slicked back hair and the gross necklace looks not so vulgar now. I'm putting a drop of fragrance to my skin, and Kir is sniffing it eagerly:

- Why don't you use perfume usually? - He wonders leaning to the crook of my neck. - This scent insanely suits you. I'm about to send everything to hell and stay home.

- Fragrance is like a night gown, it's silly to wear it on a daily basis. You lose the sense of highday, - I'm burying my fingers in his long again hair enjoying his touch. But we have to set off if we don't want to be late. - Your plan is miraculous, but I'm afraid Samir will not understand the rejection, - I sigh.

We're in the hall now ready to leave. I'm watching our reflection in the enormous, all over the wall, mirror and I point out that we're looking awesome together. Kir is wearing all black as usual and I suit him for once.

- Why are you wearing black only? – I ask for the first time over the past year.

- It's a matter of comfort. It'd be silly if I come to the lectures wearing green pants and orange shirt, - I'm giggling at such an extraordinary image of him and get a kiss on my nose.

- Don't make fun of me, - he frowns a little theatrical, but his lips turn into a satisfied smile.

- I have to work on your wardrobe, - I'm extending words with a promise.

- Sounds like a threat, - he breaths to my ear.

- I'll just spice your dark image up with all the shades of pink, - I can't miss a chance to wind him up. And my long-suffering neck pays for it experiencing not so faint bite. It's good this dress has a high collar.

- Sometimes I think you're a vampire drinking my blood on the sly, - I clap his shoulder. – Actually all I wanted is to offer you few white shirts, it will look gorgeous.

- If you say so, - the would-be bloodsucker says and rubs over me with his hard-on.

- We'll be overdue, - I'm trying to talk some sense into the crazy boy.

- We'll be quick, - he counters, lifts up the hem of my dress and sits me down onto the so luckily standing near us high table grabbing my butt.

I'm admiring the view which mirror opens to me: two slim gothic figures are moving in a one rhythm, my legs covered with thin stockings are wrapped tightly around seductive man's ass. I guess I'm coming solely for the depraved view above his shoulder.

Kir the lingerie shredder as I call him sometimes jokingly doesn't allow me to replace the destroyed piece of my outfit. Feeling like I smell through with sex in a quite rumpled dress I get behind the wheel. I'm hissing resentfully that it's a dreadful and absolutely impolite to make a visit in this manner. He only laughs carefree.

I saw mister Samir's riad briefly before besides I wasn't in a mood to appreciate all the luxury of the house and was lead through the back door. Now it amazes me with its décor – to pack so much gold in a one space not slipping into vulgarity takes a lot of skill. It's beautiful in here like in a museum, but the house doesn't make me want to live in it. Bless the God, I don't have to.

Jahiza meets us at the entrance, embraces her son and – what's weird – me. She offers me to take off the street clothes and leads us to the magnificent living room where the low table is set already. Azra and Samir join us soon. They hug us both making me feel super awkward. The dinner goes tolerably well until a certain moment. We're touching on neutral topics only during our conversation such as Kiram's study and weather. When the coffee is served, Samir says in the same leisurely voice he discussed the yesterday rainfall:

- It's your birthday soon. You proved that you can be independent, son. Do you remember a friend of mine, Umar? - Waiting for Kir's nod Samir goes on. - I saw him the other day. And we discussed your marriage. He has a daughter, Alia. Smart and beautiful. She'll make a good wife. We scheduled your wedding on the fifth of March, it's Saturday. Your mother and Azra are worried if they can make this deadline. But I think you'll help them with pleasure, Mari, won't you? – He addresses me this time.

I sit there like struck by the lightning. I knew the wedding is coming. I knew this is the important term of my freedom. Even more to it I was waiting for this wedding with anticipation. But right now this news tastes like ashes on my tongue. I can't utter one syllable and only nod as an answer. Then I'm rushing away without apologies, running to the restroom. No, I'm not crying. I'm smiling bitterly to my reflection in a pompous golden-framed mirror: you're not destined to be the one, baby. In any world. I'm feeling sick of such news, like literally. After washing up I order myself: get your shit together! I have to come back home and if this challenge is inseparable, I'll go through it. What about Kir... Kir's just a boy I should never have met. There's only one detail to it – I have to believe it.

KIRAM

Father found the suitable wife for me exactly as once he chose Mari. But I don't feel excited like a year ago somehow. When Mari rushes away, my first reaction is to follow her. Father keeps me back with his overbearing voice:

- Let go. She needs time to get used to it, - I feel that I'm acting wrong now, but I can't defy. The grip of habit and tradition is in my blood and it's strong. Father commands - I obey. – You don't seem to be glad, - he goes on as if nothing had happened.

- I appreciate your concern, - my answer is evasive.

- Sure thing. But I'm talking not about your gratefulness. I see that you bonded with your beigaly pretty much. This bond shouldn't become an obstacle. There are traditions and there's duty towards your family. This alliance is vital for us.

All I can is nod. I didn't expect he would find a bride for me so soon. I hoped he would never do. The sense that all what's happening is wrong is downing on me together with a hunch about an inescapable disaster. I'm definite she will not accept it. And I have no idea what to do with all the crap dropped on me. Mari is absent quite for a while. She says that she doesn't feel well when comes back and asks for a permission to get back home. I tend to agree. Father insists on his driver to give us a ride, and we're keeping silence all over the way bound by the stranger's presence. I'm holding her cold a bit trembling fingers in my hand and slowly realizing how global this double-cross is.

Mari hides in the bathroom straight away when we're home. I'm waiting by the door like a fool expecting for my verdict. An eternity later she's walking out calm which cannot but rejoice. I'm catching my girl, pressing her against the wall for her not run away:

- Mari, - I whisper desperately. - It's just the tradition and family interests. There's only you in my heart.

- Doesn't matter, Kir, - she says aloof. - I'm going home anyways.

Her voice, her indifferent intonation it knocks my breath out. Gasping with pain I can hear her leaving to the guest room after extricating herself out of my arms. No. I won't let you go. I'm sorry, sun, not in this life.