#bazyli

Bazyli the Dragon is six feet tall.

Source:

It's been a while.

Gosh I've always hated that jerk, with his smug face and the way he talks like he knows anything. Bad luck, there was a time when I needed him desperately, because he was the only one who wanted to help me.

Oh, how awful were these times.

"So, how has it been, Soren ?"

I grit my teeth. Don't act like you don't know, bastard.

"Very good, Klaus, thank you."

I shouldn't be angry at him. He saved my life countless times. But he's a reminder. See, that's the problem with memories, they stick. They never stop haunting you.

"Amicable as always, I see", he let out with a smile.

"Cut the crap. Why did you want to meet today ?"

He sighs. We're sitted inside a bar, i think it's called the Lost River or something like that, and it's already noon. This day has been improductive as always.

It's been, what, six years ? Fuck, how old am I ? I can't remember for shit. I think I'm twenty three, so yeah, six years since my child died.

Even thinking about it makes me want to puke.

"I want to make sure you're doing good. It's been a while since you stopped answering our messages. Weren't we a band ?"

"Oh please, as if you've ever needed a singer while you've got Kaspar and his angelic voice."

Yeah, maybe i've fantasized a tiny bit on Kaspar, in my prime. Or all the group, for what it's worth. Unfortunately, they're all gay, and I've had my fair share of heartbrakes.

Starting with mister catholic right here.

"Soren, I..."

"You pay ?"

His eyebrows raise themselves, but he let out a frustrated sigh, and nods. I feel a tiny smile get to my face, and immediately start asking for something stronger. Better.

I need to be at least completely drunk to enjoy something, these days.

"Soren, we need to talk."

"Can't hear you. Get a megaphone or something, man, you're too calm."

I know what boils under the surface of this guy. I know all of his fantasies, for, a long time ago, we shared them. Just like we shared anything else, because I thought I could be loved. For something. Because I thought there was no pity in those fucking eyes.

He's not calm. And I just want to see him lose his composure, for a second at least.

"You left us on read for two years, Soren. Why did you accept this invitation in particular ?"

"Well, I just want to see my old comrades perform. It's your last concert before Christmas, mh ?"

I take a look at the bartender. A cute guy, a bit too...pink for me. It's that I'm not without colors, far from it. Glowy lipstick, provocative outfits, cute faces, big smiles, I am the perfect bitch. And bitches go with taciturn guys.

Not, but this one, he looks like....Fuck, is it homophobe ? He looks gay, and nobody would ever mistake me for a guy. Not that I would like that.

I'm putting no efforts, why should I expect ?

"It is."

"Well, show me what you've got. Because, apparently, now Kaspar can sing."

How many times did I tell you, Klaus ? That my voice was awful, that it was me who repulsed the public. Now you do just fine without me, proving me, again, right.

But no one will admit it. Ever.

He frowns.

"I wanted to apologize, Soren."

"It's two years too late."

Fuck i'm getting thirsty. I need to drink, again. I want to forget.

It's the lucidity I fear most. This moment where I need to look into my son's eyes and see they must have been eaten a while ago.

"I'm serious, Soren. I...acted like a jerk."

I remember everything.

The sighs.

The touch.

The feeling.

The name. The wrong name.

Drink. Drink more.

The pink-haired guy look at me. What is that, pity, again ? Go fuck yourself.

"But you also have to apologize. I deserve everything you threw at me. Every insult and every furniture. Not them."

He looks determined. He looks almost mature. Little Klaus, and his little thesis, mister genius, mister know-it-all. Little fucker who's going to get what he asked for.

"I owe nothing. To none of you. Understood ?"

"You do. Kaspar still has regrets. Heck, Dobromiev-"

"Does he know ?"

"What ?"

"Does he know, Klaus ? Does Dobromiev know ? Here, let me repeat it slowly. Does. He. Know ?"

"Of...what ?"

I let a large, savage smile on my lips.

"That you almost jerked off to the vision of his sister, man ? That you mistook me for her ? Does he know ?"

He looks at me. In shock. In horror. But he still looks at me. He hasn't lowered his eyes.

"What, you think I've forgotten ? I can accept a lot of things, Klaus. I can accept violence, but you were smooth. I can accept insults but you were talking well. I can even accept being forced, but you convinced me. But i will never, ever, accept being someone else."

He breathes out. Slowly.

"You're finished ?" he asks.

"In fact, I am."

I stand up, almost trip and throw myself against the floor. My determination is the only thing that keeps me from doing so. Instead, I go back to the door from which I came.

"Thought you wanted to watch the performance ?" he snarls.

"Fuck you !"

I know it's not his fault.

Feelings cannot be controlled.

It wasn't particularly wrong. I've met my fair share of people, had sex with at least half of them. On this scale, he's not awful. Not even a pervert.

But I loved him.

And I think that's what hurts the most.

I feel his eyes on me.

I know he's not angry.

I know he's worried.

I know i'm peing petty.

I don't care.

How dare you, Klaus ? How dare you look at me like that ?

You saved my life and now you make me want to die.

We're the day after. I'm still hungover. My head hurts so much. I don't know whose house it is. I don't know whose bed it is.

A sound. From my phone. I grab it, hear a groan. Sorry, fucker, i already paid the night, at least let me take a look at my...

It's Klaus.

I'm sorry, Soren. I just wanted to make amends. For you, for the others.

I look at those words.

The discussion from this night comes back.

That, and the feeling of my womb getting bigger and bigger.

Can we at least try ? To be friends again ?

Friends.

Yeah. I'd like that.

But I'm a coward.

Marteau belongs to @corneille-but-not-the-author

_________

There’s something kinda mind blowing about standing in the bathroom of a church, a pharmacy paper bag in hand, with your best friend tapping his foot nervously and your best friend’s girlfriend staring at you with complete and utter confusion. What a life we live.

“So… Um… Why are we here?” Yavana asks, hesitantly.

“Because this is the only place I can do this. No way I'm doing this at uni, or at home, or at Bazyli's.”

“Do what?”

Urgh. I hate this.

“My period’s two weeks late, there’s no way I'm taking a test at home or at uni or at Bazyli's, and you're the only people I can bring along.”

They gawk. I expected no less. Bazyli raises a hand, dumbfounded, clearly trying to process everything I just blabbered.

“Wait. Wait. Hold on. So you chose… a church of all places?”

“I’m not doing this in a public bathroom, I have standards.”

He raises a doubtful eyebrow. Hey, sure, I've done other things in public bathrooms that were not meant to be done in public bathrooms, but that doesn't mean I can just… Urgh.

“So what you’re saying is… you might be pregnant,” Yavana articulates slowly, squinting in disbelief.

No shit, what do you think a late period means-

No. This is Yavana. And I’m already intruding at her workplace for something less than catholic.

“Yeah.”

I'm not sure if I want to know. But I kinda have to, don’t I?

“And what do you need us for?”

“Support.”

Bazyli scratches the back of his neck.

“So we just stand outside the door while you pee?”

“Mostly. Is that too much for you? Do you need a chair and little biscuits? Tea maybe?”

Dammit. I shouldn’t behave like that. He could have just walked out and left by now, but he hasn't, and here I am being a bitch. I just don’t want them to see how sweaty my palms are or that I'm holding my crutch way too tight.

“Nah, we can do that. Yav, are you okay with it?”

“Um, sure. I just never took a pregnancy test before, so I'm not sure if I'll be of much help.”

“Don't worry about that. Bronya, have you taken a test before?”

“Yeah. Once.”

In high school. Negative. And I took a morning after pill a bunch of times. Still remember the face of some pharmacists, how they looked at my tattoos and my clothes, the judgement in their gaze when they realized how young I was, too young to be such a whore.

Mom doesn't even know half of it. It's probably for the better.

“Okay. Want me to read the notice for you?”

“I’m not five, I’ll read it myself, thank you very much.”

I pause. Come on, Bronya. He’s being considerate here, not condescending.

“But thanks. For asking.”

His expression goes from troubled to straight-up worried. Great. That’s what I get for thanking people once every blue moon, I guess. I don’t know how to face that kind of eyes so I just go into the toilet with the test and lock the door.

“You drank enough today, I hope! Otherwise you won't have enough piss to tell!” Bazyli shouts from behind the door.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“Yes, I have! God, could you be more embarassing?!”

“Easily. Want me to demonstrate?”

“Bazy, aren’t you being a little-”

“Don’t worry, Yav, she loves me.”

I do, that's probably the worst part. Anyways, pants off, I guess. And then squat above the toilet like a true slav. Ha, ha. More like shaking like a true motherfucker.

“... Could you guys talk to me? About, like, anything. I need a distraction.”

“Sure! So, who’s the father?”

… What else was I expecting from him, exactly?

“I don't know.”

And it’s true. I don't know. How ironic. There was a time I could fuck ten different people in the same month and never had a single pregnancy scare, and now… now I'm in a relationship with two men and technically they could both be the father. And I have no idea how they’d react. Shit. Is this a pipeline? The slut to polyamorous pipeline?

“You don't- oh my god that means you fucked them without protection. Both of them. Girl. One of your boyfriends’ a volunteer at Planned Parenthood and you didn't use condoms??”

I’m going to kill that fucker. I’m going to kill him because he’s actually doing exactly what I asked, making me angry about something so I don’t think too hard about the little plastic stick in my hand.

“Both our tests came back clean, I'm on the pill, am I allowed to have a latex-free dick in me once in a while or is that too much to ask??”

There's a snort behind the door, followed by a little oh no, sorry, and I snicker. At least Yavana thinks I'm funny.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a big girl, but still-”

“Stop talking to me like you've always taken your damn pill on time, Zielinska, I will fucking end you.”

“You know I've stopped taking it!”

“Did Zuza scold you?” Yavana asks with an amused voice.

“Nah. She just asked if I wanted an IUD. I'm still thinking about it.”

“I should have gotten one,” I mumble.

Or should I have? I don’t know. I’ve always wanted a kid, but…

“Bronya! Did you pee yourself laughing yet?”

… Well I sure as hell did now, you bastard. And he heard me laugh too, because he starts cackling harder. Even Yavana can barely contain herself.

“I’m always your guy if you need to pee on pregnancy tests!”

“Oh my god, s-stop-”

“You're the worst, Bazyli,” I say, but I sound too grateful.

I put my pants back on and I wait as Bazyli keeps spouting random bullshit to keep me distracted. It quickly becomes background noise. There’s too many thoughts in there.

I’m twenty-two, going on twenty-three. I have to work retail to make ends meet and I still live at my mom’s. I’m finally close to getting this godforsaken law degree she wanted me to have so much. She's always told me about how having a kid too young can just fuck up your whole life, and she'd know. I’m disabled and it’s hard to move around on my own. Can you imagine with a kid?

And more importantly, I don’t know what kind of face Milosz and Louis would make, if they knew. They both have their whole future ahead of them. Hell, so do I, I still want to be a tattoo artist. I can't just-

“Hey, Bronya? It should be done by now.”

Yeah. It should be.

His voice is too gentle. It’s grating.

Let's get this over with.

I take the stick.

…

“Bronya?”

Two lines.

Two fucking blue lines.

I start laughing. I don't know why. I sound fucking hysterical.

From behind the door, Bazyli clears his throat.

“I guess that means no smoke breaks for you anymore, huh.”

I nearly fall against the sink in laughter. Fuck, this is actually hilarious. It shouldn’t be.

My mom is going to fucking kill me.

My boyfriends might actually be mad.

I’m ruining my life. This is terrible news. This should be terrible news.

Not one I could feel or understand at least.

Tonia used to show me dull painted pictures from yellowed books.

She says I never seemed interested in those.

I wasn't.

Then I met them.

And as I stared at their face

(I couldn't stop staring at their face)

I thought

Ah, so

That's what the eyes of a dead fish look like.

(Just in case you're wondering