Chapter 6. Chains Of The Future
The night was pulled without kindness. Vera lay on her back, staring at the roof as if she were replying. The shadow crossed the plaster, thrown there by restless branches outside her window. He closed his eyes countless times, but every eyelid pulled him back into the same whirlpool: Francis's laughter, Francis's hand on another woman's back, Francis's voice telling her that she was not enough.
She turned to her side and hugged the pillow; her chest was squeezing with a dull pain. Already Raymond's voice also repeated, both low and stable, could not take the name to carry both cruelty and anything else.
You will marry me, Vera. This is the price.
She pressed her palms against her ears as if she could block it. But words had already entered her, like Ivy, they were making their way around her heart.
Whatever he was, the most nervous, it was the way it was a part of it, he wanted to say yes. A part of it pitted him to throw himself into the storm, which he had done, because the storms were at least alive. Francis had given up his cold, left. Raymond was burned.
Till dawn, his body was tired, but his mind kept running as if it were running away from fire; he could not escape.
,
The morning sun came in, cutting her room into light and shade strips. Vera pulled herself from bed, her throat dried up, her hair entangled as she fought through the night. He caught his reflection in the mirror and almost laughed. The woman who stared back did not look like her. He looked as if someone were wearing raw, naked clothes.
She turned her stomach at the idea of facing Raymond, but she knew that she could not hide. He was a person who would pull him out of hiding anyway.
,
She was already on a long dining table when she stepped inside, her back straight, her suit sharp, her coffee steaming. He looked at the first time, moving his spoon in a slow circle only inside his cup. That silence cuts more than words.
"Sit," he finally said, his eyes flowing towards her as if he knew about her standing all the time.
His feet carried him forward before his pride could stop him. He took out the chair opposite that, and his hands were shivering against the wood.
Raymond's gaze swept over him, not cruel but deliberately as he was reading the lines.
"You didn't sleep," he said flatly.
Vera's jaw became tough. "Neither did you."
For a flicker of a moment, the corner of his mouth became almost curved. About. Then it was gone.
"Marriage is not for a cage, Vera. If you don't understand the rules."
His chest tightened. "You talk about it like it is a game."
"Everything is a game," he said, drinking his coffee. "You either play, or you lose."
His hands climbed under the table. The air between them was heavy, almost suffocating. Nevertheless, some of his sick parts felt alive under that stress. With Francis, silence was dull, empty. With Raymond, it is pulsed with lightning, dangerous and sharp.
He hated that he thrilled her.
,
By noon, the lawyer had returned, briefcase in hand. The man's voice was calm, neutral, as if he were reciting the weather report, not determining the next years of his life. He moved the thick contract across the table, pages filled with words that cracked his skin.
"Claus Six," the lawyer said, tapping the page. "Any side will result in immediate termination of infidelity. Clause eight ... separation of property. Claus twelve ..."
Vera drove her out, her eyes blurred on black ink. Her heart insisted on her voice to drown. He was shut down again, but not from paper. By myself. By his choice.
Raymond stood a few steps away, crossing the weapon, looking at him. Not pushing. Not forced. Just wait, which was somehow heavier than danger.
His fingers brushed the pen. They trembled.
He again thought about Francis, how easily he cheated him, how little his love was. Signing the contract felt like he was handing over his last delicate piece of independence, yet another man was telling him what his life should be.
But then an idea slipped into calm and dangerous. At least he does not pretend to be Raymond. Francis lied, until she was blind, painted love in her eyes. Raymond gave him the truth, fast and cruel. There may be security in cruelty, at least it did not disguise itself.
He lifted the pen. As soon as he spread his name, his breath was shaken, and the ink spread like blood.
The lawyer took the paper, nodded, and forgave himself with the efficiency of the practice. The door closed. Silence swallowed the room.
Raymond's eyes lived on him, dark and unpleasant.
"This is done," he said.
Vera forced herself to meet her gaze. "Yes. It's done."
But inside, his chest felt as if it was open.
,
That night, she was sitting by the window in her room, pulling her knees up, and the weapons were tightly wrapped around them. The city below shines with restless life-streaming, lights blinking, people chasing something that he cannot name. She wondered if they were all trapped as she was.
His phone was echoing on the table. He ignored it at first, thinking that it was one of the men of Raymond, some business reminders. But Gulzar continued, fast and urged.
Finally, she arrived.
Burned the screen.
His breath froze.
Francis.
His heart stopped, then slammed against his ribs. Until his vision became blurred, he did not get rid of his ears. It could not happen that he cut it, erased his number, and burned every bridge.
But the name was there, it was shining. Real.
His hand was shaken as soon as he pressed the button.
The static filled the line, then a voice that she knew very well, a voice that was once the center of her world.
"Vera," Francis whispered. "We need to talk."
His stomach fell. The room rotates.
The world he felt that he had buried, he has made his way back to life.