Three years later

I turn off my alarm at six in the morning. It is already bright outside, and a beam of light illuminates my room. It brightens up the white-painted wall in front of me, making my eyes squint. I hate this.

This is my last day, then, I think.

It's not like the alarm woke me up—I usually don't need any help for that—but I still want to stay in bed. I want to stay here all day, staring at nothing, keeping my eyes open to avoid unnecessary thoughts. I don't want to make the bed or to get everything ready to move out… But I get up regardless. Every day has been like this for three years; today should be no different.

I follow my usual routine: walk to the tiny bathroom, brush my teeth, have a quick shower, dry my body. Leave the bathroom with my body wrapped in a towel, open the wardrobe and choose among clothes that look almost all the same. Put on my binder, then a black long-sleeved turtleneck, then pants and socks. Dry my hair with the dryer and get it looking like usual—a bowl. All this takes about twenty minutes.

Then, the things that don't follow my everyday routine: put the chair in front of the open wardrobe, climb on it, get a huge suitcase from the top shelf. Put the suitcase on the bed, open it and sneeze from the thin layer of dust it accumulated since the last time I vacuumed the wardrobe.

Another unusual thing is the knock on my door so early in the morning.

I let out a loud Hm.

“Morning, Valya,” says the voice on the other side of the door. I can tell who it is. “It's Stasya and Anton. We're here to pick you up!”

“Can we come in?” asks Anton.

Before they can knock again, I turn the doorknob—there isn't a lock—and open the door. Stasya and Anton are standing there, smiling, their coats folded and hanging from their elbows, their height difference as apparent as always. They let out a low “Good morning!” in unison and stare at me.

“You're too early,” I say.

“Tsk,” Anton frowns. “We figured you hadn't gotten anything ready to move out, so we came to help. You're welcome.”

“Were we wrong?” Stasya's smile goes from friendly to almost threatening in a second.

“No,” I sigh, defeated. “Come in.”

We get my stuff ready to go in no time. All I own is a tablet and a keyboard, my phone, a few clothes, a blanket—the only one in the room that doesn't belong to the clinic—and my toiletries. I also have a box with all my books and journals in it. I put what I can inside a backpack, which Stasya volunteers to carry, and the rest goes in the suitcase, which I roll around. Anton is left with the book box, and we leave my room without looking back. I hated that place; no need to cry while closing the door or saying goodbye to the view.

We have breakfast in the cafeteria, which is still quite empty. I don't see Kolja around; it must be too early.

“How did they even let you guys in this early?” I ask.

“We called last night saying we'd be helping you out today,” Stasya replies. “The morning doorman already knew.”

“Right,” I say, looking at the table with all the paper napkins and emptied-out orange juice cups. “Shall we go now?”

Leaving the building after checking out, I don't look back again. All I do is wait for the doorman, Ivan, to say something stupid. Even this has become routine.

“Going home already, boy?” Ivan almost shouts when he sees us leave.

“You bet,” I say without looking at him. “And don't call me boy.”

“I'm gonna miss you.” Disgusting.

“I bet you are, grandpa,” I wave my hand at him.

We head towards the taxi in front of the clinic. I have a feeling Ivan isn't done yet.

“Remember you can't act as crazy out there as you did in here, will you?” he shouts from the entrance, not mindful of those still sleeping. I was right.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The three of us get in the taxi. I bet the ogre is still watching.

“You're finally free,” says Stasya as the driver starts the car.

I wish she were right. I wish I could agree and say Yes, finally, but that just isn't the case. And it will not be as long as I am here, in Mirnaya.

“Let's go,” I say as the taxi drifts away from the place I never called home in the last three years.