Biochemistry.
Neuro-hormonal profile.
Autonomic nervous system.
Brief cognitive screening.
I requested additional data on the so-called “hamsters” — secondary test subjects.
I need facts. Something has shifted significantly, and I must know how to work with it.
08:15
The clinic feels like a private museum of discipline.
White stone. Glass without a single fingerprint.
Silence at the entrance — the kind where people are not treated, but returned to form.
Inside.
Expensive.
Cold.
Soft.
Nate walked into the office — and the cold shifted.
I looked at Sam. He swallowed.
— Holy mother of God.
— I told you.
A week passed. And finally —

From: Sam
To: Nazokat
Subject: Preliminary Clinical Analysis / Subject: Nate
Time: 08:00
Nazokat,
I am forwarding the preliminary analytical report on the subject of observation.
Observations were conducted with the participation of 10 volunteers to assess the impact on baseline individuals.

ANALYSIS
Subject: Nate
Type of transformation: Deep integrative (energetic + psychophysiological)
Trigger: Boundary experience / contact with partner’s death
Status: Stabilized. Irreversible.
Potential risks:
Psychopathy / dissocial personality disorder / decompensation must be ruled out.

1. EYES (Key marker in contact with other participants)

• Eye color has visually darkened regardless of lighting; the characteristic green hue has intensified.
• The sclera appears colder in tone, without the usual milky, human softness.
• Gaze fixation is prolonged; blinking frequency reduced.
• Cognitive gaze defocusing has disappeared — the eyes remain collected even during pauses.

During direct eye contact, interlocutors (10 subjects) demonstrated:

• accelerated breathing,
• an impulse to justify themselves,
• reduced capacity for improvisation.

Conclusion:
A shift from a socially oriented visual pattern to an instrumental one has been recorded.
The gaze is used as a tool of fixation and assessment rather than communication.
No signs of emotional flattening detected.

2. HAIR AND GENERAL PHYSIOLOGY
Hair has become:

• denser,
• visually heavier,
• less airy in structure.

The skin has acquired a cooler undertone.
The body retains heat differently — not dispersing it, but concentrating it.
Conclusion:
A restructuring of autonomic regulation.
The organism has transitioned into a mode of energy conservation and accumulation.

3. POSTURE AND MOVEMENT
Posture has straightened without muscular tension.
The center of gravity has shifted downward.
Movements have become:

• slower,
• shorter,
• devoid of compensatory gestures.

Excess hand movements have disappeared.
Conclusion:
Motor and postural changes indicate a reduced need for external validation and compensation.
Behavioral pattern: dominance without display.

4. VOICE AND SPEECH
Vocal timbre has lowered and evened out.
Intonation is flattened; emotional peaks are absent.
Sentence length has shortened.
Introductory phrases and explanatory fillers have diminished.
Pauses are used as a tool of pressure.
Conclusion:
Speech activity is optimized for control, management, and decision-making.
Emotional modulation is reduced without signs of affect suppression.
Speech has shifted from a social mode to a control mode.

5. PSYCHE AND COGNITIVE CHANGES
A marked reduction in:

• doubt,
• self-reflection,
• the need to externally validate decisions.

An increase in:

• intuitive recognition of people,
• immediate elimination of irrelevant contacts.

Decisions are made prior to verbalization.
No post-factum regret observed.
Conclusion:
A reduction in internal conflict and self-reflective load has been recorded.
Cognitive processes show high-level integration of intuitive and rational components.
No indicators of impulsivity or loss of critical judgment detected.
The conflict between “morality” and “instinct” has been resolved.

6. ENERGETIC BACKGROUND (Phenomenological observation)
Following his presence in enclosed spaces:

• ambient noise levels decrease,
• conversations shorten,
• behavioral fuss disappears.

People:

• laugh less frequently,
• favor neutral formulations,
• avoid physical proximity,
• actively avoid direct eye contact.

A sensation of cold arises without any measurable temperature change.
Conclusion:
Behavioral shifts in surrounding individuals are stable and directly correlated with the subject’s presence.
The phenomenon is described as an increase in interpersonal field density without aggression or overt pressure.
Type: Shark
(Working designation for internal use only.)

7. SEXUAL ENERGY (NOT BEHAVIOR)
Libido concentration has increased.
Sexuality is no longer outward-directed.
No display.
The effect is attraction through restraint.
Conclusion:
Libidinal energy has been redistributed and contained within the system.
No signs of compulsive discharge or demonstrative behavior observed.
The state corresponds to a high level of self-regulation.
Energy is not expended — it is contained.

8. DNA AND EPIGENETICS
Observed changes do not indicate damage.
They reflect the activation of previously dormant regulatory programs.
Recorded:

• reduced reactivity to external stress,
• increased tolerance for uncertainty,
• stabilization of decisions without repeated reassessment.

Interpretation:
An epigenetic shift has occurred — DNA reading has changed, not its structure.
Activated programs include:

• survival without panic,
• leadership without compensation,
• dominance without aggression.

This profile is characteristic of individuals who have undergone a threshold experience in which the former identity becomes nonfunctional.

9. NERVOUS SYSTEM (Central and Autonomic)
Central nervous system:
Increased connectivity between:

• the prefrontal cortex,
• the amygdala,
• brainstem structures.

Emotional responses are not suppressed but processed without behavioral discharge.
A significant reduction in internal dialogue has been observed.
Conclusion:
Central and autonomic nervous systems operate in a synchronized mode.
Emotions are no longer governing.
They have become data.
Recovery capacity exceeds baseline population norms.
Autonomic nervous system:
Parasympathetic dominance persists even under stress.
No signs of chronic sympathetic overload detected.
Heart rate and respiration stabilize faster than average.
Key marker:
Neurochemical indicators suggest reduced dependence on external reinforcement.
Motivation has shifted from achievement toward alignment with internal stability parameters.
The ability to remain at rest while making hard decisions is preserved.
Previously established terminology confirmed: “Shark mode.”

10. NEUROCHEMISTRY (Indirect indicators)
Behavioral and physiological markers suggest:

• reduced dependence on dopaminergic reinforcement,
• increased serotonergic regulation of status rather than mood,
• a near-unnatural reduction in cortisol levels.

Interpretation:
Motivation has shifted
from to achieve
to to correspond with one’s nature.

11. TIME PERCEPTION
A reduced sense of urgency.
The disappearance of subjective deadline pressure.
Decisions are made before the sensation of “having to” arises.
Conclusion:
Instinctive responses are fully integrated with cognitive control.
No conflict exists between intuitive recognition and rational evaluation.
Behavioral integrity is preserved.
The nervous system has exited reactive mode
and transitioned into anticipatory control.
Additional confirmation of system activation.
Shark mode.

12. INSTINCTIVE LEVEL
Threat recognition is enhanced without rational analysis.
Rapid differentiation between:

• “own / not own,”
• “live contact / simulation.”

No drive to prove anything.
Conclusion:
Instinct does not conflict with reason.
They operate within a single chain.

13. GENERAL NEUROPSYCHOLOGICAL CONCLUSION
A coherent personality assembly has been recorded
following the collapse of the former identity.
A complete operating system replacement.
Previous mechanisms:

• social alignment,
• emotional compensation,
• moral self-control

— have been deactivated as redundant.
Active mechanisms:

• clarity,
• direct action,
• silence as a form of power.

14. KEY CONCLUSION
Darkness (internal working designation only) in this case
is neither a destructive factor
nor a deviation.
It is an integrated control layer
previously kept outside conscious access.
After activation:

• personality became more stable,
• reactions shorter,
• presence denser.

This state does not resemble regression.
It corresponds to a mature, predatory, consolidated adaptive form.
Full confirmation of the subject’s spouse hypothesis.
Activation of Shark mode confirmed.
All data corroborated.
All risks have been excluded and dismissed.
An additional file containing risk factor verification is attached.

I read the document
and leaned back in my chair.
This was not destructive darkness.
It broke nothing in him.
It released what he had been holding on a leash.
Fragments of the “good boy” disappeared.
I had seen this in Nate before —
but only in intimacy.
Damn.
A brief flash.
Smoke cut sharply into my lungs.
I stood
and walked to the window.
Soft snowflakes. Darkness. Solid calm.
The world felt far too ordinary
for what was unfolding inside.
I tried to remember
what exactly we had done there.
Where exactly that boundary ran.
And whether it had existed at all.
What if they were right?
They said:
— You’ll knock him off course.
— Don’t interfere.
And suddenly the question arose
not as an accusation,
but as a fact:
What if all my work on the other side
didn’t remove restraint
but unsealed potential?
I stubbed out the cigarette
and ran down the steps.
A short knock.
— Hello.
— Miss, — he nodded briefly.
— Load Nate’s office data.
— Miss, I need a time window.
— Last forty minutes. Real-time.
The screen fades in from black.
Camera audio is muted — only breathing remains.
— Call. Investor meeting.
— Excellent. That’s exactly what I need.
I placed my hands on his shoulders.
— Good. Bring water.
Rixton nods.
—I need silence.
My gaze locks onto the screen.
I am a cobra.
I am ready to work.
Come on, Nate.
Come on, my dear.
The investor greets him, pulling out papers.
Does not look into the camera — the first marker of disrespect.
Not dominance. Disrespect.
Noted. Continue.
The face is bloated.
Alcohol excess. Chronic stress.
Neck line with rings, uneven skin, grayish undertone —
biochemistry has long been off balance.
Acknowledged.
Skin tone: gray-yellow, dull.
Not age. Oxidation.
Periorbital swelling.
This is fluid the body fails to eliminate in time.
Additional confirmation of negligent self-treatment.
Negligence toward oneself equals negligence toward the work.
Data collection is sufficient.
This is not our person.
I nod.
Continue.
The face isn’t just “bloated” —
it’s soft in the wrong places.
Non-structural fat.
Hormonal origin.
Sex with his wife is rare — more absence of alternatives than desire.
Testosterone significantly reduced. Libido compromised.
His balls are in his wife’s purse.
Suppressed male agency.
The shadow is not integrated —
almost entirely repressed.
Which means it’s displaced.
It will surface elsewhere.
Most likely through aggression
and deviant behavior.
Next.
Facial expressions are slowed.
Micro-reactions arrive with delay.
Elevated cortisol.
Stress is chronic, not situational.
Brain offline. Severe overload.
Acknowledged.
Hands twitch slightly —
a tendency toward awkward, chaotic self-soothing.
Excessive impulsivity.
Possible substance influence.
Further testing required for confirmation.
Inclination toward dirty sex and infidelity.
Sexually passive, lazy, rough —
likely acting out resentment toward women
after psychological castration by mother and wife.
Attitude toward women: crude and contemptuous.
Women are objects to him.
Breathing is shallow.
The chest is barely engaged.
He won’t last more than ten years.
Under unfavorable circumstances — less.
The gaze is tired.
Life is gray, ordinary. He has already seen everything — and expects nothing.
A barely noticeable tension between the thumb and index finger.
A habit of controlling oneself through suppression.
The same pattern appears in an overly tight grip on a pen, a cigarette, any object.
Control not from strength. Control from fear of losing form.
The shirt is white, but inappropriate.
Something is off. Untidy.
As if he dressed in a rush — without inner consent to what was happening.
The lower lip is slightly fuller than average — in men, this is a marker of excessive sensitivity.
A slight facial asymmetry with a rightward shift.
The right side pulls — a habit of being “the man,” even when one no longer wants to be.
A role instead of essence.
Shaving is uneven.
The face has long been without female attention — it’s immediately visible.
The jacket is dark blue.
I can’t tell by whom.
Doesn’t matter. Continue.
There is a barely noticeable stripe on the jacket.
A stylist likely worked on it.
Another marker of status display against inner emptiness.
I nod and make another note.
The office is dull but status-driven.
No character.
No risk.
No taste.
The investor clears his throat — confirmation of skin tone and biochemistry.
Smoking is excessive, chaotic.
Cigars in the background — a demonstration of power, in the absence of the real thing.
Typical for deviant behavior and substance dependence.
A vivid marker of suppressed masculinity.
Additional confirmation of psychological castration.
There is no азарт.
Everything is gray. Everything is predictable.
The body like a sack.
Crude in posture.
Crude not like an alpha — crude like a man accustomed to people dancing in front of him because of money.
He expects it.
Acknowledged.
I shift my attention to Nate.
He read the same things.
One more second — the laptop closes.
The conversation is over.
Nate knows:
this is not our person.
I nod to myself.
Good.
Nate’s office.
A second later he is standing by the window, looking out.
Reflection? Switching?
Damn, give me a marker.
Nate is standing with his back to the cameras — insufficient data.
Damn.
— Miss, — Rixton.
I flinch.
— Water.
— Yes, thank you.
Alright.
Nate is about to leave the office.
And I notice his phone.
Zoom in.
Now back.
Wait.
Stop.
Is that a second phone?
I don’t understand what’s happening.
I look at the clock.
17:00.
What the hell — where is he going?
Follow him.
And get into his phone. If you manage to crack it — notify me.
— Acknowledged, miss.
The cameras switch.
Nate walks into the bedroom.
The body is collected.
The suit fits perfectly — it doesn’t emphasize, it obeys the body.
I lick my lips.
The camera feed is muted.
The image darkens, becomes blurred.
Rixton turns away.
I enter the code.
Hidden cameras activate.
Nate undresses.
Without pauses.
Without display.
Like a man who does not observe himself from the outside.
Shark mode — Sam’s words flash through my mind.
The jacket lands on the bed — precise, no toss.
The shirt follows.
Torso bare.
God.
The body is lean.
Trained.
No excess mass — only functional strength.
The chest is strong, alive, breathing evenly.
Not a single unnecessary movement.
Now he’s in jeans and a white T-shirt.
Damn.
I need to get to him faster and—
I cut a sideways glance at Rixton.
I shake my head. Nazokat, focus.
Next camera.
Nate goes down the stairs.
Another one — the feed switches again.
The steps are even.
The tempo shifts — softer.
It’s visible even without sound.
He enters the living room.
The children run toward him screaming.
Immediately.
Without pause.
Without hesitation.
I understand: home mode.
The body is different.
The face changes.
The jaw is relaxed.
The gaze is alive, focused, fully here.
Nate is Nate again.
The children crash into him, throwing themselves around his neck, climbing onto his back.
This is not “me with children.”
This is me at home.
The camera holds a wide shot.
No sharp movements.
No tension in the body.
Acknowledged.
Send me everything.
— Acknowledged, miss.
I step out.

17:20
Click.
The laptop beeps.
A video from Rixton.
— Sam.
— Yes.
— Did you see it?
— I’m in surgery.
— Call me back when you’re out.
The connection drops.
I keep rereading the report.
Then the video.
Then the report again.
Damn.
There is no doubt.
People sense it instinctively.
They don’t understand —
the body reacts before thought.
The unnatural slowness is immediately noticeable.
He moves smoothly,
as if he has always been in his own element.
His mind has grown colder.
And the calculation — sharper. Cleaner.
Thoughts no longer tangle. The fog has lifted.
He is hungry, cold, and calculating —
to a grinding, almost physical sense of menace.
Damn.
But how could his psyche adapt so quickly?
I freeze.
Exactly.
It wasn’t the psyche that reacted first.
It was thermoregulatory shifts.
His organism was failing in parallel with mine.
He simply didn’t notice it.
Or didn’t connect it.
I try to remember —
not events,
but symptoms.
Nausea.
Sudden weight loss.
Dry skin.
Cracks at the corners of the mouth.
Tremor.
Brief flashes of fever.
Damn.
Exactly.
His body was reconfiguring.
I dial the internal line.
— Send me camera data for the last two days.
— Acknowledged, miss.
Pause.
And Sam is on the line.
He doesn’t answer right away.
— Most likely, — he says, — for now he’s doing it consciously.
Switching modes manually.
Later it will normalize.
And regulate itself.
I exhale.
— The veil… it’s not dangerous?
— No.
It’s a shell.
It’s still restructuring.
The organism just needs a little time.
— Acknowledged. Thank you.
The line drops.
I remain seated.
Now everything fell into place.
And his body:
reconfigured
without request
and without permission.
“Shark mode.”
I laughed.
What an idiot, Sam — we’re not in a movie.
Work.
The energy was hitting with such force
that projects were closing one after another,
without strain,
without fuss,
without any “let’s talk about the future.”
Short and sharp.
Everyone around me was in shock.
He was pressing… yes.
But not with weight.
With the absence of excess.
His dark side —
the one not constrained by rules or social morality —
knocked everything earthly out of him.
Not humanity.
Smallness.
Nate acquired such power
that people physically tightened
when he simply entered a room.
He quickly rebuilt all work processes.
Fired almost seventy percent of the staff.
Without drama.
Like a surgeon.
The team was completely replaced —
only top-level people, no compromises.
The cost of the new hires was astronomical.
Negotiations moved to a new level —
more precisely, they stopped being negotiations.
Things were decided instantly.
No more “let’s get on a call.”
No more “we’ll discuss it later.”
Intuition sharpened to the limit.
Guided by his shark nature,
he cut off immediately
those who didn’t match the frequency.
We stopped spending time preparing
unless the client was truly serious.
The criteria rose sharply.
We no longer took meetings with anyone outside the top one percent.
Clients became so wealthy
that everything around turned cold,
cleaned out,
predatorily transparent.
The schedules emptied.
And the quality increased several times over.
We started working less.
But the numbers in the accounts
began filling with insane amounts.
At some point,
Nate stopped going to meetings altogether.
One evening he questioned me more closely.
And it turned out that this — for me — was innate.
Yes, I had trained.
But for the most part,
it had been in me from the start.
And he drilled everyone.
Cody.
The Aristocrat.
Jonathan.
The Chess Player.
Hard training.
Profiling.
NLP.
Reading before the first word.
And everyone began to transform.
The pack stopped being cobras.
It became sharks.
As for me —
they stopped taking me to meetings altogether,
which, naturally, made me bloom.
Cold minds.
Hungry eyes.
Deals close cleanly.
No lyricism.
Ten minutes —
and we leave.
No one dances anymore,
no one proves their value,
no one explains why they are good.
Nate fully became Nate.
Upload complete.
I was already trembling in front of him at work —
and now even more so.
But secretly,
I adored his darkness
and handled it the way one handles flame:
fascinating,
and impossible not to touch.
Evening.
Nate in home mode — finally.
Smiling like idiots,
we drank wine,
then of course switched back to whiskey.
We laughed
and pulled faces at each other.
Nate, true to himself,
was spouting some nonsense
he had just invented,
but presenting it as a scientific fact.
I laughed.
What a fool.
We took another drink.
He hugged me.
“Nate.”
“Yes?”
“I trust you.”
He smirked.
“I really do.”
He fell silent.
I didn’t want to dwell on it —
especially knowing how much Nate is
“I need to think about this alone.”
We both decided not to inflate it.
Even though it mattered,
after death
I decided that if this was how it would be,
I would accept it.
If something were ever to happen between us —
I would accept that too.
— What are you talking about? We can’t trust anyone — especially a man.
— Especially Nate. We’re head over heels in love with him.
Nate.
Nate. Ohhh — and everything started dripping again.
I even stopped pretending around him that I understood what he was talking about when he explained something.
I openly ogled him until he started laughing and theatrically pouting, like, “Hey, woman, I have a soul — I’m not just a picture.”
Of course, of course.
What — you won’t lean in one more time?
And he laughed and kissed me.
I stopped being jealous of him.
Mushu snorted disapprovingly.
Well… almost.
It wasn’t that kind of jealousy anymore.
Because of his dangerous new identity, women were openly afraid of him.
Jafar, Ursula, and I bumped fists.
Nate no longer lingered.
No more “sorry, baby, I have to finish this,”
“sorry, I’m busy,”
“go without me.”
None of that anymore.
Because the entire business had been restructured, time was freed up —
and his control expanded into all spheres.
I finally exhaled.
I let go of control.
The only thing — sometimes I still check the tracking chips, because this is no place for trust or weakness.
“Hamsters” always go quiet.
Jonathan — where is Jonathan, did someone hurt him, does he need me right now.
Josh — heart broken again.
Cody — who is she with, do we need to hack her laptop again, check everything.
I stopped interfering.
I let all of it go.
But letting go doesn’t mean not caring.
Before bed, I still made my rounds — checking on everyone.
But now I was relaxed and, to be honest, most of the time slightly drunk.
That’s how I played this game — I needed overload.
And my people nodded in understanding.
Jafar with a cocktail.
Mushu with vodka.
Even Thor was there.
I was exhausted, and the dragons were laughing at me again.
But I didn’t care.
I didn’t care — I needed to heal and adapt.
That’s how I learned to survive.
Sometimes someone would come down to the kitchen at night,
and I told them about my past.
I explained how to stitch wounds step by step.
Why sometimes it’s better to do nothing at all and just shut down.
And what to do to prevent infection.
Especially with stab wounds and deep, sharp cuts.
I told them how to release adrenaline by applying pressure to the pineal gland —
but it’s like nitrous oxide for a car: too reactive,
only in exceptional cases, when there’s really no other way to survive.
And other brutal things they found interesting.
Often it was someone from the staff.
They always told me how good Mr. Nate was.
I nodded.
Good doesn’t mean he won’t break your heart.
But that was no longer my concern.
Alcohol helped me get used to normal flow —
to understand that you don’t have to live in a state of war.
That you’re allowed to exhale.
Rixton reported everything that fell outside the usual protocol.
I didn’t like that Cody was coming home too late and flinching the moment he called her.
I already suspected what kind of relationship that was.
A Lexus appeared on the cameras a couple more times.
Which meant Jonathan had gone back to his ex.
That hurt especially.
So much effort to pull him out —
just to watch him slide back again.
The kids were eating things I had forbidden.
Josh was sleeping with the staff.
The Chess Player was fighting with her husband.
Breathe.
They’ll figure it out themselves.
They will.
You’re no longer responsible for everyone.
Evening.
And one evening, I sat down and exhaled.
Then again.
Then poured a drink.
Then drank.
Then more.
And more.
At some point it became clear:
I was drunk.
— Mike, will you take me for a drive?
— Of course, miss.
Damn.
Time — 2:05.
He was probably asleep.
I went downstairs.
Quietly.
Without lights.
The Audi was already running.
Smoothly.
As if it had been waiting.
— Let’s take the bypass.
— Acknowledged, miss.
While he drove,
I smoked
and looked out the window.
The glass reflected me —
my face, a cigarette,
a slightly narrowed gaze.
An interesting little thing,
isn’t it?
Aren’t you the one, lady,
who judges people for smoking?
I snorted at myself
and took another drag.
A tree flashed ahead.
Then a sign.
— Pull over.
The Audi stopped.
The engine kept running.
Warmth.
Silence.
The night accepted us without questions.
A few short rings — and finally he answered.
— Miss.
— Carolan, I need you.
A pause.
Short.
Not anxious.
— Of course.
— I’ll come get you. Ten minutes.
I faltered.
— Carolan…
— Yes?
The words got stuck.
Not out of fear.
Out of a line I didn’t want to cross.
— I… I wouldn’t want this to be because
you work for me.
He didn’t answer right away.
— Miss, — he said calmly, —
don’t be ridiculous.
No pressure.
No justifications.
No attempt to soften it.
I nodded,
even though he couldn’t see me.
Ten minutes later
we were already driving.
The city was empty —
the way it only is at night,
when the streets stop pretending.
And on the way, the thoughts came back.
— Why don’t you ever call the girls?
— I don’t know.
Silence.
— I’m afraid they won’t understand, I whispered.
We drove to Carolan’s place.
And I shook off invisible dust —
such a strong desire
for my head to finally go empty.
No discussion.
No route spoken out loud.
He simply knew where to go.
I waited in the car.
He got into my car
and stayed silent.
I took his hand.
He squeezed it.
It was our secret gesture.
We’d always done it
when one of us was falling.
I pulled my hand back.
He nodded.
I felt so calm.
A tear rolled down my cheek.
That’s probably why I don’t call the girls.
I don’t want pity.
I don’t want things taken apart with me.
I need silent support —
when my people know I can handle it myself,
but I don’t want to be alone.
I need help through presence.
The Audi turned off the bypass
onto a narrow path.
Carolan walked beside me.
Truly — just walked.
Didn’t intrude.
Didn’t support.
Didn’t grab my elbow.
He was simply there.
We walked for about twenty minutes.
Then I sat down on the ground.
He came over.
— May I?

I allowed it,
and he hugged me like a father would.
The knot inside melted.
I wasn’t alone.
I could breathe.
Someone was holding the world together for me.
He chose the right moment.
— What will you say, miss?
I lit a cigarette.
— I don’t know.
— I just don’t know, Carolan.
He smirked.
— Nate has changed. I’m scared.
I’ve only just learned how to deal with him,
to trust in love and all that —
and now he… I don’t know.
— I understand.
He stayed silent.
— You see… I don’t know.
He decides everything, — I exhaled. —
I don’t decide anything at all.
All the rear lines are covered.
All that’s left for me is—
— To live?
I smirked.
Right.
All that’s left
is to live.
I’m ready to tear him apart
if someone
breathes too close to him.
And yet I’m allowed
to roam wherever I want.
I laughed.
The forest.
Three a.m.
I check the time — almost four.
A man is holding me.
Of course, it’s not intimate.
But still —
he is touching me.
My heart would have stopped
if it were him.
And again that soft voice:
— He trusts you.
I burst into tears.
How deeply I envied people
who know how to trust,
as if that function came pre-installed —
and mine never did.
A faulty component.
No, sweetheart —
you don’t get that privilege.
And here I am —
a broken doll,
the kind that doesn’t know
how to trust people.
— That’s not entirely true.
— Oh.
So you’re going to analyze me now?
My brain nodded.
— You don’t distrust everyone.
You distrust
the ones you love.
Family.
— I see.
He wanted to go on.
— Listen. Please.
Not now.
I just want
to breathe.
I dialed a number.
— Mike, please bring champagne.
I faltered.
— And whiskey.
— Got it, miss.
— And vodka.
He laughed.
— Miss, I can come in the Alfa.
— No.
He nodded.
We sat and smoked.
Carolan, as always, saved me
with his stories.
About family.
About the kids —
what they asked for New Year’s.
About his wife —
what kind of tree she wants,
and how they argued over the lights.
And suddenly it stirred in me
such a warm feeling —
belonging.
As if, for a moment,
I had slipped inside
someone else’s real home.
Then the champagne finally arrived.
Carolan deftly opened the bottle,
and the champagne spilled freely —
no ceremony,
just generosity.
— So this is how it is, — I said,
taking a drag.
— Nate is finally Nate.
A shark.
— Yeah, — he smirked. —
That’s what they wrote?
— I’ve got the full report
right here.
— Can I see it?
— Pff. Of course.
I opened the report on my phone.
He took it
and read.
Slowly.
Carefully.
— You know… — he said at last. —
That’s powerful.
But isn’t that exactly
what you always felt in him?
I nodded.
— Yes.
But that was potential.
And potential…
you can live your whole life
without ever unlocking it.
He looked at me.
— True.
— Damn it, drop it, — I snapped. — That’s not what I mean.
Carolan exhaled.
I rolled my eyes.
— I don’t want to talk about this right now.
He took a sip.
It wasn’t about Nate.
Not even about now.
Once —
long before I ever met Nate —
Carolan told me he loved me.
Calmly.
As a fact.
“You don’t have enough force.”
He kept loving me.
And I kept waving it off, pretending nothing was happening.
Then he met her.
And that was when I said it myself:
If you let her go — you’ll regret it.
He let me go.
He got married.
At least, that’s how it seemed to me.
— What should I do?
— Just accept it, miss. I don’t see any other options.
Right.
I leaned against his shoulder.
We drank some more.
Then I went home.
Mike was pulling the Audi into the garage.
I stood nearby, smoking.
The night was warm. Empty.
He nodded briefly.
I nodded back, swayed slightly, pulled myself together, and walked toward the house.
In my headphones — slenderbodies, “moods.”
Of course.
The music landed too perfectly
to be a coincidence.
I finished my cigarette, put it out,
and suddenly decided —
I’d go in quietly.
Completely unnecessary.
The house is huge.
No one would ever know how exactly I came in.
But for some reason,
I wanted to sneak.
Drunk giggling gave away
the full extent of this woman’s drunkenness.
I walked almost on tiptoe,
holding back laughter,
giggling more and more to myself,
imagining I was in a movie.
So.
I’m in heels,
in a superhero costume.
Maybe I’ll wear just underwear.
Agent Provocateur?
Damn —
then this turns into an adult movie.
And my body ached —
damn, how badly I wanted sex,
and Nate was already asleep.
Come in, come in.
I’m entering through the main entrance.
Stand down, the voice in the radio replied.
You don’t have authorization.
— Sir, now’s not the time, —
I whispered to myself. —
We have to save the children.
God.
What absolute cinematic nonsense.
Cheap dialogue.
I am the mission.
I am the agent.
I am my own movie.
I opened the door
and slipped inside.
I threw everything off —
this damn clothing had gotten on my nerves.
It’s my house.
I’ll walk around in underwear if I want.
The track in my headphones clicked —
switched.
I didn’t even notice.
The music grew denser.
My body lighter.
And I started singing along,
dancing between the walls,
barely staying on my feet.
You can bearpower in,
you can drink tequila,
la-la-la-la…
I spun,
laughed,
stumbled over my own shadow.
You took my warmth,
and the air left inside me —
crying in silence
would have been far too simple for me.
I straightened up,
rolled my shoulders —
childishly,
stupidly —
and kept going:
La-la,
it’ll be the way I want,
maybe that’s news to you,
la-la-la…
I am my own concert.
My own stage.
My own rescue.
One more second — damn, where’s the vodka?
And only then
did I feel him.
Not a step.
Not a movement.
The density of the air.
A chill ran over my skin.
— Kitten.
I screamed.
The movie burst.
I stood in front of him —
drunk,
in torn tights,
in nothing but underwear.
— Nate… — I hiccupped.
He pulled me closer.
— God, you scared me —
and I hit him.
He smiled.
His eyes were soft. Warm.
Phew. Nate is Nate again.
At least in this mode, — Hades, inside my head.
I swallowed.
— Kitten…
He purred the way only he can.
God, I can’t believe he’s not asleep.
His scent felt denser, more concentrated than before.
— Nate, I—I—
— I understand, miss.
I hiccupped.
— Kitten, where have you been?
— I went to… pull myself together, —
and hiccupped again.
He laughed.
— I see.
— Sweetheart, you’re completely drunk.
Ha. Want me to say whose fault that is?
And he kissed me.
Naturally, I lost all sense of direction.
— Sweetheart… do you not like me like this?
I swallowed.
I would give up everything in the world
just for him to breathe next to me.
— No, of course not.
It’s just… I’m getting used to it.
And I stepped back a little —
and yes… I’m afraid of you.
He lowered his gaze.
There I was —
in panties, a bra, hiccupping.
I followed his gaze downward
and bolted as fast as I could.
I ran down the hallway,
bottle in hand,
screaming:
— Aaaaa!
He laughed
and chased after me.
— Stop right there, woman!
— Aaaa!
It felt like I’d crossed an ocean.
He caught up to me in a single leap
and brought me down to the floor.
— Kitten.
— Yes?
— I love you.
He kissed my neck.
— Mm-hm.
— I can’t live without you.
— Mm-hm.
He moved to my chest.
My eyes rolled back from pleasure.
— Little mouse…
— Remember that game I told you about?
I sobered up instantly.
He bit my neck.
Oh God — my back arched
and I moaned.
— Kitten…
— My little mouse…
Oh gods.
How could I ever say no to him?