Millie
I slept for hours, waiting to hear back from Viktor. I even woke up and texted him a few times to make sure that everything was alright, but eventually, I realized that I’d have to be at work again in a few hours to
begin preparations for the day at the bakery.
I catch a cab home to sleep a few more hours, then return back to my shop, feeling strangely energetic despite the wild night I had.
It was so hard to leave the apartment, both because of the novelty of the luxury of it all and the fact that I desperately wanted Viktor to return. I felt exactly the way I would feel when I was a teenage girl waiting for my crush to show up at a party, knowing that he probably never would and not being able to accept it. I was even watching the door the same way.
The time I had with Viktor was fun, and I’d like to see him again, of course, but I just know there’s something dangerous about him that I’d be best advised to keep my distance from.
The way he carries himself reminds me of the kind of guys who would come into the club when I worked as a stripper. He has the same dark energy hanging over him that both draws me to him and brings my defenses up whenever I think critically for more than ten seconds.
I told myself I would leave that life behind, and throughout the day, as I assist customers, I look around my shop to remind myself of that. I built so much for myself from nothing. Am I going to let some guy draw me back into the inevitable downward spiral of addiction and abuse that I’m used to? No.
Viktor clearly isn’t a good person. If I’m being honest with myself, I know that if I weren’t attracted to him, the whole of his character would likely disgust me. He’s secretive, condescending, and savagely rich. People like him were the absolutely worst customers, always the most demanding and the least respectful.
How can I find myself drawn to him?
The day crawls by as I struggle internally to reconcile my feelings. Just as I feel like I’m able to give myself a break from the doubts and hesitation, a vaguely familiar man approaches me with a concerned look on his face.
“Hi, do you remember me? I own the wine shop on the other side of the building,” he says, gesturing towards the east side of the street.
“Oh! Yes, I remember. Your name is Martin, right?” I reply, feeling cautious of this person for no reason in particular. His energy is off-putting, like he’s here to scold me.
“I just wanted to come by and say that I saw you out with the landlord last night, and I really don’t think you should be letting him use you in that way,” he says, emphasizing the word that as if it were to roll off his tongue onto the floor in disgust of itself.
I’m in complete shock. While I know I don’t owe this man an explanation for my actions, I feel just as guilty that I’ve put myself in a position to be viewed that way at all.
I mean, Martin is right in a way. It must be so obvious to anybody around me that Viktor sees me as a conquest, as some kind of prize. Even though I’ve helped get Martin’s rent reduced by such means, I’d never, ever confess such a thing.
“I don’t really understand what you mean,” I lie, putting on my most innocent face. I’m half-expecting Martin to reach out and take one of my hands, staring down at me with a disappointed but understanding paternal expression.
“Sweetheart, I know how girls are at your age. You think that just because a guy has money, you should have to sell your body to get attention from him, but you’re worth so much more than that,” he says.
I feel like I’m back in high school being lectured on preserving my virginity. “Um, thanks, Martin, but I really don’t think it’s something you need to be worrying about,” I reply curtly.
He pays for a coffee and a biscotti and begins to head out, likely preparing another meaningless string of flowery, empty cliches about my worth as a human before I turn back and enter the kitchen to avoid him.
His comments grate on me for the rest of the day. I feel condescended to, pitied by somebody who doesn’t even know my last name… or my first name, at that. Being spoken to like a child makes me irrationally angry, and I almost feel compelled to return to Viktor’s apartment to fuck the soul out of his skin just to return to my baseline of being an illustrious trollop.
As self-righteous as Martin’s comments were, it is concerning to me that someone on the outside looking in could even think to see me as some kind of lost little lamb being taken advantage of. Viktor is clearly not the kind of guy you bring out to brunch to meet your mother, but I didn’t know that an outside observer would believe I was actively being used like that.
Viktor makes me feel sexy.
He makes me feel dangerous.
Obviously, this quality is something that makes me feel alive and untouchable, especially after being actually taken advantage of by people like Erik at the clubs I’ve worked at. At least with Viktor, I feel like a person.
The feeling in my gut ebbs and flows throughout the day as I move through the store, making one mistake after the next as I grab the wrong items for customers and charge the wrong amounts for products I’ve priced out myself.
At one point, one man even comments that the manager should have given me better training, which makes me consider tossing his muffin right at his face and ordering him to leave.
I don’t, of course.
But I want to.
When I arrive home late at night, I’m tormented by the choice that hangs in the balance for my future with Viktor. Do I stop seeing him altogether? Do I just keep things casual? I don’t even know where to begin, but I know I’ve gotten myself into something.
Or perhaps I haven’t, seeing as Viktor has vanished.
Maybe he’s really gone for good this time.