"It all started with the game ..."
Gentle voice Defne trembles. She is so beautiful in the white dress of the bride, holding his arm and walking beside him. Very close. He feels hеr heart pounding furiously, how intermittently her breath pulls out of her chest, how tense her hand is on the crook of his elbow.
Her steps are getting slower ...
Games?
What does she say?
What game?
He stops and turns to her. He wants to read the answer to his question on her beloved face but sees only darkness. No Defne. In horror, he looks around. Looking for her gaze, but around there are only clouds of black smoke and ominous silence ... He rushes into this smoke and shouts:
- Defne !!!!
In a cold sweat, he tore off his rug and sat down in bed with a jerk. The echo of his voice floated through the darkroom. His mouth was dry and his head ached terribly.
Dream! This is only a dream!
The door swung open and an ultramodern LED chandelier lit up in the room. Its bright white light hurt his eyes and forced him to cover them with his hand.
"Omer," the alarmed female voice sounded very close, "what's wrong with you?"
He removed his hand and looked at the owner of the voice. She stood by the couch and looked at him anxiously. Slender, dark-haired, in a black silk shirt, she was too frankly and aggressively beautiful. But this beauty did not touch him. The eyes only indifferently fixed the fact, and the soul ... He no longer had a soul. She stayed in Istanbul ... near a pretty bride ... so touchingly beautiful, tender ... and deceitful.
- Why am I here? - he barely recognized his voice.
"You called me late at night from the bar." You were very drunk. The bartender picked up the phone and dictated the address. I took you and brought you to my house - the girl touched his forehead with his hand. - Did you have a nightmare?
Omer pulled his head back and stood up. In the eyes darkened, and the headache became unbearable.
"Do you have a glass of water and a couple of aspirin pills?"
The girl stepped aside and smiled knowingly, replied:
- Of course. Let's go to the kitchen. At the same time I'll make you a coffee.
He sat down on a chair near the dining table and in two sips he emptied a glass of effervescent liquid. It became a little easier. The girl put in front of him a cup of black, like his thoughts, coffee.
- Can you cook something? When was the last time you ate?
Omer tried to remember but in the memory of some incoherent passages.
To hell!
How much does it matter if he eats and when?
"No," he replied gloomily. - I do not want to eat.
The girl sat on the opposite chair and looked into his face.
- Omer, you look bad.
- Do not care.
He took a sip of coffee. Hot fluid fell into the stomach and burned a hole there.
- Yes, is it you? The girl screamed, and he grimaced at her voice. - You - Omer Iplikci! A titanium rod that will not scratch or break anything.
"She broke ..."
The thought was as bitter as coffee.
- Omer, listen to me! It's very scary and painful to find out that close people were playing with your life, lied ... And I understand you perfectly, - seeing the return, wary look, she sighed and explained:
- I called Sinan. He told me everything. Even what you do not know.
"What do I not know? " He asked indifferently.
- For example, the reason why Defne agreed to a game of love for rent. After all, I understand correctly? Did you not listen to her? More precisely, you did not listen to anyone? You cut off all the guilty ones and proudly left ... without leaving even a chance ...
Omer froze. How well she knows him.
- Am I so predictable? - I asked ironically.
- As it turned out, yes. If you remember, once you did the same with me. You did not even try to understand. Just erased me out of your life.
She was right. Omer understood this. After two months of agonizing thoughts and arguments with himself, he also came to this conclusion. But his damn pride wouldn't let him come back. He was waiting for the first step from Defne. After all, before she always did it.
But not at this time. She never called. She did not write. Not explained.
And signed the documents for divorce.
Omer pressed his palms to his face and pressed his fingers hard on his eyes.
- And what was the cause of Defne? - asked deafly.
Iz took his hands and pulled his palms away from his face. She looked into the dark, inflamed eyes and answered:
"Her brother's life was at stake. He owes. As you know, not to the bank. Neriman offered her a deal ... You were a stranger to her at that moment, and her brother was beloved one. Her family. You can not blame Defne for what she agreed.
So that's the reason. Her brother was in trouble, and Defne ... this is Defne ... without thinking about herself, rushed to drag him out of trouble.
- I do not blame ... I do not blame anymore. Even for being silent and lying, I do not blame, - he smiled bitterly. - I am not one of those people who can be trusted without thinking. Now I understand that.
He really understood. Having scrolled all his life in his head, he realized that he valued principles more than people. So it was easier. The rules are simple and clear. This is good, this is bad. Black - White. And the people ...
"Then why aren't you returning to Istanbul?" Why not talk to Defne? "She signed the documents for the divorce," for a moment the impenetrable mask flew off his face, and it was distorted from unbearable pain.
Iz felt sorry for him. To tears.
When Omer flew to Marseille two months ago, she was delighted. She decided that this was her chance. He will forget his passion for Defne, and they will again become Iz and Omer. A magnificent couple who will conquer the world of fashion of the old Europe and of Paris itself.
But her dreams melted away every day. Omer was no longer the former Omer. Life seemed to be pumped out of him. Empty shell. Dead look. Indifference to everyone and everything. Every day he sank deeper into himself and his thoughts. He did not show suffering, but Iz felt how they tear his heart and destroy him from within. She understood that she was obliged to help him.
Since Omer himself was silent and did not explain in a word why he ran away from his wife the day after the wedding, Iz called Sinan. The conversation was long and difficult. But as a result, she learned the whole sad and ambiguous love story for hire ...
Looking closely at Omer in the eyes, she asked firmly:
- And who initiated the divorce? Defne? Or you?
- What's the difference?
- Big! - she struck the table with her palm and leaned forward. Peering intently into his eyes, she covered by hand his clenched fist and said: - Omer, sometimes you need to give a damn about pride and make a step towards. Make it. Show Defne that you need her. Prove that you are a person she can trust.
Iz was silent and just looked at the beautiful face of a man sitting on the other side of the table. It remained aloof, but in the eyes, there were sparks of life. Omer pushed a cup of coffee almost untouched away from him and rose to his feet. Awkwardly patted her on the shoulder.
- Thanks for messing with me. Sorry, I brought you trouble and didn't let you sleep.
"Does not matter," she covered his palm with hers. - Go to the living room and try to fall asleep.
"No," Omer removed his hand and headed for the front door. - I will go.
He stopped at the threshold and looked back. Thin, haggard, with a regrown, thick beard, he was still the most handsome man she ever knew. Even casual, rumpled clothes did not spoil his appearance. He shrugged and said:
-Thank you. For everything.
Iz smiled.
- It's my pleasure. Why do you need friends then?
Omer asked the taxi driver to stop by the sea. After paying, he went to the very edge of the water and, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans, closed his eyes and lifted his head to the sky. Somewhere near the seagull screamed. A fresh wind blew in the face, hit the nose with the smell of the sea and seaweed washed into the shore. Behind his back, the city woke up. A beautiful, southern city that does not care about a man by the sea. Omer suddenly clearly understood - he is a stranger here. And this city is also a stranger to him.
His suffering is a burden that only he himself can throw off from his shoulders. All you need is to accept simple truth — people are not perfect. Even good people have to do bad things. Making mistakes or making an informed choice. Repent for them, regret, correct. Or accept and live on. Forgive each other.
He unbuttoned the breast pocket of his shirt and took out two rings. One of his, and the second - Defne. It came along with documents for divorce and was the biggest blow for Omer. Even in a nightmare, he did not allow the thought that Defne could take it off.
But she could ...
Omer ran his finger over the golden rims. Smooth, perfectly smooth. The symbol of infinity. He took what was bigger and put it on the ring finger of his left hand. The second kissed and hid back. Buttoned up his pocket and resolutely straightened. On the left, the sun was rising. It peeped through the clouds and gilded the rays of the sea surface. Omer looked at the endless sea and felt how the ice-shell chilling his chest melts under the rays of the dawn and releases the feelings that he had locked in his heart two months ago. They returned and it is time for him to return too.
Omer entered his room, which he had rented for two months in a small, family-run hotel. He called the hostess and asked her to bring him breakfast, and he himself took out a suitcase from the closet and, opening it, threw it on the bed. He called the airport, booked a ticket for the eleven-hour flight to Istanbul, and hurriedly began to collect things. The hostess, an elderly Frenchwoman, brought him breakfast: scrambled eggs with ham, buttered toast, hot croissants, jam, and coffee. He pounced on food as if he had not eaten for a month. However, he really did not remember when he ate the last time. Emptying the tray, he put it out the door and continued collecting. Last in a suitcase lay a folder with papers for divorce. He took it off the table and opened the document on the last page. He looked at Defne's signature and, with clenched teeth, threw the folder into the suitcase. It remained to call Sukru, ask to prepare the house and meet him at the airport.
In the evening he will be in Istanbul. First go and talk to Sinan. And tomorrow he will be brave and come to the threshold of the Topal family.
Fear stirred in the very center of the solar plexus. Omer knew - this meeting will not be easy. He insulted and offended good people. And although he had good reasons for this, he now understood that there was no excuse for his action. But Omer desperately hoped that kind-hearted and magnanimous people, like Defne's relatives, could find the strength to forgive him. He will do everything possible and impossible. He will find the words, do what he has never done before anyone, open his heart and expose the soul. Ask for forgiveness. They, and Defne ...
The phone in his hands rang so unexpectedly that Omer started. The name of Sinan was displayed on the screen. Omer was surprised. In his first days in Marseille, a friend who betrayed him called countless times. He rejected calls. And then, through a lawyer, he conveyed the message - Iplikci will continue to draw collections for Passionis. That's all. Other contacts, personal or business, will not. Calls have stopped. A long letter came to the e-mail from Sinan, but Omer deleted it without reading it. And a friend retreated. Never again disturbed him. Therefore, the current phone call caused alarm in Omer. With a cold heart, he accepted the call and, in a hoarse voice, said:
- I'm listening.
A friend was silent. Only breathing into the phone hard and intermittent. - Sinan, do not be silent! - Omer cried not with his voice. - What happened?
"You should know," Sinan did not say hello. His voice sounded bad. Chilling horror covered Omer with his head. - There was an accident with Defne. She is in a coma. Already a week. There is no hope. Tomorrow she will be disconnected from the life support apparatus. If you want to see her live and say goodbye, then take off immediately.
The sky split in half and black smoke, absorbing all life, filled the space around the Omer.