FAIRYTALES FOR A HUMAN (Lesbian)

Part 12 HUMAN

"That is not a problem. We could talk in a relaxed atmosphere," her pleasant voice was soothing.

"Alright," I agree with a heavy heart: I have no makeup on, my face must be still slightly swollen, and I was wearing sweatpants. That's gonna be the quickest interview in the history of mankind.

"I'll send you the exact address."

I should probably postpone the meeting till tomorrow, and properly prepare for it (to know where the hell I'm going to, at least). But the stingy feeling of losing something I never actually possess, made me a real wreck of a human, and don't care whether to have one more useless talk with a complete stranger in a dull office in sweatpants or not.

The office is situated in the old city or, as we also call it, the historic center. One part belongs to fancy famous boutiques, cozy cafes, and restaurants that have been existing since, I think, the Big Bang; another one hosts elaborate old mansions that look like creamy wedding cakes. The interior seems to be untouched, but the signs with the firm's logos and abbreviations can be seen on almost every door.

I find the address in no time, for I have already been to the nearby building. I toss my head: hello the Groundhog Day! The name of the company is something-something and Co. I don't even bother to memorize it, knowing it's the first and the last interview here. I see the resembling logo and enter the mansion front door.

To my great surprise, there is no security, reception desk or any office sounds. The mansion looks like a real mansion, both outside and inside. I stay in disbelief for a second, "What if the interview proposal is just a stupid dodge or prank, and now I'm in someone's real house?"

Checking myself, I make some sounds:

"Hello? Is anybody here?"

"Come on in!" I hear the familiar female voice from the distance. I look around to find an antique-looking clothes tree with some patina and wide "claws", "paws", and "pegs" like a real branchy tree. In the right-hand corner, there are marble stairs leading to the second floor. Certainly, the voice came from above; that's why I leave my "cabbage" coat and start ascending.

I'm in a dark lounge in front of three closed doors. The interior and the atmosphere remind me an old fairytale my parents and grandparents used to read me when I was a child. I am like a brave warrior on a noble stud who is reading the prophetic words on the boulder: if you go to the right, you'll find your demise; if you go to the left, you'll lose your horse; and if you go straight down the... "OK, stop that nonsense!" I command myself.

My choice falls on the middle door, and it's clear why: it was slightly open, and I could see amber light pouring through the narrow door crack.

My interviewer is a woman in her early thirties. She is slim and attractive; arrogant and self-confident in her manners and posture. "Syl would probably have to sell his soul to get this woman in his collection; none of his tricks would work here," I notice with pleasure.

She stands up to greet me, and I am admiring her elegant clothes: a white V-necked blouse that's tucked in a slim, high-waisted pencil skirt. She stretches her delicate hand with an expensive golden watch, and I slightly shake it, smelling her sweet-peachy perfume.

She smiles tenderly, stretching her coral red lips, "I'm so glad you could come! I hope it wasn't too much trouble? Would you like some tea or coffee?" she says it like I am her bosom friend.

"No, thank you," I'm murmuring (I'm sick and tired of crazy tea parties today!)

She is laughing like a Tinker Bell as if having overhead my thoughts. No one ever was so genuinely happy to see me during the interview.

"Marina," she says my name, sitting on her chair. "May I call you Marina?"

I nod, still under a strange impression of her smile. I am trying to catch every gesture she is making like a kid who's watching a magician's performance for the first time.

"Tell me about you, Marina," she sexually bites her lower lip,"I want to know everything."

And I'm telling and telling her about my achievements and education. But she starts asking me personal questions. I'm drowsy, very drowsy. I'm telling her all about my childhood, and family, and friends, my favorite colour, and movie, and what not. I'm like in a dream and don't feel anything strange about doing it. I'm telling her about things neither my parents nor Sylvester knows. She seems so nice and trustworthy, so I eagerly want to please her. I don't want her beautiful smile to be washed away from her angelic face because of my disobedience. Why, why on earth I was so sad today? I don't even remember. Life's so perfect when she's near.

"You are an amazing human, Marina. Do you know about it?"

I'm speaking softly something vague in turn. She undertakes some cat moves and already at my chair. I'm losing an eye contact with her for a second maybe, and it makes me realize what have I just done, and who was the reason of my sadness. But it is too late; I am drowning.

"Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you," she's whispering in my ear, touching it slightly with her plump lips. She's bending over me, "Soon you'll be perfectly fine."

"I'll be fine," I'm repeating her words obediently. Her cold necklace is brushing my collarbone.

She's so close (I wish Doris could be as close to me as this woman). I'm closing my eyes, for I don't want to see hers, scary and pitch black. I feel a painful kiss on my lips like a real wasp's bite; I moan in her mouth and faints.