Page 16 of Scarred King
“Go on, don't be shy.” She throws some leaves at me and I realize that I have been so deep in my thoughts that I haven’t heard a word she said. “Well, one orgasm or more?” she repeats the question I missed, and I look at her in confusion. “Elena!” she giggles, “have you ever managed to have more than one orgasm during sex?”
“Oh,” I pull myself together. “I don’t think so.” I wrinkle my forehead, attempting to remember my bedroom encounters from the last few years. “But I did have an orgasm,” I say proudly, “and according to recent studies I’m definitely in the minority.”
“Right,” she sighs. “I only do occasionally, and only when I help myself.”
“How did we ever get to talk about this?” I ask horrified. “Haven’t we got more important things to talk about?”
“I think that this is very important,” she says, and I hear in her tune that she feels insulted. “Do you not think that we can, and should, also talk about things other than molecules and quantum all the time?”
“Not really.” I laugh.
“Elena,” she groans. “Do you not feel that we live inside a sterile lab? That there is an exciting life outside and we’re not a part of it? Aren’t you bored?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask in amazement. “Look!” I point at the faculty buildings. “That’s as exciting as it gets.” I take my cellphone out of my backpack and my smile vanishes. My mother has called me five times today. There’s no escaping the conversation I’ve been trying so hard to avoid. “I have to get to work.” I stand up and brush the grass off my jeans.
“If you continue to work all night and study all day, you will collapse,” she says concerned and stands up next to me. “Maybe you should…”
“I have to go,” I cut her off and hurry toward the exit. I get into a cab and dial my mom.
“Elena, where did you disappear to?” she asks angrily.
“I’m really busy with school, mom.” I manage to keep my cool. “I’ve been accepted to a new, important research study.”
“Good.” I can hear that she is still angry. “And I see that you're still in denial regarding our new situation.”
“Not at all.” I stuff a stray lock of hair into my braid. “I’ve found a job and I’m working and studying all together.”
“A job that pays thirty thousand dollars?” she asks contemptuously, and I start to lose my patience.
“No, mom. But I can pay in installments, and I’ll work hard and make the money.”
“Elena,” she says, and I can picture her tapping her foot. “Stop thinking only about yourself. I need to leave the house next week. I’ve sent your father to rehab and I even had to go out and get a job.”
“Wow, Mom, good for you.” I am trying my best to keep our conversation positive.
“Good for me?” she says, and I just know that now she’s scraping her manicured fingernail on the mahogany banister. “A woman of my age, who has never worked a day in her life, must now be a receptionist at a used-car dealership. But you don't care. You're too busy with your stupid research.”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath and exhale. “You’re only fifty years old. Plenty of women your age work. I think it will be good for you. And if you don’t mind, I’ll go back to my stupid research now.” I disconnect the call and throw my cellphone back in my bag. It rings and I ignore it. I’ll never understand how you can go through life when the only thing that interests you is what people think of you and how you look. But that’s my mom. You can love her, you can hate her, but you can’t ignore her. Right now I pretty much hate her, but that’s not anything new.
I get out of the cab, say hi to the bouncer at the entrance and go inside. The three partners are sitting with Carly at the round table. Charlie is setting out wine glasses on the shelves and the girls are sitting together at some of the tables. My entrance doesn’t draw any attention, everyone continues what they’re doing. I go to the restroom and wash my face.
When I look in the mirror, I see that one of the stalls is open and the tall brunette is sitting on a closed toilet seat, leaning over a stainless-steel surface attached to the wall. She uses a rectangular card to arrange two lines of powder, takes a rolled-up dollar bill and snorts them up her nose.
“Want some?” she asks with a smile and sniffle.
I shake my head no.
“Too bad, this is good stuff.” She sniffles again, closes her eyes and leans back.
“Do you like it?” I hear myself asking and then fall silent.
“Sure.” She puts her hand on her neck. “It’s great stuff.”
“Not that,” I can’t stop myself, “…being with those men.”
“Oh…” she sits up straight and open her eyes. “I like it the way I like it when a mosquito gets into my room at night and sucks my blood over and over and over.” She laughs at my shocked face and stands up.
“Then why do you do it?” I pull at the sides of my T-shirt to stretch it so that it won’t cling to my body.