Revenge is a dish best served cold.

- Are you leaving?

We are both drifting in a cigarette fog and a viscous swamp of unspoken grievances.

- I'm leaving.

I pour the hundredth cup of coffee, add the hundredth spoon of cognac.

— Why?

I wince with irritation. I don't know the answer to this question. He's gone.

You turn me around to face you.

— Explain. Do I even have the right to this?

Boiling water from a cup drips onto your hand. I scream quietly and blow on the burn.

- Sorry. I didn't want to.

You sit down at the table again. There is no remorse in the voice, no pity in the face.

- Do you need an explanation? It's funny, honey.

Your fingers curl into a fist and slam on the table. Ashtray

falls to the floor, scattering cigarette butts. I'm writing this down as an asset for you.

- Is that all you can tell me? For all 18 years? You are a rare piece of trash.

I grin to myself: “And this is after Tanya?” I have never cheated on you, I don’t have such a habit. Even when you went on a two-year voyage. I'm writing you a point as a liability. We are going on equal terms for now.

- Fuck, yes, I understand everything. But I explained it to you. It was my friends who advised me to make you jealous.

Fun. So, it’s my fault that YOUR friends advised YOU. I write another point down and lead 2:1. And... yes, I don’t know how to be jealous, and that always infuriated you. But I will learn, just without you.

- Do you want me to leave her?

Finally, I turn around and look you straight in the eyes.

- I don’t want to. I don’t want to take sin on my soul. This cute little fool will slit her wrists the very next day.

You shrug, turn away, look out the window at the snow-covered streets.

- Well, now you understand why I can’t leave her? - you say barely audible.

If you were looking at me, you would see that I was smiling.

— Am I supposed to understand this? Don't you want too much from me, darling?

I’m leading 3:1 and the picking is tiring me.

- Go to her. Your cell phone is about to explode.

How are ships seen off? Not at all like trains.

For many years I have been alone. For life without love you have to pay with love. In the ocean of life we ​​collide side by side. I have a small schooner and she gets her first hole. And I’m a bad captain and didn’t even notice that the compass was broken; the course was plotted by a crazy navigator; the helmsman at the helm is drunk as a smoke, and the pilot is sleeping on the bridge.

I don’t know where fear lives and in what corner of the soul despair nests. I don’t know how to be afraid and I don’t know how to despair. And I know that everything will be fine, because I want it that way. The schooner "Destiny" will reach the port on auxiliary ships, dock and patch up the holes. I will kick out the navigator and fire the helmsman. I’ll take the helm myself and go through the reefs.

***

— Elena Sergeevna,” secretary Mashenka carefully opens the office door, “a candidate is coming to see you.” Today is an interview.

I hate interviews, but my deputy accidentally went on maternity leave. Now sit all day like a doll and listen to streams of boasting. Mortal melancholy.

I glance at myself in the mirror, the reflection smiles back.

— Hello,” I hear from the entrance, I look at the candidate and understand that the interviews are over.

She never saw me, but I saw her a couple of times in the passenger seat of my car. You deliberately arranged it so that I would see you. I don’t know what explanations you have prepared for me. I remember thinking then: “Good choice, Vova.” This doll knows how to present herself.

Here it is now: blond hair perfectly styled, blue eyes made up just enough to emphasize their depth.

Documents are fanned out on the table in front of me. Diplomas, thanks for excellent studies, certificates of completed courses.

— How interesting,” I say with false curiosity, “it turns out that you and I have the same last names.”

I see slight surprise in response and hear a quiet, murmuring laugh.

— Indeed,” Tanechka answers, “a funny coincidence.”

You're right, baby. Our whole life consists of coincidences. And now, everything has coincided better than ever.

- I’ll call you, Tatyana... - I know her name, but I’m looking at the diploma.

— Viktorovna,” she prompts.

- In two days, Tatyana Viktorovna, I will call to inform you of my decision.

I follow with my eyes the back covered with a gray jacket. Good, damn. You've always had excellent taste in women, Vova. Just what got you into blondes? You always preferred brunettes.

***

Tanya comes to me and sits down on the edge of the chair. He looks stubbornly at the floor, and his thin fingers nervously fiddle with his handkerchief.

- What's the matter? - I start the conversation. -Did someone offend you?

Ours can. Half of the staff consists of retired Moremans. But sailors don’t swear, they talk in swear words.

- Elena Sergeevna, - long-held emotions break through the dam, - it seems to me that I can’t cope with my job.

She really can't cope, but I don't care. In the evenings, I finish for her what she didn’t have time to do, and redo what she made a mistake.

I pour water into a glass and hand it to her:

- Well, what are you talking about. You're doing great. I don't have much experience, but it's a learning experience. If you want, we can stay in the evening and I will explain everything to you.

She, of course, agrees. After all, I got her a full salary, although during the probationary period we are paid half.

And we remain in the dead office in the evenings. We sit in front of a humming monitor and I explain to her the features of calculating wages for sailing crew. This girl is not stupid, she grasps everything on the fly.

— Yes,” I tell her, “it seems like your husband goes to sea.” When you come home, ask him yourself how overtime and fire watches are distributed.

— He’s on a flight,” Tanya looks intently at the report card handed over by the captain.

I know he's on a flight. He doesn’t know that his cargo ship is assigned to my port. And I see his name in the captain’s reports. Vova, haven’t you wondered where the reports against you go? They are all in my desk. That's why you were never fined, although there were reasons for it.

I'm thinking. I miss what this chick chirps. We are already getting ready, Tanyusha is painting her lips.

— And I got my license, Elena Sergeevna. Volodya will come and we’ll buy a car.

Of course. After all, I didn’t give it to him. I was ready to give away everything, just not the car.

Tanya clicks the lock of her bag.

— Only I’m afraid to drive. I want to take a few lessons. Would you recommend anyone?

I’ll recommend it. I'm a good adviser.

- I will teach you, Tanya. It's not worth spending money.

Just a little more and she will squeal with joy. Another minute and she will throw herself on my neck. Therefore, I turn around, leave and hear in the back:

- You are so cool, Elena Sergeevna. I'm so lucky to have you.

Don't say "gop", baby. This is dubious luck.

***

She's so focused on the road. She grabbed the steering wheel as if it were her last hope. Blue eyes look around the track in search of a trick.

— Relax,” I reassure, “don’t be so tense.” Learn to see three cars ahead. Leave the interior mirror alone, it's of little use. Try to use the side ones.

An impudent guy at the race, whom I noticed two minutes ago, cuts us off, but Tanya turns pale and presses the brake pedal to the limit. The ABS kicks in and even I feel the trembling.

— Now imagine,” I say with slight reproach, “that a truck is coming behind us.” The braking distance is measured in tens of meters. And you stop suddenly at speed right in front of her nose. Do you want me to tell you what will happen to you then? What if it rains? You will be spun like a top.

***

In the three months that we work together, we become real friends. She tells me about her husband, complains that the first mate didn’t like him. She pays him his salary, rejoicing that her husband is so disciplined. His cargo ship arrives in two weeks, and today I invited Tanya to visit me. She is so lonely...

Tanya, Tanechka, Tanyusha... I will be sorry to part with you. Surprisingly, I managed to become attached to you. I didn’t expect it from myself, but I will miss

your sweet chirping.

***

She is beautiful and the candle flames play on her neck where the vein beats. She is drunk at that very stage when she doesn’t care about everything, but wants more. He lies across the bed, crossing his legs. A stocking elastic is persistently peeking out from under a short skirt.

And she resists so cutely when I sit down next to her and unbutton her blouse. Somewhere in the corner of her tipsy head the thought of the absurdity of what is happening flashes, but the trembling glare in the blue lakes of her eyes betrays desire. She always wanted to try something new, I found out about this a month ago.

- Don’t, Lena...

Weak hand movements cannot stop Elena Sergeevna. Her skin smells like mint. So soft and silky. So... delicious.

Neat semicircles of breasts, decorated with cherry dots, jump out of the lace shell. And Tanechka arches towards me, moaning quietly when I press my lips to them. I feel them harden under my tongue; how her breathing quickens, and her thin fingers dig into her hair. Vova is too impatient, right? Especially after flights. I already know. And you want long and gentle caresses. So that the body is pierced by arrows of pleasure, and between the legs it is scorching with fire.

Well, that's enough for now. I step back and admire what I've done. (Specially for .org) A scantily clad nymph looks at me with pleading eyes. Tanned belly with a pierced navel, slender legs in pulled down stockings. I see that she wants to undress as soon as possible so that she can feel the touch of my hands on her entire skin. But this is not part of my plans. Therefore, the clothes fall off her magnificent body slowly. The skirt goes to the floor during a long kiss with biting the lower lip. A torn bra, a wrinkled blouse and soaked panties also fall there. A long groan becomes my reward.

I run my tongue along a path from the lobe of my small ear through my collarbone along my tense chest to my pierced navel. I play a little with the silver earring inside the charming cavity, making Tanya shudder. How little you need to be happy, but sometimes you can’t get it anywhere.

She is trying to get to my body, but this is also not part of my plans. Today is your holiday, baby.

Vova loved it when I gave him a blowjob. He said that I have some kind of special language. I see you appreciated it too. Because I bit my wrist so as not to scream out loud when I just touched the red berry of the excited clitoris. You have an earring there too. Pierced you are my beauty.

Let's dance, baby. You, me and there, on the horizon, your (and also my) husband.

My persistent finger slips into the wet vagina, smelling of wild passion.

And the language... I have a special language and I know how to use it.

Shout, baby, scream. I feel with my finger how the muscles contract, how the moisture of your arousal wets my face. Shout out, baby.

***

- Elena Sergeevna...

The door opens and Tanya slips into the office with a folder under her arm. I move away from the table in my chair and admire her. I know what will happen now. I learned this look by heart in a week. After all, at the same time, she always appears on my doorstep.

He ​​clicks the door lock, closing the office, and comes up to me. Pink lips part just a little: only for the sharp tip of a tongue to slide across them.

- Lena...

- Ah, the naughty girl. When did you have time to take off your panties?

Tanya makes a guilty face, like a naughty child. Milo blushes and giggles. And then she leans back, breathes deeply and tries not to scream when I do what she came for. Dance of passion, wild lust. Even my skirt gets wet from her secretions. And she constantly whispers my name.

And then I stay sitting on the chair and watch her recover. He wipes himself with a napkin, takes his panties out of his pocket, and sprays air freshener in the office.

— I wrote to my husband that I wanted to leave him. Already filed for divorce.

I can’t say that I’m surprised by this phrase of hers, but I carefully pretend to be amazed.

- What are you talking about, Tanya?

Slow motion. The eyes widen and fill with tears.

- Lena...

- Elena Sergeevna, - I correct her.

- Sorry, Elena Sergeevna, I forgot. I thought that you... and I... We had a good time together, didn’t we? I thought you loved me. Because I love you.

I get up from the chair and go to the window, turning my back to her.

— Sorry, I don’t know what you came up with in your head. I don't love you. I’ll tell you more, I’m going to get married.

It would be better if I hit her, but that’s not part of my plans either. The door slams, leaving me alone. The cargo ship arrives in ten days.

***

Don’t ask me this question. You ask it to your dear wife. Why does she mention my name in every conversation with you? Why does she tell you how great I am? The last bitch, but so cool.

I have a resignation letter on my desk. Appreciate it, baby. She withstood the first blow of fate with dignity. We don't look at each other, I just put the resolution "I don't mind."

Goodbye, Tanya, Tanechka, Tanyusha. A victim of stupid circumstances, caught between a hard place and a hammer.

The doorbell rings into your ears with a wild trill. I hate him, but they don’t get around to changing hands. I get out of bed in a dimly lit room, illuminated only by the TV screen. I just can’t train myself to ask: “Who?”

A biting slap burns my face and I press myself into the wall. Vova stands on the threshold, angry as a dog.

— For fifteen years I endured your indifference.

— This is not indifference, but restraint, dear.”

He ​​takes off his belt and wraps it around his hand.

— For fifteen years I asked myself the same question: does she love me? He asked, but did not answer.

— I loved you, but it was hard to say about it.”

The wrapped hand doesn’t hit me hard, but I bend in half and lose air. And then they drag me into the room and throw me on the bed.

- Here? — his face is twisted with anger. - Was it here, I ask you? Did you make her fall in love with you here? Why do I only listen about you? Why can't I take a break from you? Why don't you give me peace?

Damn it! He's not hitting me with full force yet. But I know how to take a punch and I don’t know how to cry.

- May you die! You don’t forgive mistakes, you don’t look for ways to retreat.

I don’t have the physical strength to resist when his hands tear the robe. For fifteen years my body felt only these hands. God knows why I’m not happy with them now. I don’t scream or cry (I don’t know how), but just look at the ceiling over his shoulder. I would like to whitewash it.

I feel hard shocks and furious breathing on my neck.

If you have to, do it. If it makes you feel better, then do it. I fall into a dark abyss when he buries himself into my shoulder with a familiar groan. And I understand that... let go. Not painful, not offensive, just funny. And somewhere there, on the border of consciousness, in the floating fog of childhood resentment and misunderstanding, a thought looms: what a fool I was.

But I can take a punch, dear. I’m thinking about your leaving back.