The Older Brother Came Home from the Zone. Parts 1-2
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These ten years had not changed him. He remained the same street thug from the neighborhood. Time seemed to have stopped in his life. He was still the same kid who didn’t think about the future and lived one day at a time. While I was learning to survive, starting a business, getting married, burying my parents, he sat in his cell and lived by the schedule. Wake up, breakfast, work, lunch, work, dinner, lights out. Day after day, year after year. Ten years. And when he got out, it turned out that nothing inside him had changed. The same Max who had left home with a bag over his shoulder. The same kid who was used to taking what he wanted without asking permission. The same one who never planned beyond tomorrow.
In the morning, as soon as I got to work, I started loading the old Gazelle. My colleagues, as usual, arrived later and began helping me. An hour later the Gazelle was full; I checked the invoices—seemed like I hadn’t forgotten anyone. Boxes of cartridges were stacked one on top of another, filling the entire cargo space. It smelled of plastic and toner. I knew every order, every address, every client. I had been working in this settlement for the third year already. I knew who paid on time, who dragged it out to the last, who liked to chat, and who just silently handed over the money and closed the door. I knew who had a dog in the yard and who had a mean security guard. I knew whom it was better to visit before lunch and whom after. All of this was my life. Ordinary, measured. The very life I had been building for two years. The very life he destroyed in two days.
— Sanya, let’s have some tea.
— No time, guys, I want to be back before 10 p.m.
— I don’t know. So many cartridges to deliver and replace.
My colleagues’ skepticism scared me, but there were no options. I quickly jumped behind the wheel and with difficulty started my little swallow. The old Gazelle I had bought three years ago with my last money. She was unattractive, with rusty sides and squeaky doors. But she worked. Just like me.
All day we drove around the neighboring settlement, delivering goods to customers. But as always, unforeseen moments arose. Various questions, additional consultations. Someone asked to show how to refill a cartridge. Someone complained that the previous one hadn’t lasted until the end. Someone just wanted to talk. I couldn’t refuse. Every client was important. Every order was money. And money was life. I smiled, explained, showed, refilled, replaced. My hands did the familiar work, but my head was occupied with something else. I kept thinking about Lena. About how she was now. About what she was feeling. About whether she would come home or run away. From me. From him. From all this nightmare.
The colleagues were angry but stayed silent. I felt their looks on my back. They had been working for me for two years and knew I didn’t like downtime. But today was a special day. Today I wanted to get home as early as possible. Because Lena was left at home. With him. Alone.
Having stopped by the last customer, I glanced at the clock and froze. The time was 9:30 p.m. I won’t make it in half an hour. While I finish here, that’s about forty minutes. The road home, the road from work. I started calling Lena, but she didn’t pick up. Then another call. The rings stretched one after another. Long, drawn-out. I was already about to hang up when suddenly someone answered on the other end.
— Hello, hello, Sanya, is that you, darling. *cough, cough.*
The voice wasn’t Lena’s. Male. Hoarse, with a slight mockery. I recognized it immediately. Max.
— Max, why are you… where is Lena?
— How the hell should I know? The phone’s been lying on the kitchen table, ringing since morning. I didn’t touch it, but then I saw it said “Sasha Beloved” and your photo. So I decided to pick it up.
I gripped the phone. A thousand thoughts raced through my head. Why is Lena’s phone on the kitchen table? Why didn’t she take it with her? Where is she? What has he done to her? Maybe she’s in the room? Maybe he locked her up? Maybe she’s crying? Maybe he forced her again? All these thoughts flashed in a second. One worse than the other. One more terrifying than the other.
— Okay. I wanted to tell her that I’ll be late, we won’t make it in time.
— Okay, I’ll pass it on. And this—can you stop by the 24-hour store on the way back? Grab me a bottle.
— Okay.
I hung up. My hands were shaking. I was glad that Lena wasn’t near him. Different thoughts crept into my head when I heard his voice. I thought she was at home. That he had forced her, like at night. Shaking my head, I started driving the thoughts away from myself. But surprisingly, I felt arousal again. Disgusting, sticky. I hated myself for it. But my body reacted on its own. As if it wasn’t mine. As if it was betraying me. As if it wanted the same thing he wanted.
— Are you coming or not?
My partner shoved me in the shoulder. They were angry at me. All day I had made them work without a break and without lunch. I saw their tired faces, their irritation. But I didn’t care. All my thoughts were there, at home. With her. With him.
— Yes, yes.
I quickly finished with the last order, signed the invoices, said goodbye. We drove back. The guys were silent the whole way. So was I. Each was thinking about his own. I was thinking about Lena. About how she was now. About what she was feeling. About whether she would come home or run away. From me. From him. From all this nightmare.
I drove home with a heavy heart. It was midnight, and I didn’t know where my wife was. Passing the 24-hour store, I stopped and went for vodka. The store was empty, only a sleepy saleswoman at the register. I bought two bottles so I wouldn’t have to come back. Stuck them in a bag, returned to the car. Decided not to park it at work, but drop off the guys and go straight home.
The road home took another twenty minutes. I drove slowly, peering into the dark windows. The light was on in our window. That meant someone was home.
Having gone up to my floor, I didn’t immediately press the doorbell. I put my ear to the door and listened. Music was audible. Some old song that I didn’t immediately recognize. Someone’s voices. Laughter. Male. Not one. I rang the doorbell. No reaction followed. Then again and again. I started knocking, but no one opened.
I got very nervous and literally banged on the door. With fists, with palms. I didn’t care that the neighbors would hear. I didn’t care about anything. I wanted only one thing. To see Lena. To make sure she was okay.
Surprisingly, someone started opening the lock. One clicked, then the second. The door opened. Max stood there. He was in his underwear and drunk. Eyes cloudy, a smirk on his face. He reeked of alcohol and something else, sweetish, foreign.
— Oh, Sanya, bro, come in. I didn’t hear. We’re sitting here.
I entered, took off my boots and saw two more pairs of shoes. Sneakers, dirty, worn. Foreign. I went inside and saw Lena sitting in the kitchen and two more guys about Max’s age, maybe a bit older. They were sitting, literally squeezing Lena from both sides. She was frightened. Eyes red, hands trembling. She was wearing the same dress as in the morning, but it looked wrinkled. Hair disheveled. She looked at me, and in her gaze was a plea.
— What are you doing here?
My voice broke, and everyone laughed. Loudly, drunkenly. As if I had said something funny. As if I was a clown in a circus.
— Sanya, everything’s fine, we’re sitting, having a cultural rest.
I noticed how Lena was dressed. How her hair lay. This wasn’t like her. She always looked neat. Always. Even after work, tired, she found time to tidy herself up. And now she looked as if she had been dragged all over the apartment.
— Meet them, this is Valera and Tolya.
On the men’s bodies I noticed similar tattoos, like Max’s. Letters, numbers, skulls. They were dressed in track pants and tank tops. On the table stood bottles, dirty plates, cigarette butts. What had they been doing with my wife? How long had she been here? How long had they been here?
— Sit with us, here’s the bottle will come in handy.
Max poured me a glass and poured for the others. I saw that Lena also had a mug, and he splashed some vodka there too. She didn’t drink. Just looked into it, like into a well.
— That’s good. Let’s drink to the release.
We drank. It hit my head right away. I realized I hadn’t eaten anything all day. Only tea in the morning. Max poured more, and we drank again. After the third I felt unwell. I saw that they still had several bottles. From the food on the table there was salad, instant dumplings and cutlets. I took a cutlet and started eating it. I didn’t taste it. Just chewed so as not to fall.
Lena sat, embarrassed. But the most unpleasant thing was that she seemed to be embarrassed by me. By my looks. She averted her eyes when I looked at her. As if she was ashamed. But of what? What had happened here?
— It’s late, we have work tomorrow. We’re going to bed.
— Where are you going? Go if you want, but we’re having fun here, right, Lenusik?
One of the men tried to object to me, but was immediately stopped by my brother.
— Stop, he said everything correctly. Go.
His buddy tried to object, but it didn’t work out well for him. Max’s authority was indisputable. Even here, in my house, among his friends, he was the main one. He always was the main one.
Left alone with Lena, I started asking her what had happened, when she arrived and if they had harassed her.
— I got scared that I had lost my phone, called it from a colleague’s phone, Max answered there. He said that his friends would come and I needed to cook. From work I took cutlets, dumplings and some stuff for the salad. I don’t remember your number by heart and couldn’t call. I thought you would come at the same time. Arriving home, I didn’t find Max or my phone. I started cooking, and then they came. Max brought these guys, and seeing me, they immediately started giving compliments. I cooked everything, they looked at me and discussed my figure.
When Lena was telling this, I clenched my fists. Our calm measured life was flying into the abyss. Everything we had built for two years was collapsing before my eyes. Because of him. Because of my brother.
— And what then?
Unnoticed by myself, I realized that from her story my cock was standing hard. This disgusting feeling of arousal, when not just it got semi-hard, but standing so that you can’t lower it even by force. I hated myself for it. But I couldn’t do anything.
— I’m tired, Sasha, let’s talk tomorrow, it’s late, we have to get up early tomorrow.
I agreed with her, and we went to bed. Max, my brother, what are you doing? I fell asleep from strong intoxication, but the sleep was sensitive. I heard the door slam. Then Max was alone, he was talking to himself. Muttering something, laughing. Then silence. Then steps.
Suddenly I woke up from a whisper.
— Len, Len, wake up.
— What do you want? Go away!
— Come on, why are you being difficult, he’s sleeping, we’ll be quiet.
I was lying with my back to my wife and face to the wall. I understood that he was harassing her, that he wanted sex from her. But I was constrained. I couldn’t do anything with myself. I lay there and was afraid. Like then, at twelve years old, in the yard. Only now I was afraid not of other kids, but of my own brother.
— Stop, I don’t want to, Sasha is here. Don’t.
— Come on. Give me once, after the zone there was no one. It won’t hurt you. He’s my brother, we’re relatives.
— Stop, don’t.
Sounds of struggle were heard, and everything quieted. A quiet moan from Lena, a light push that even made me flinch a little. I understood that he was in her.
— You want it yourself, look how wet and hot you are, you’re all flowing.
I heard Lena making sounds, not like crying and not like moans. It was something in between. And Max started more actively thrusting and rocking the bed. So humiliating and offensive to lie in bed while another is fucking your wife. I saw nothing, I only heard and felt, but that was enough to go crazy. But at the same moment, under the general rocking of the bed, I felt how my cock was standing, filled with blood. I couldn’t do anything against Max. His authority was higher than my courage.
Suddenly right nearby I heard Lena moan. The way I had never heard.
— Came, bitch, wait, I’ll come soon too.
Lena came? That’s impossible. She never came with me. She explained it by the structure of her body and reassured me that during sex she gets pleasure, not orgasm, but very similar. All of this was a lie. Max made her come. Max. Not me.
The amplitude of the movements became more active, and, making several powerful thrusts, Max wheezed. His wheeze was strange. I understood later that at that time he was kissing Lena. Her lips muffled his wheeze. He came. He came in Lena. It was disgusting. She could get pregnant. But that worried him the least.
— Fuck, you’re great, little brother got lucky with you.
In response there was silence. Lena was silent. Max left. A few minutes later Lena was quietly sleeping. I turned and saw how she, carefully wrapped in the blanket, was peacefully sleeping. There was nothing that could say that a few minutes ago this had been here. I looked at her and didn’t understand what to do. Who am I? Husband or a rag? And why do I have a hard-on?
I lay looking at the ceiling. Dark, with cracks that I knew by heart. In my head it was empty. Only somewhere at the bottom, deep, something heavy was turning. Shame. Anger. Powerlessness. And arousal. This cursed arousal that didn’t pass. I felt how the blood rushed to the cock, how it pulsed, demanding release. But I couldn’t. Not with Lena. Not after what she had experienced. Not after what I had seen. And not after what I had heard.
I got up. Quietly, so as not to wake her. Went to the bathroom. Closed the door, turned on the light. Looked at myself in the mirror. Face pale, eyes red. Hadn’t slept properly for the second night already. Dark circles under the eyes. I looked like a person who had broken. And, probably, I was broken.
I opened the cold water, scooped it into my palms, washed my face. The water burned the face, but didn’t help. The thoughts didn’t go away. I thought about Lena. About how she stood on her knees in the corridor. How she sucked him. How he held her head. How she begged not to tell me. I thought about how I lay in bed while he fucked her. How I heard her moans. How she came. With him. Not with me.
I thought about Max. About how he entered the apartment. How he grabbed Lena by the ass. How he looked at her all evening. How he stayed in the kitchen. How he came to the bedroom. How he climbed onto my wife. How he came in her. As if it was in the order of things. As if he had the right to it. As if I was nobody.
I thought about myself. About my weakness. About my fear. About the fact that I didn’t even try to stop him. Neither then, in the corridor. Nor now, in bed. I just lay and listened. And got aroused. Like the last coward. Like a nothing. Like a rag.
I returned to the bedroom. Lena was sleeping. I lay down beside her, trying not to touch her. Looked at her back. At how she breathes. Evenly, calmly. As if nothing had happened. Maybe for her it really was nothing? Maybe she had resigned herself? Maybe she even liked it? This thought burned me from inside. I drove it away. No. She cried. She didn’t want to. He forced her. He raped her. Twice. In two days.
But why then didn’t she resist? Why didn’t she scream? Why didn’t she wake me? Maybe she was afraid? Afraid of him? Or afraid of me? Afraid that I couldn’t protect her?
I closed my eyes. Sleep didn’t come. I lay and listened to the silence. Somewhere in the kitchen water was dripping from the faucet. Measured, rhythmic. Like a metronome. Counting down the time until morning.
