Craved (Twisted Book 2) (24 page)

‘Julia, you know I love you. It’s Natalia who always does those horrible things. I would never want to hurt –’

‘Please leave.’ I don’t let her finish. ‘I beg you. Just leave.’

Her face changes in a second. ‘Oh yeah, now you are a lady all of a sudden, judging me? Who are you to judge, you fucking junkie whore?’

I spurt forward, swinging the belt in the air, but she grabs her trash bag and runs out of the door.

49

I walk through the crowd, trying to focus on work. The shock of last night’s events and Lena’s betrayal erode me from inside. I force myself not to think, especially about the new development involving Natalia. But not thinking doesn’t help to temper the pain and heaviness in my chest. Even though it’s a story from long ago – one I thought I had managed to let go of – Lena’s words have opened old wounds, bringing hardened resentment up to the surface.

I force a smile, using the bright layers of make-up as a shield to protect my depressive state from the nauseating joy of others.

One more hour to go and I can go back home, climb into the bed and pity myself under the thick cover of my blanket.

‘Would you like a lap dance or a fantasy, which gives you more freedom?’ I get up and move towards the private rooms.

The middle-aged Indian man, born and bred in Durban, obediently follows me.

‘I want to touch. Do you accept credit cards?’

I nod.

I open the door and let him enter the booth first. He settles in the middle of the two-seater couch, shivering with excitement. I begin my routine, moving voluptuously, making sure that when my face is in sight, it radiates nothing but thrill and sexuality. As soon as I take off my bra, facing him on his lap, he palms both breasts and squeezes with all the force he has. I cry out in pain and push his hands away.

‘What?’ He looks at me through his spotted glasses, perplexed.

I take a moment to control the pain.

‘When you use force while caressing my breasts it hurts. Unless both partners are into BDSM, it’s unnecessary to use force if you want a woman to enjoy herself.’

‘Okay, I’m sorry.’ He pushes his glasses up his nose, puts his hands back on my breasts and starts squeezing them again, not as strongly this time.

I roll my eyes, wondering why it is that most of the Indian clients, locals or visitors to South Africa, have identical sexual behavior patterns. Especially weird is how they all kiss. When they reach to kiss your neck or shoulders, instead of actually kissing, they just press their faces to the area they want to kiss, without moving their lips or opening their mouths.

Maybe there is something in their culture? Or they all watch the same unsophisticated porn? Or worse! It’s the moral censorship of Indian movies, in which the hero lovers can’t even kiss in front of the camera? In any case, it seems to me that they are like disabled people in a way.

Tired of his attempts to try to ‘kiss’ my lips, I turn around, sitting with my back to him. I continue my rubbing movements with my ass, feeling his curry breath on my neck, while checking the time on my wristwatch.

In an instant, sharp pain pierces my chest again – this time, it’s worse. I growl and, without a second thought, swing my elbow and hit him in the face.

His scream scares me and I jump off his lap. The right side of his face is covered with blood; he is holding his face. I’ve broken his glasses and cut his face. I check my elbow – it’s also bleeding. Two small pieces of glass have cut into my skin.

‘Oh crap, I’m sorry,’ I mumble, and reach out towards the man, trying to help, but not knowing what to do.

He pushes my arms away, and storms out of the private room.

Before I know it, Alan is near the man, trying to calm him down, and offering to call a paramedic or take him to hospital. The man shakes his head, still covering his face with both hands. Alan calls one of the security guys who walks the man to the door.

Alan turns to me. ‘R5 000 fine.’

‘But Alan, check the camera!’ I exclaim, holding my elbow that is now starting to hurt. ‘It was an accident!’

He turns to leave. ‘Another R5 000. You want to continue?’

Without saying anything else, I go back to the booth, pick up my bra, then go to the dressing room, pack my bag and leave the club.

50

A week goes by. I haven’t been to work since that night. My elbow has healed but the desire to go back and face Alan and his fines hasn’t developed. He sent me a text saying that unless I have a doctor’s certificate that proves that I am sick, he’ll add R2 500 for every day I’ve missed to the R10 000 I already owe. I told Saad what happened in the club.

‘I’ll be back in Cape Town in less than two weeks,’ his voice on the phone sounded comforting, ‘and will take care of it. Take as much time as you need. Don’t worry and rest.’

Well… I can do ‘Don’t worry and rest’.

‘Miss Lazar?’ I answer my phone. It’s a woman, with a heavy African accent.

I quickly check the caller number – it says ‘Unknown’.

‘Yes, speaking.’

‘I am calling from the hospital. It’s regarding Lena Lazar. You need to come here.’ The woman’s voice is even and indifferent.

I park and walk into the hospital. It’s a government facility, nothing like the one we went to when Lena cut herself with her wine glass. Peeling, muddy-blue paint on the walls, no seating areas, and corridors filled with shabbily dressed people with somber and hopeless faces make me feel uneasy in my designer shoes and clothes. I squeeze the handle of my Prada bag and walk towards the crowded reception area. It takes me forty minutes, but at last I am in the dark corridor on the fifth floor. The stuffiness of the air and moans of pain and despair stick to my skin. I quicken my pace and finally find the ward I need.

There are eight beds, four on each side of the room. All of the beds are occupied and I take time to look around and find Lena’s bed. The smell of medication and pain is thick in the air. Lena hears my steps, turns, and her face lights up. She grabs my hand. Her eyes are pleading. ‘Oh gosh, Jul. I’m so glad you made it. Please take me away from here. I can’t stay here any longer, it’s horrible.’

I look at her gaunt face. ‘I need to find your doctor.’ I pull my hand from hers and leave the room.

‘Your sister?’

‘Correct.’ I look at the doctor’s face. It’s as unconcerned as her voice was on the phone an hour ago.

‘She was found unconscious somewhere in Woodstock. Heroin overdose. If she’d been found any later she’d be dead. She lost the baby too. Did you know she was pregnant?’

I shake my head.

‘I didn’t think so. The fetus was only about three weeks old. I guess she didn’t know either.’ She checks her phone and continues as if we are talking about the weather in Hawaii.

‘We kept her on Valium for three days, to get her through the most difficult withdrawal. Most of the time she was sleeping or too weak to talk. Finally, she stabilized and could tell us where to find you. She also told us that she wanted to kill herself. Considering her deeply depressed state, with drug addiction on top of that, I have to report her case, because she is a danger to herself and likely to people around her. She’ll have to spend some time in a psychiatric facility. Have there been any incidents in the past that you think we need to consider?’

I take time to answer, understanding the impact my words could have. ‘She tried to kill herself when she was sixteen. She cut her wrists because of a troubled love story.’

‘This confirms my decision – her obvious predisposition. If you have the means,’ her eyes slip down onto my bag and shoes, ‘it’ll be better to put her into a private facility. It will cost a lot of money, especially if she doesn’t have medical aid.’ She checks her phone again. ‘But if it were me I wouldn’t send my sister to a government psychiatric hospital. It will make this place seem like paradise.’

‘I have no money to pay.’ I also look at my watch.

‘You’ll have to sign the consent forms, explaining the reasons, including her history. Your sister will be transferred today. In the next few days there will be a court hearing. You’ll be notified. But unless you wish to object to my colleagues’ and my conclusions, you don’t have to attend.’

I sign the papers and start heading to the exit.

‘Miss Lazar, would you like to tell your sister about the baby yourself?’ the doctor asks and I stop.

‘I need to go,’ I reply and leave the hospital.

‘What the hell is going on?’ Natalia’s phone call wakes me up the next day.

‘What are you talking about?’ I say, knowing what she means.

‘Lena called me! What the hell is going on there?’

‘Slow down, Nata, and stop talking to me like that. Lena was supposed to go to rehab a week ago – she blew it and I lost money. I’m not paying for anything else!’

‘When you were fucked up, we didn’t give up on you. And now you are paying her back with your kindness? How could you do this to her?’

The anger and resentment covers my head like a heavy flash fog on a rainy autumn day.

‘I am sick and tired of this family!’ I yell back at her. ‘I want nothing more to do with Lena. I did all I could to help her. In return she put my life in danger.’ I take a deep breath, fighting the tears that are choking me. ‘And don’t you dare accuse me or try to make me feel guilty! Lena told me about your doings as well!’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘What am I talking about? I’m talking about this fucked up family I want nothing more to do with. My mom is a fucking whore! Lena watched me being raped, then like some pervert still wanted to marry the bastard. What’s more, she brought some fucking stoned freaks to my home last week, and again I almost got raped! In my own house! My elder sister, apparently, is so greedy that justice for the bastards that insulted and raped me was not a good enough reason to spend 300 bucks! Fucking 300 bucks, Nata – is that true?’ I scream, my weeping making my words almost incomprehensible. ‘Do you know what it was like to go back to school after what had happened and to face those bastards’ friends and guys from the same gang every day, who teased and laughed at me, saying that if they weren’t arrested I had obviously wanted and enjoyed it? Do you have any idea how that felt?’

Natalia takes a deep breath. ‘Julia, I’m flying back tomorrow. We will talk. I will answer all your questions about that. Now Lena needs our help. You know she has lost a baby. Please get her into a private facility. I will pay you back myself…’

‘Unbelievable! All you are worried about is fucked up Lena, who doesn’t care about any of us, not even our Dad.’ The bitter resentment is tearing me apart. ‘I don’t care. It’s her fault she lost that baby. She has to pay the price.’ I shake my head. ‘You want to save her? You’ll have to do it yourself.’

I throw my phone on the floor, fall onto the bed with my face in the pillow and let myself cry until there are no more tears left.

Three months later...

The heat wakes me.

Saad, as always, is spooning like there is no tomorrow, sweating all over me. I gently move his arm off me and get up. I scowl, sensing the sloppy stickiness of my body. I sneak to the bathroom, switch on the water in the shower, lean over the washbasin, and stare at myself in the mirror.

As I suspected, when Saad arrived in Cape Town, his way of ‘taking care of things’ was simply to convince me not to go back to the club at all.

‘Julia, don’t worry,’ he told me as soon as he walked into my apartment. He kissed me, smashing my breasts with his fat fingers, and continued while breathing heavily into my face. ‘You can do better than that. Now you have my full support. I’ll help you with anything you decide to do.’

Despite my fears of making the same mistake again and becoming fully dependent on a person I barely knew (
yeah, I know. Been there, done that
), his proposal was very tempting and I let him convince me.

The first few weeks I spent coming up with all sorts of ideas. Anything from opening an art gallery to a trivial beauty salon jumped into my mind as a great, exciting idea, nudged my self-esteem up, then died out several days later, making me feel stupid and useless. The longer I lived this life of all dreams and no action, the more my confidence faded, decaying my determination into indifference. With time, this behavior made resisting procrastination impossible, and instead of searching and researching I chose to waste my days on shopping, facials and TV series. So, a month after I received a ‘lifetime opportunity’ to become anything I want, the next idea – ‘I always wanted to be a lawyer; I will go to the university tomorrow and get all the information about what I need to apply’ – sounded more like a joke to me. Eventually, I gave up even trying to come up with the ideas, convincing myself that when the opportunity appeared I would grab and pursue it.

I’m so useless, such an idiot!

Sometimes, when I feel especially low, I call Natalia. But she doesn’t pick up her phone. The day after our fight over the phone, she flew back from Ukraine. She missed the court hearing, where the judge ruled to keep Lena in the psychiatric hospital. Natalia and Tom filed an appeal, and it looked like they’d found a way to have her released with the assurance that Lena would stay in their house and that they would undertake to care for her, making sure she takes the necessary drugs, regularly visits the psychologist and uses other programs to help her recovery. But a day before her release, Lena tried to kill herself again. The nurse found her attempting to hang herself with her own pajama pants. She was transferred to the psychiatric intensive care ward, where rules and conditions, including those governing visiting hours, are stricter. That day, Natalia called me to tell me what had happened, and ended with accusations, saying it was all my fault.

A month later, we were finally allowed to visit Lena. I met Natalia at the hospital. Lena looked like a zombie. She didn’t react when she saw us. After a few attempts to get her talking, she said to the nurse-guard that she was tired and asked to be taken back to her room.