2. The greatest evil.
1161 Words
2. THE GREATEST EVIL.
Katarina.
My step is steady as my heels step on the expensive tile of my childhood home.
So much elegance.
So much luxury.
So much money.
And so much pain.
All the lights are on. It's after three in the morning, but my father has more than half the staff working.
Despite the drinks on me, over time, unfortunately, I've developed a certain immunity to alcohol. Besides, the conversation with Albern sobered me up enough, which is a regret.
I wish I was drunk enough to face him.
"Come in" I hear my father's voice as the new butler signals to him that we have arrived.
His staff doesn't last more than six months. They always quit or my father fires them. He fervently believes that keeping one person for years would only lead to a breach of trust or blurring the strict line between boss and employee. The only person who has always stayed close to the family is Albern, watching my steps on my father's orders, watching my money.
"Sir" Albern greets him submissively when we are in his office.
"Father" I say, also submissively, watching him there, in his expensive leather seat as he drinks from his expensive whiskey.
"Albern, Katarina," he says in his imposing voice, "how were the awards?"
"It left... quite a lot to talk about" answers the good Albern, obedient to his master.
"Is that so?"
"A few too many drinks and grimaces of displeasure that won't do us any good right now."
I refrain from rolling my eyes, just stand there, firmly on my feet as Albern gives a report on my behavior to my father. Maybe I'm out of my mind and I'm eight years old instead of twenty-eight.
"Thank you, Albern, you may go."
He nods and leaves the office. The door hasn't finished closing when my father comes straight at me. The blow doesn't surprise me, what surprises me is that it's to my face.
I blink and look up at him, meeting his eyes.
"What are you doing with your life, Katarina?"
I don't answer anything, just stare at him, impassive.
"You're making less and less money as an actress, you're not making half of what you were making six years ago."
I don't try to justify myself, it wouldn't do any good.
So I do what I was taught since I was a child.
I stand in the war zone and act like I'm not being sent grenades. My father gave me the best acting lessons. Painful, cruel and many would call it torture... But effective. So effective that he taught me not only to act in front of a camera, but in every moment of my life.
Another blow is thrown in my face, this time on my other cheek.
I taste blood on my tongue as pain shoots through my lip.
He cuts me with his ring.
I'm only slightly surprised by his action. After my career took off, when I was eighteen, he began to be careful where he hit me. Even fearful, you might say. But three years ago, it was like the dam broke and every time he saw me he found a reason to hit me. Yet he was still careful about where on my body he did it.
Now that doesn't matter to him.
I wonder why.
I watch him silently as he moves to his elegant wooden desk and holds out some receipts which I dutifully take.
I read them.
"Your mother's food, her clothes, her little trips to the spa, who's going to pay for this if not you?"
You, I want to answer, her husband.
Instead, I tell him: "Albern already got me a new role."
He denies, his face closed in anger.
"You're no longer making me any money, Katarina."
For a well-known, veteran Hollywood actor who swims in money, I never understood his eagerness for me to pay him back for everything he gave me. As if I owed him a debt that I had to repay, as if every little thing he gave my mother and me had to be paid back as a favor.
I don't understand why my mother let him do it either.
But understanding their decisions would never lead me to anything good, so I long ago gave up on finding the truth behind their marriage, about us as a family, if we can call ourselves that.
My mother was an actress when she was young, until she married my father and a few years later I came along.
They say babies are a blessing, but maybe I was her curse.
"You forced my hand to do this, Katarina," says my father, suddenly a cold chill invades my body as he asks someone on the phone to come in. "Your silly dear mother has avoided it for years, but they found you and if you're no use to me as an actress, you're no use to me for anything else."
"What are you talking about?" Every molecule of my being goes on alert, even more so when two burly men walk through the door. "Who are they? What are you doing?"
"I'm sending you where you belong."
I watch in slow motion as one of the men hands my father a check.
What is this?
What's going on?
I take a step back, only to collide with a strong chest and quickly strong hands grip my forearms like shackles hurting.
I look from side to side, tongue stuck in my throat.
"Не дай ей уйти" the man with the check says to the man holding me and I immediately understand the language.
It is my mother's native language.
Russian.
Don't let her go, he tells him.
And the man doesn't let me go, gripping my forearms tighter. But the physical pain doesn't stop me, so I bend and dig my heel into his groin. I'm released and I run to grab the door handle, but as soon as I touch it, my hair is pulled back. It must hurt, but I don't notice it, not when my focus is only on getting out of here.
"You've run away from your destiny enough, Katarina" my father whispers in my ear, "it's time for you to face your reality."
A rag is left on my nose and I slowly feel myself fading away.
The last thing I am aware of is my mother coming through the door, there are tears in her eyes, but she doesn't lift a finger for me.
She allows me to be carried away.
Like flashbacks, memories come to me, memories of her and me.
"Katarina, believe it or not, I am choosing the lesser evil over the greater evil" was always her answer when I demanded her to divorce my father.
And now I understand her words a little, because in my blood, I feel it.
I am being sent towards the greater evil.
- Writer
