Evening came. Anya put on her perfume—the thick, sweet scent filled the basement, almost pushing out the damp smell. She put on the blue dress and even tried to fix her hair neatly.
Her gaze betrayed her, drifting toward the dark corner. The place where it had happened yesterday. Anya snapped her gaze back to the wall and bit her lip until it hurt. Don’t think. Don’t remember. If she let even a drop of disgust show, he would sense it—the way a shark smells blood. She took a deep breath, smoothing her expression. She wasn’t a captive now. She was his ideal. And she had to play this role perfectly, so she wouldn’t end up in that corner herself.
The lock clicked. The door opened. Viktor came down carrying a laptop and two mugs of hot cocoa. He froze halfway down the stairs, breathing in the scent.
“You… you used it,” his voice dropped lower, with something almost reverent in it. “The whole basement smells like you. Like that day in the park, when I followed you for three blocks.”
Anya sat on the couch—not curled into a corner, but relaxed, leaning forward slightly.
“You wanted this, Viktor. You said it should smell like ‘me’ down here.”
She rolled one shoulder, making the fabric of the dress whisper.
“You know… perfume smells different on skin. It’s warmer there.”
Viktor walked to the table slowly. His movements were a little less confident as he set the cocoa down.
“Yes. I can tell. It’s… it’s right.”
Anya stood and took a step toward him, closing the distance to almost nothing. He didn’t step back, but his breathing hitched.
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“Did you bring the movie? I was waiting. Without you it’s too quiet down here. The silence starts to scare me.”
He hung on her every word.
“You… really waited? Not for food, not for light… but for me?”
She looked him straight in the eye. Her gaze wrapped around him, hiding the ice underneath.
“People get used to anything, Viktor. You were right—the world up there feels kind of blurry now. And you’re here. Real. The one who brings tulips.”
She reached out and, with her fingertips, adjusted the collar of his cardigan.
“You’ve got a thread caught here.”
He went still, afraid to scare the moment away. His ego swelled—he’d won, he’d “tamed” her.
“I just wanted you to see the real me. Without this… constant need to be strict.”
“Then be real,” she said softly, almost intimately. “Tell me what we’re going to watch. I want to sit close. So I don’t feel this cold coming off the walls.”
He opened the laptop in a rush.
“I downloaded Léon. Remember? You posted a still from it three years ago. About the girl and her protector. I thought it was symbolic.”
Anya sat down on the couch and lightly patted the spot beside her.
“Protector… A good word. Sit down, Viktor.”
When he sat, she brushed her knee against his leg as if by accident.
“You know, this perfume… it’ll run out soon. There isn’t much left.”
He turned his face toward her, drunk on the scent and her closeness.
“I’ll buy more. Ten bottles. Anything you want.”
She smiled without warmth.
“For that, you’d have to go back to my apartment again. And I wouldn’t want you to risk it. What if someone’s waiting there?”
She took his hand. Her palm was small and soft compared to his.
“Viktor… if we’re ‘us’ now… could you bring me my face cream? And maybe… a bigger mirror? I want to look nice for our dinners. I don’t want to see a tortured prisoner in the mirror.”
He was under the spell of the image she’d built. Her “concern” for his safety completely threw him off balance.
“A mirror… yes. Yes, of course. I’ll bring everything tomorrow.”
She gently squeezed his fingers.
“You’re so attentive. You know… I used to think you just wanted to hurt me. But now I see—you’re the only one who ever really looked at me.”
Viktor looked almost giddy with happiness. He started the movie, but he barely watched the screen—he watched her, her profile in the half-dark.
Anya sat perfectly still. Her skin screamed with disgust where they touched, but inside her head, something clear and cold kept calculating:
He believed it. He had relaxed.