Page 23 of Scarred King

12

I’m sitting on the lawn with Johanna. We’re each holding a book and enjoying the pleasant afternoon breeze. I haven’t let my brain rest all day long. I look through book after book, concentrating painfully on my studies and making up some I missed. Whenever I have a minute to think, the events of last night come back and I’m flooded with strong emotions: helplessness, fear and shock from meeting the French group, and, on the other hand, that strange desire my body felt at Scarface’s touch. Of all the jobs in the world, I had to walk into the one place that symbolizes for me absolute evil, and still I have no doubt I’ll go back there tonight. A honey trap, I think in frustration. I have a deadline for the first tuition payment, and right now there’s no other way for me to meet it. I spent the last hour in the library, sending my CV to all the research labs in town and now I can only pray that someone will get back to me and offer me a lifeline.

Once in a while Johanna raises her head and tells me all about her date last night. “He is clever, funny and witty,” she giggles, “but he is very boring in bed.”

“You went to bed with him already?” I ask surprised.

“I was considering a serious relationship with him,” she explains, “shouldn’t I find out his sexual abilities in the beginning already?”

“That makes sense,” I mutter and try to push away those strong sensual feelings that I felt by no more than the touch of Scarface’s finger last night.

“I saved myself some time. Now I can look for a new partner,” she sums it up, and goes back to her book. “And what about you?” she asks after two minutes of silence. “How is the project going? How is the new job? Have you got someone for me to meet there?”

I mark my page in the book, close it, put it back in my backpack and lie down on the grass. “The project is going very well, work is harder than I expected, and the last thing I’d do is set you up with someone from work.” I feel sick at the thought that she might find out what kind of people come to my workplace.

“That's a shame,” she says and lies down next to me. “Maybe we'll go out for drinks tonight?”

“I have to work.” I yawn and get up. “I’m so tired.”

“Want me to come and keep you company?” she asks wishfully. “I am bored at home alone.”

“No.” I yawn again. “I’ll be too busy. And I have to summarize the material I found for Professor Sawyer’s research during my breaks. I have another meeting with him tomorrow morning.”

“That's a shame.” She wrinkles her nose in disappointment and goes back to her book.

I wish I could stay and enjoy the company of this sweet soul, but reality is calling. With no desire, I leave campus for another evening of filth.

****

The bar is quiet. Even Charlie hasn’t arrived yet and the round table is empty. I was nervous about seeing Scarface tonight, and relieved when I realize that he’s not around. I clean the tables quickly, arrange the napkins, polish the wine glasses and put the chairs in their places. When the bar looks ready for customers, I take out my laptop and my books and sit down on a barstool. I have a whole hour to summarize the material for my meeting tomorrow, and I intend to make use of every minute of it.

I photograph page after page in my head and quickly type my conclusions. The more I type, the more I smile. I’m sure that I’ve managed to find some fascinating matters that would be an excellent basis for our research. The word “our” echoes in my head proudly, and I continue typing energetically.

“Elena, the customers are waiting for you,” I hear Charlie’s loud voice and raise a finger to quieten him. I’m not ready to leave the wonderful world that surrounds me. I think he calls me a few more times, but my fingers have a life of their own as they race across the keyboard and refuse to stop.

The screen of my laptop closes in front of me and I raise my head angrily toward the insolent hand on my right.

“Charlie can’t keep doing your work,” Scarface says sharply and I blink as if I'm awakening from a wonderful dream. When I turn my head and see the amount of people crowding the room, my dream vanishes and the nightmare begins. I jump off the stool and run around the tables, serving customers and ignoring the sarcastic comments of the working girls, who apparently haven't forgiven me for the slip of my tongue. I wait for the moment I can return to my computer and write my final sentences. I was so close, I fume to myself as I make my rounds between the tables. My body is here at the bar, but my head is definitely in the artificial light and its implications on the human race. Light pollution, what a fascinating subject. And there’s not one quiet moment tonight. The twins go upstairs with a customer and the blonde comes down to sit with another, this continues all night. My eyes are heavy, my legs are tired, but I’m determined to finish this night and go back to the stars.

The last customer leaves. The girls sit around a few tables, the managers sit at the round table and I serve the last drink.

Finally. I sit on the barstool, open up my laptop and let out a yell. The room falls silent and when I glance to my right, I see the three partners standing with their pistols drawn.

“I didn’t save it!” I cry hysterically, clicking on files to find my final paper. “I didn’t save that whole summary I wrote.” I stare at the screen with dread.

Charlie brings me a glass of water. It looks like he’s the only one here trying to console me. The girls go back to chatting and the partners sit back down and talk quietly. I look at the clock. It’s quarter to six. In exactly two hours and fifteen minutes, I have to go into Professor Sawyer’s office and give him my summary. And all I have is a blank white page.

“Did you sort it out?” Scarface is standing behind me, leaning over my shoulder and looking at the screen. He smells of cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and liquor, and for just one minute I realize that this is the sexiest smell I’ve ever inhaled. But the panic returns and takes over.

“It’s your fault!” I turn around, forcing him away from me. “If you weren’t so insensitive, you wouldn’t have closed the screen before I could save the file.”

“You’re not in the library,” he replies dryly. “Finish up your school before you get to work.” He emphasizes the last word and I’m about to explode.

“I’m on campus from morning until evening and I come straight here. I’ve been surviving on three hours of sleep for days. I just wanted to finish my summary. Why do you have to be so insensitive?” I feel tears threatening and I turn my back on him. Just a minute. Me? Cry? Because of a summary I could write in my sleep? What the hell is up with me?

“No one’s forcing you to work here,” he continues coldly. “And no one’s forcing you to study. Just make a choice.”

“Idiot,” I hiss and pull my hair back tighter.

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