My submission to my mother was total, bordering on self-destruction; I was dissolved in love for her. Her image was flawless to me, and I idolized her.

  She chose my dresses and the books I read. She dictated my letters to my father or, at the very least, acted as their censor and editor.

  My rebellion and self-assertion only began at sixteen, when I started working. Unlike my friends, I was forbidden from going out with boys. However, it was not her power that was loathsome to me, but my own weakness.

  This drive pushed me to travel and to help others, yet my character remained soft: I could not speak a hurtful truth, demand that others fulfill my desires, or even feel anger at injustice or betrayal.

  The next plan was to meet Yuri and Alexander at the 'Ladya' café. Arriving a few minutes early, I settled at a table with a cup of cappuccino. Memories of a morning broadcast resurfaced - a strange segment where a victim dreamed of being eaten.

  I wondered why a person living a full life would want to become food for someone, provided that before it happens, he tastes a piece of his own flesh. Lost in this thought, I didn’t notice Alexander appear.

  “Good evening,” he said quietly. His touch on my shoulder startled me.

  “Damn!”

  “What, that bad?”

  “Yes, I was just lost in my own thoughts—girl things, you know,” I joked.

  “Malyga won’t be coming today. Urgent matters at work held him up,” he said, and then added:

  “To be honest, I lied to him. I told him our meeting was canceled, and I took great pleasure in his disappointment. You see it, don't you? The way he looks at you like a dog that has just gotten on its owner's bad side. It is pleasant to imagine him toiling at work now, suffering because he cannot see you. He can be such a bore!”

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  On any other day, this might have moved me, but now his gloating only brought a chill. A coldness settled over me as he continued:

  “I stopped by here with Yuri after work last night, and two girls at the next table started talking to me. Malyga took a strong dislike to them; he thought they were plain and haggard. That happens with him sometimes. You know how I love to experiment. By the way, Malyga suggested a little work for me at his office - to help sort out some matters.”

  “That is good news!” was my reply, just as the waiter placed a cup of cappuccino on the table.

  “Waiter, the same for me, please!” Alexander said, continuing, “If all goes well, I will soon be working with him. In time, I might even open my own little office. So, that’s how it is.”

  Until then, the feeling had persisted that life was changing—that new hopes and a sense of freedom were erasing the secrets of my past. But what remained now? Only melancholy and cold. It felt as if a label were pinned to me: “Killed by her past.”

  A sudden coldness toward Alexander arose, sparked by his cruelty toward Yuri. No, there was no love for Yuri, but he represented the past: a sensitive, easily wounded romantic. His shyness during our first meeting had blossomed into devotion. On the day Alexander intentionally treated him with such cruelty, my favor reached its end. This may seem ridiculous.

  The main conflict in my life lay in a profound fear of cruelty. I witnessed my father’s ruthlessness toward my mother and experienced his violent punishments firsthand, suffering just as much as my brother.

  During my parents' quarrels, the pain for my mother bordered on hysteria. The horror of their furious shouting and bitterness so filled my being that it reshaped me. Later, when the need to suppress pity or show anger arose, I was so incapable of it that I appeared abnormal even to myself. Strength of character should have been shown, but disgust for cruelty left me feeling only weakness. A minor manifestation of Alexander’s cruelty was enough to bring back the memory of my father striking my pregnant mother. It may seem a trifle, but it turned me into a recluse. Perhaps I attach too much importance to cruelty.

  All this sounds reasonable. Yet a sense of cold and loneliness remains, and the need to trust someone is overwhelming. I need a leader.