Milena Zavoychinskaya

thirteenth bride

It happened when I was fourteen years old. The age is absolutely childish, in fact, and although by law I was now entitled to a passport, I did not feel like an adult at all. And what kind of adult? It's funny even. No, if I were, of course, such a beauty as some of my classmates, I might have been imbued with my own significance and “maturity”. But, seeing myself in the mirror every morning and every evening, I had no illusions and enjoyed my childhood. Barbie you say? Yeah, yeah, if you put together three or four Barbies, shorten their legs in half, cut off their long blond hair and dye it slurred light brown color, at the same time add thick cheeks that turn the eyes into slits, then ... Well, around then you can imagine that I'm such a wrong Barbie. Oh yes, I forgot to mention the hormonal riot that periodically appeared on the face in the form of acne, signaling to everyone that this particular female with short haircut, a bunch of extra pounds and the same bunch of complexes will someday become a girl.

I wore appropriate clothes - jeans, sweatshirts, hoodies, shapeless bulky jackets and sneakers. Ugly, you say? But it hides the belly hanging over the jeans well, and walking is comfortable. All these skirts and shoes, of course, delighted me with their beauty on hangers and shelves in stores, but the remnants of common sense won, not allowing me to dress up like this, exposing myself to a laughingstock in front of my classmates. Stress from his own clumsiness was eaten up by a Big Mac, polished with french fries and, to finally drown himself, filled with a milkshake. Fortunately, my grandmother, who herself was a very portly woman, although she did not encourage me, she did not forbid me to eat such food. This is how we lived - me, mine excess weight, hypertrophied complexes and youthful acne.

That evening I was driving home, noting at McDonald's with a single school friend my fourteenth birthday and a few hours of walking around the city center. There was a pleasant heaviness in my stomach, my legs tired from walking were buzzing, and my hands did not weigh down at all. balloon, which I, as a birthday girl, honestly demanded from the cashiers. At home, gifts from parents were expected. I haven’t seen them yet today: in the morning they left much earlier than me. Life, in general, seemed quite pleasant.

Mid-November, as usual, pleased us with early evenings, mud and dullness, dank cold and bare trees. I was not even lucky with my birthday: dirty, cold, damp and dark. No more snow for you, no leftover leaves for you already. So I stomped home from the bus stop through a small square. I knew the road well, as it was not the first time I had cut the path. Yes, and the hour is not late - although it is already dark, but normal maniacs do not go hunting at such a time, and I knew local drunks and boys and was not afraid.

I had to walk literally a hundred meters to the luminous lamps on the road right in front of my house, when suddenly hurried steps were heard from behind. Before I had time to turn my head, a large hand closed my mouth, and the hand of some strong man. And they dragged me. And I was so frightened that I didn’t even try to escape and only mumbled indistinctly through the palm that was covering my mouth. At the same time, she frantically tried to understand who needed me so smart? I was being dragged through some bushes when my wonderful holiday balloon ran into a branch and burst with a crash. Both I and my maniac jumped in horror, my hand pulled away from my face, and here I screamed. I screamed loudly and selflessly, along the way kicking, escaping and trying to get my nails to the face of a maniac - I won’t scratch much short nails, of course, but at least I'll scratch. And somehow it dawned on me belatedly that I absolutely did not want to die. Even less I wanted some nasty guy to do something terrible to me, so I squealed like a round-toed gecko, and everyone knows that his cry can be carried as much as ten kilometers. Surely someone should be listening to me?

I don’t know how long we floundered like that while I screamed and pulled out, and the maniac held me, trying to shut his mouth, but it all ended as suddenly as it began. I flew off to the side with my head into the bushes, then there were sounds of some kind of fuss, a man's scream - and everything was quiet. After waiting a minute for decency, I got out of the bushes on all fours and turned around. The failed maniac lay on the ground in a broken heap, and above him stood two rockers dressed in black leather: black leather trousers, black leather jackets, knee-high boots, long hair, on an earring in an ear. Although, maybe not rockers, maybe bikers, who can figure them out. The main thing is that they saved.

Live? - lazily drawled one of the guys, a brunette with a large silver earring in the left ear.

Yep, I mumbled.

Get up then.

I obediently got up, brushed off the twigs, saw the torn sleeve of my jacket, and got upset. She looked at the jeans that had been drenched in the mud and got upset again.

Thank you, - I finally turned my gaze to my saviors. - He suddenly attacked, I did not see him.

Go, - the brunette said just as lazily and waved his hand in the direction of the road along which the cars were rushing.

Yeah thanks.

Limping, I wandered towards the house. The shock was still making itself felt, so I did not want to cry yet. I will do this at home when I take off my dirty clothes and wash myself. My saviors were talking in an undertone about something, but I didn’t want to listen, so I moved my legs and tried to recover from this stupid fright.

Stop! came from behind.

Slowing down, I looked back.

How old are you? - the second rocker entered the conversation, with long light blond hair.

Fourteen. - I wrinkled my nose. - Today is fulfilled.

The guys looked at each other, came, apparently, to some kind of decision and approached me.

Will do. - It's a brunette again.

Do you think? Somehow not really ... But, by the way, it's not a pity. - It's blond.

What's the difference? The brunet looked at me.

And if…

Do not make me laugh. Give me your hand! - This is for me.

Without understanding anything, I held out my right hand, but he shook his head and nodded to his left. Left so left, they are equally dirty. I extended my left hand. The guy firmly took my hand, and suddenly put a thin silver ring on my ring finger, which his friend gave him, taking it out of his pocket. Well, “put on” - I, of course, am cunning, in fact, he practically screwed it on me, given that the ring was clearly not intended for such plump pens. But the guy managed, and the ring was on his finger. I looked at the sudden gift in bewilderment and waited for some explanation. Is this for a birthday? Although why suddenly completely unfamiliar guys give me a gift? Saved and thanks for that.

You will be a bride, - the brunette replied phlegmatically to my unspoken question.

What? - I stared. - I can't get married, I'm still a child.

And no one calls you to marry, - the blond grunted. - You will be a bride for several years. Wedding ring you received. Come on. They nodded and moved towards the trees. And the blond turned around, gave me a good-bye cheerful look and winked.

Wait! I shouted. - How many years? What for?

Four years, maybe five, - threw the brunette over his shoulder. - So it is necessary.

Yes, whose bride is it? I shouted again.

Never mind. - The guys looked at each other, laughed and disappeared between the trees.

That's how I became someone's bride at the age of fourteen. Knowing neither the name of his mythical fiance, nor who he is, and if he is one of these two, then which one: brunette or blond? Not knowing for how long. She didn't even give her name.

I wisely did not tell my parents and girlfriend about what had happened. What for? First, they get scared and nervous. And then, if they find out about the attack, then you can forget about freedom and have to return from any trip in the company of your grandmother. Well, about the unexpected ring and the "miscarriage" I was all the more silent. They still don't believe it, they just laugh. And I understood them especially keenly when I looked in the mirror. What bride? What are you speaking about? A fat, awkward, pimply teenager with short hair. Here is a bride without a seat.

Two months later

I forgot about what happened pretty quickly, since I was not physically hurt, and everything else was erased from my memory like a bad dream. Well, a maniac attacked, well, it happens - it’s her own fault, there was nothing to go in the dark through the square. This, by the way, I got it right. No more walking at night through the square alone. It's okay, I'll make a detour, I'll be healthier, training again.

The only thing that reminded me of that meeting in the park was a silver ring on my left hand. But I eventually stopped paying attention to him, because I simply could not remove him. The ring sat so tight that it was not even possible to scroll it on the finger. I don't know, how did that guy manage to get me to put it on? But what is surprising: discomfort and pain it didn't cause. The ring looked very simple, but pretty. A thin bezel that does not restrict the movement of the fingers at all, and on it is a stylized sun: a round, slightly convex core with a painted smiling face and triangular wavy rays.

But two months after that memorial day When I was born, I met a strange couple not far from home. young beautiful girl with a cold thoroughbred face and long black hair and a middle-aged man. I don’t know his age, he looks like my dad, and dad is forty-seven. They stood and looked out for someone among the pedestrians. Seeing me, they perked up, and the man, nodding in my direction, confidently led the girl. They caught up with me and, blocking the road, began to examine me.

She? The stranger raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

She, - nodded her companion.

You did not confuse anything?

Well, what are you? Out and the ring. The man nodded at my left hand. The girl shifted her gaze.

They're completely crazy, right? Beauty shook her head. - I understand everything, but choose it! - She so contemptuously stretched out the word “this”, that I felt like a crushed cockroach, which they look at and disdain even to sweep away with a broom.

Arita, but it's good. Think for yourself, how many chances? .. - The man measured me with a thoughtful look.

Ah, yes. I keep forgetting the rules. This is not a pity. You're right. She brightened up and even smiled a little. More precisely, the corners of her lips trembled and lifted, and her eyes were still icy.

I stood there without saying a word because I didn't understand the situation at all. Should I say anything, or is it better to remain silent? Prudence screamed about the danger and begged not to rock the boat, but to be silent, only to be silent. They look and leave. Although you ask me what this beautiful, well-groomed brunette can be dangerous for, I would not be able to answer. I just felt that nothing good could come from her. Crush and pass by without even noticing.

And so it happened - they looked at me again, then the beauty said to her companion some short word, which I could not make out, and they left.

For some more time, I stood looking into nowhere, and tried to accept the reality in which they called me “this” and said that “this is not a pity.” This is not just insulting, but humiliating to such an extent that one wanted to lie down and die. Then, inappropriately, I remembered that something similar sounded from the lips of the guys who handed me the ring. What did they say there? “Somehow not really. And yet, it’s not a pity.” Now I understand what was meant. Do not feel sorry for me, because I am "it", "it".

It was then that I ended my tender mutual love with fast food and sweets. After hosting a farewell dinner at McDonald's, I gorged myself on burgers, fries, and drank milkshake, planning to beat myself off for the rest of my life. And it succeeded. I overate to such an extent that then I felt bad and I painfully said goodbye to everything eaten around the corner, into the first urn that came across, and my friend twisted her finger at her temple and said that I was completely crazy. But you can’t explain to her that I don’t want to be pointed at me with the finger and say “this”, and that I don’t have enough willpower to stop eating any unhealthy food. And so ... Well, everyone has their own methods. McDonald's did not forgive such deceit. He never again lured me into his warm, fragrant insides and tempted me with delicious, but terribly unhealthy food for the figure, and I'm glad. I did the same radically and unethically with cakes, pastries, sweets and other tasty things. And after saying goodbye to them, she allowed herself only once a year a piece of birthday cake. And sometimes tasteless, but glamorous and low-calorie dark chocolate. I said goodbye to milk chocolate with nuts forever.

One year later

It's my fifteenth birthday. That morning, my parents left for work later than usual, and even managed to congratulate me before leaving. I was in a rosy mood, inhaling the aroma of wonderful perfumes that I had long wanted and finally received as a gift from my mom and dad, and gently fingered the silky stole received from my grandmother.

My struggle with harmful high-calorie food has yielded results: I have ceased to resemble Kolobok. Over the past ten months, I have lost a lot of extra pounds. And although it was impossible to call me thin or even slender by any imagination, but still I definitely looked much better than a year ago. Even the hormones, realizing that they would no longer be fed with various sweets and genetically modified foods, went into sadness and less and less appeared in the form of acne on my face.

My hair grew out, which I stopped cutting short, but only corrected the shape of the hairstyle as it grew. Now this is quite a pretty girlish elongated haircut, and not the boyish buzzard that was a year ago. It turned out that the hair is not at all so terrible and sparse, not even dull and nondescript at all, but quite normal, light blond.

The style of clothing also changed little by little. I started wearing beautiful scarves and stoles, and sweatshirts are no longer so voluminous and shapeless. The new stole I got today went very well with my gray-blue eyes, adding depth and expressiveness to them.

When the parents had already left, and the grandmother was rattling something in the kitchen, the doorbell rang. Realizing that my grandmother did not hear, I distracted myself from the gifts and went to open the door. A man stood in the doorway with a bag over his shoulder. In his hands he held a clerical board with a clothespin, on which a sheet of paper is attached to write on weight.

Hello, who are you with? - I turned to the visitor, who was carefully examining his notes.

Courier service "KSK". Bride? He lifted his head and gave me an appraising look.

Well, let's say, - I answered cautiously.

Without "let's say", more precisely. Bride or not?

Bride, - I nodded my head doomedly.

Yep, great. Your package, one minute. The man held the board under his arm and dug into his bag, then took out a small package and handed it to me. - Now, you still need to sign for receipt ... - Having given me the package, he again delved into his notes, muttering under his breath: - So ... Number thirteen ... thirteen ... Yeah, here it is. Here, sign for receipt.

Who is the parcel from? I asked as I signed.

Can not know, just order delivery to this address, ask the bride. I don't know anything more. Best wishes. - The courier turned around and stepped towards the elevator.

Of course, I suspected who this package might be from. After all, only those two clean rockers knew what date my birthday was. On the same day, the "betrothal" took place, if you can call it that. With some excitement, I closed myself in my room and opened the package. It contained a box for jewelry. It contained silver earrings with an English lock, made in the same style as the ring. To a neat earring in the form of a ring, the same sun is suspended on a loop, as on the ring. Only the rays of the sun are not completely white, but gilded through one.

On the same day after school, I went to a beauty salon and got my ears pierced. As soon as the holes stopped bleeding and healed, she put on white-gold suns and wore them without taking them off. She told her parents that a friend gave them to me, and she lied to her friend that she bought them herself with pocket money she had saved, asking her to cover them in front of her parents if they suddenly asked.

Two years later

I will not bore you with the details of my life, I will only say that on my next birthday, the courier rang at the door again.

Someone who wished to remain anonymous sent me a package with an ornament. Sixteenth birthday present. However, this has not been proven - perhaps on the day of the betrothal. Which is more likely, given the courier's muttering: "Number thirteen, where is he? .."

This time the gift was a sun pendant hanging on a short twisted chain.

Three years later

I turned seventeen, and the same courier brought a package with a bracelet in the form of interconnected suns. And, of course, in his list, the serial number of the parcel was number thirteen.

The set became complete and very pleasing to the eye, but it became interesting, what will they bring me in a year?

By this age, I noticeably stretched out, completely got rid of excess weight and acne, grew my hair and completely changed my style of clothing. And although I didn’t pull on a glamorous young lady, being still clumsy, I liked myself on the whole. And when my face got rid of the thick cheeks blocking the view, quite big eyes which unspeakably surprised everyone, including parents and classmates.

I still didn’t use popularity at school, as stereotypes are strong and corrosive. No matter how much I have changed, my classmates are used to perceiving me as something amorphous and fat-assed. But my own merits allowed me to calmly somersault in physical education classes, climb up the rope and even - lo and behold! - jump over the "goat". This pleased the PE teacher immensely, who did not expect that I would ever be able to cope with a four-legged object.

Every day I ran in the park, went to the pool, worked out at home with dumbbells and even made a number of attempts to find some kind of martial arts to my liking. I didn't get on well with capoeira. I lacked flexibility and a sense of rhythm, and besides, my vestibular apparatus rebelled against such inclinations. Having attended a couple of wushu classes, I dismissed this type of martial arts as well. Here my own squeamishness let me down. The teacher, the sweetest handsome uncle, decided to show us a couple of kicks. I was the subject of the demonstration. A blow-touch in my palms, substituted approximately in the region of the solar plexus, knocked me down. Oh no, the teacher didn't hit me that you. Only ... He was wearing socks, not very clean and with a hole in his finger. I wiped my hands on my trousers and said goodbye to wushu. Much later, I learned that, in general, the teacher should be in special socks with rubberized soles, but ...

In general, I did not work out with martial arts. I honestly made a few more visits to different sections, but in the end I realized: this is not mine. For myself, I decided that as soon as I grow up, I’ll just take a few lessons in self-defense in order to be able to repulse the attackers, and I’ll stop there.

Do not trust strangers and accept dubious gifts. I learned this lesson when I unexpectedly became someone's bride. The groom turned out to be from another world, and I am not the only bride. And now I have to survive in the selection of brides for the future emperor of the Kalahari. Why survive? But because the thirteenth bride from the Forbidden World interferes with too many. And all the hope is only for their own luck, and new friends - a crystal dragon and rigats. And if you are lucky to meet love, then I will not complain.

© Zavoychinskaya M.V., 2013

© Art design, "ALFA-KNIGA Publishing House", 2013

© The electronic version of the book was prepared by LitRes ()

Design, comments and notes - Alex. 2016

Elements Used serial design publishing house "ALFA-BOOK".

Milena Zavoychinskaya - The thirteenth bride 1

PROLOGUE 1

CHAPTER 1 4

CHAPTER 2 6

CHAPTER 3 8

CHAPTER 4 11

CHAPTER 5 14

CHAPTER 6 17

CHAPTER 7 20

CHAPTER 8 23

CHAPTER 9 25

CHAPTER 10 28

CHAPTER 11 31

CHAPTER 12 34

CHAPTER 13 37

CHAPTER 14 40

CHAPTER 15 43

CHAPTER 16 46

CHAPTER 17 49

CHAPTER 18 51

CHAPTER 19 53

CHAPTER 20 56

CHAPTER 21 58

CHAPTER 22 61

CHAPTER 23 64

CHAPTER 24 66

CHAPTER 25 69

CHAPTER 26 71

CHAPTER 27 73

CHAPTER 28 76

CHAPTER 29 79

CHAPTER 30 82

CHAPTER 31 85

Glossary 89

Comments 90

Illustrations 96

Notes 97

Milena Zavoychinskaya

novel

PROLOGUE

E It happened when I was fourteen years old. The age is absolutely childish, in fact, and although by law I was now entitled to a passport, I did not feel like an adult at all. And what kind of adult? It's funny even. No, if I were, of course, such a beauty as some of my classmates, I might have been imbued with my own significance and "maturity". But, seeing myself in the mirror every morning and every evening, I had no illusions and enjoyed my childhood. Barbie you say? Yeah, yeah, if you combine three or four Barbie pieces, shorten their legs in half, cut off long blond hair and dye it in an indistinct blond color, at the same time add thick cheeks that turn your eyes into slits, then ... Well, about then you can imagine that I am this is the wrong barbie. Oh yes, I forgot to mention the rampage of hormones that periodically appeared on the face in the form of acne, signaling to everyone that this particular female with a short haircut, a bunch of extra pounds and the same bunch of complexes will someday become a girl.

I wore appropriate clothes - jeans, sweatshirts, hoodies, shapeless bulky jackets and sneakers. Ugly, you say? But it hides the belly hanging over the jeans well, and walking is comfortable. All these skirts and shoes, of course, delighted me with their beauty on hangers and shelves in stores, but the remnants of common sense won, not allowing me to dress up like this, exposing myself to a laughingstock in front of my classmates. Stress from his own clumsiness was eaten by a Big Mac, polished with french fries and, to finally drown himself, filled with a milkshake. Fortunately, my grandmother, who herself was a very portly woman, although she did not encourage me, she did not forbid me to eat such food. That's how we lived - me, my overweight, hypertrophied complexes and youthful acne.

That evening I was driving home, celebrating my fourteenth birthday at McDonald's with my only school friend and walking around the city center for several hours. There was a pleasant heaviness in my stomach, my tired legs were buzzing, and my hands were not weighed down by a balloon, which I, as a birthday girl, honestly demanded from the cashiers. At home, gifts from parents were expected. I haven’t seen them yet today: in the morning they left much earlier than me. Life, in general, seemed quite pleasant.

Mid-November, as usual, pleased us with early evenings, mud and dullness, dank cold and bare trees. I was not even lucky with my birthday: dirty, cold, damp and dark. No more snow for you, no leftover leaves for you already. So I stomped home from the bus stop through a small square. I knew the road well, as it was not the first time I had cut the path. Yes, and the hour is not too late - although it is already dark, but normal maniacs do not go hunting at such a time, and I knew local drunks and boys and was not afraid.

I had to walk literally a hundred meters to the luminous lamps on the road right in front of my house, when suddenly hurried steps were heard from behind. Before I even turned my head, a large hand covered my mouth, and the hand of some strong man grabbed it across my chest. And they dragged me. And I was so frightened that I didn’t even try to escape and only mumbled indistinctly through the palm that was covering my mouth. At the same time, she frantically tried to understand who needed me so smart? I was being dragged through some bushes when my wonderful holiday balloon ran into a branch and burst with a crash. Both I and my maniac jumped in horror, my hand pulled away from my face, and here I screamed. She screamed loudly and selflessly, kicking along the way, escaping and trying to get her nails to the maniac's face - I won't scratch much with short nails, of course, but at least I'll scratch.

And somehow it dawned on me belatedly that I absolutely did not want to die. Even less I wanted some nasty guy to do something terrible to me, so I squealed like a round-toed gecko, and everyone knows that his cry can be carried as much as ten kilometers. Surely someone should be listening to me?

I don’t know how long we floundered like that while I screamed and pulled out, and the maniac held me, trying to shut his mouth, but it all ended as suddenly as it began. I flew off to the side with my head into the bushes, immediately there were sounds of some kind of fuss, a man's scream - and everything was quiet. After waiting a minute for decency, I got out of the bushes on all fours and turned around. The failed maniac lay on the ground in a broken heap, and above him stood two rockers dressed in black leather: black leather trousers, black leather jackets, high boots, long hair, an earring in each ear. Although, maybe not rockers, maybe bikers, who can figure them out. The main thing is that they saved.

Wait! I shouted. - How many years? What for?

Four years, maybe five, - the brunette answered over his shoulder. - So it is necessary.

Yes, whose bride is it? I shouted again.

It doesn't matter - the guys looked at each other, laughed and disappeared between the trees.

You never know where you will find, where you will lose.

It happened when I was fourteen years old. The age is absolutely childish, in essence, and although by law I was now entitled to a passport, I never felt like an adult. And what kind of adult? It's funny even. No, if I were, of course, such a beauty as some of my classmates, I might have been imbued with my own significance and adulthood. But seeing myself in the mirror every morning and every evening, I had no illusions, and enjoyed my childhood. Barbie you say? Yeah, yeah, if you connect three or four Barbies, shorten their legs in half, cut off long blond hair and dye it in an indistinct blond color, at the same time add thick cheeks that turn your eyes into slits, then ... Well, about then you can imagine that I am like this wrong barbie. Oh yes, I forgot to mention the hormonal riot that periodically climbed on the face, signaling to everyone that this particular female, with a short haircut, a bunch of extra pounds and the same bunch of complexes, will someday become a girl.

I wore appropriate clothes - jeans, sweatshirts, hoodies, shapeless bulky jackets and sneakers. Don't you speak well? But it hides the belly hanging over the jeans well, and walking is comfortable. All these skirts and shoes, of course, pleased me with their beauty on hangers in stores, but the remnants of common sense won, not allowing classmates to dress up as a laughingstock. And the stress from his own clumsiness was eaten up by a big magician, polished with french fries, and, in order to finally drown himself, filled with a milkshake. Fortunately, my grandmother herself, being a very portly woman, although she did not encourage me, she did not forbid me to eat such food. So we lived - me, my excess weight, hypertrophied complexes and youthful acne.

And that evening, I was on my way home, walking for a few hours with my only school friend in the city center, and celebrating my fourteenth birthday at McDonald's. There was a pleasant heaviness in my stomach, my legs buzzed, my hands did not weigh down the balloon at all, which I, as a birthday girl, honestly demanded from the cashiers, and life, in general, seemed quite pleasant. At home, gifts should be waiting from my parents, whom I have not yet seen today, since in the morning they left the house much earlier than me.

Mid-November, as usual, pleased us with early evenings, mud and dullness, dank cold and bare trees. I was not even lucky with my birthday, dirty, cold, damp and dark. No more snow for you, no leftover leaves for you already. So I stomped home from the bus stop through a small square. I knew the road well, so I didn’t cut the path for the first time, and the time was even earlier, although it’s already dark, but normal maniacs don’t go hunting at such a time, and I knew local drunks and boys, and I wasn’t afraid.

I had to walk literally a hundred meters, to the luminous lamps on the road right in front of my house, when suddenly hurried steps were heard behind me, and before I even turned my head, I was grabbed and dragged. A large hand closed her mouth, the same hand intercepted through her torso. big hand some tall man and I was dragged. I was so frightened that I didn’t even try to escape, but only mumbled indistinctly through the palm that was covering my mouth, and frantically tried to understand, who needs me so smart? I was being dragged through some bushes, when suddenly my wonderful festive balloon ran into a branch and burst with a crash. Both I and my maniac jumped in horror, the palm of my face pulled away and here I screamed. I screamed selflessly, kicking, pulling out, trying to reach the maniac's face with my nails, I won't scratch much with short nails, but at least I'll scratch. And somehow it dawned on me belatedly that I didn’t want to die at all, even less I want some incomprehensible maniac to do something terrible with me, so I squealed like a round-toed gecko, and everyone knows that his scream carries as much as ten kilometers. Surely someone should hear me?

I don’t know how long we fussed like that, I screamed and pulled out, the maniac held me and tried to shut my mouth, but it all ended as suddenly as it began. I flew off to the side with my head into the bushes, there were sounds of some kind of fuss, a man's scream, and everything was quiet. After waiting a minute for decency, I backed out of the bushes on all fours and turned around. The failed maniac lay on the ground in a broken heap, and above him stood two rockers, wrapped in black leather. Black leather trousers, black leather jackets, high boots, long hair, an earring in each ear. Although maybe not rockers, maybe bikers, who can figure them out. The main thing is that they saved.

Live? - lazily drawled one of the guys, a brunette with a large silver earring in his left ear.

Yep, I mumbled.

Get up then.

I obediently got up, brushed off the twigs, saw the torn sleeve of my jacket, got upset, looked at my jeans, washed in the mud, and got upset again.

Thank you, - finally turned her eyes to my saviors. - He suddenly attacked, I did not see him.

Go, - the brunette said just as lazily and waved his hand in the direction of the road on which the cars were rushing by.

Yeah. Thank you, - I, limping, wandered towards the house.

The shock was still making itself felt, so I didn’t feel like crying yet, I’ll do it at home when I take off my dirty clothes and wash myself. My rescuers from behind were talking in an undertone about something, but I didn’t want to listen, so I moved my legs and tried to recover from this stupid fright.

Stop! - came from behind and I, slowing down, looked around.

How old are you? - the second rocker entered the conversation, the one with long light blond hair.

Fourteen, - I sniffled. - Today is fulfilled.

The guys looked at each other, came to some kind of decision, and came up to me.

Suitable, - this is again a brunette.

Do you think? Somehow not really ... But, by the way, it's not a pity - it's blond.

What's the difference? The brunette glared at me.

And if…?

Do not make me laugh. Give me your hand! - it's already me.

Without understanding anything, I held out my right hand, but he shook his head and nodded towards his left. Left so left, they are equally dirty, and I held out my left palm. The guy firmly took my hand, and suddenly put a thin silver ring on my ring finger, which his friend gave him, taking it out of his pocket. Well, I put it on, of course, cunning, in fact, he practically screwed it on me, given that the ring was clearly not intended for such plump fingers. But the guy did it, and the ring ended up on my finger. I looked at this sudden gift in bewilderment and waited for some explanation. Is this for a birthday? Although why suddenly completely unfamiliar guys give me a gift? Saved and thanks.

You will be a bride, - the brunette replied phlegmatically to my unspoken question.

What? - I stared. - I can't get married, I'm still a child.

And no one calls you to marry, - then the blond grunted and answered. - You will be a bride for several years. You received an engagement ring. Come on, - they nodded and went towards the trees. And the blond gave me a goodbye cheerful look and winked.

Milena Zavoychinskaya

thirteenth bride

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It happened when I was fourteen years old. The age is absolutely childish, in fact, and although by law I was now entitled to a passport, I did not feel like an adult at all. And what kind of adult? It's funny even. No, if I were, of course, such a beauty as some of my classmates, I might have been imbued with my own significance and “maturity”. But, seeing myself in the mirror every morning and every evening, I had no illusions and enjoyed my childhood. Barbie you say? Yeah, yeah, if you combine three or four Barbie pieces, shorten their legs in half, cut off long blond hair and dye it in an indistinct blond color, at the same time add thick cheeks that turn your eyes into slits, then ... Well, about then you can imagine that I am this is the wrong barbie. Oh yes, I forgot to mention the rampage of hormones that periodically appeared on the face in the form of acne, signaling to everyone that this particular female with a short haircut, a bunch of extra pounds and the same bunch of complexes will someday become a girl.

I wore appropriate clothes - jeans, sweatshirts, hoodies, shapeless bulky jackets and sneakers. Ugly, you say? But it hides the belly hanging over the jeans well, and walking is comfortable. All these skirts and shoes, of course, delighted me with their beauty on hangers and shelves in stores, but the remnants of common sense won, not allowing me to dress up like this, exposing myself to a laughingstock in front of my classmates. Stress from his own clumsiness was eaten by a Big Mac, polished with french fries and, to finally drown himself, filled with a milkshake. Fortunately, my grandmother, who herself was a very portly woman, although she did not encourage me, she did not forbid me to eat such food. That's how we lived - me, my overweight, hypertrophied complexes and youthful acne.

That evening I was driving home, celebrating my fourteenth birthday at McDonald's with my only school friend and walking around the city center for several hours. There was a pleasant heaviness in my stomach, my tired legs were buzzing, and my hands were not weighed down by a balloon, which I, as a birthday girl, honestly demanded from the cashiers. At home, gifts from parents were expected. I haven’t seen them yet today: in the morning they left much earlier than me. Life, in general, seemed quite pleasant.

Mid-November, as usual, pleased us with early evenings, mud and dullness, dank cold and bare trees. I was not even lucky with my birthday: dirty, cold, damp and dark. No more snow for you, no leftover leaves for you already. So I stomped home from the bus stop through a small square. I knew the road well, as it was not the first time I had cut the path. Yes, and the hour is not too late - although it is already dark, but normal maniacs do not go hunting at such a time, and I knew local drunks and boys and was not afraid.

I had to walk literally a hundred meters to the luminous lamps on the road right in front of my house, when suddenly hurried steps were heard from behind. Before I even turned my head, a large hand covered my mouth, and the hand of some strong man grabbed it across my chest. And they dragged me. And I was so frightened that I didn’t even try to escape and only mumbled indistinctly through the palm that was covering my mouth. At the same time, she frantically tried to understand who needed me so smart? I was being dragged through some bushes when my wonderful holiday balloon ran into a branch and burst with a crash. Both I and my maniac jumped in horror, my hand pulled away from my face, and here I screamed. She screamed loudly and selflessly, kicking along the way, escaping and trying to get her nails to the maniac's face - I won't scratch much with short nails, of course, but at least I'll scratch. And somehow it dawned on me belatedly that I absolutely did not want to die. Even less I wanted some nasty guy to do something terrible to me, so I squealed like a round-toed gecko, and everyone knows that his cry can be carried as much as ten kilometers. Surely someone should be listening to me?

I don’t know how long we floundered like that while I screamed and pulled out, and the maniac held me, trying to shut his mouth, but it all ended as suddenly as it began. I flew off to the side with my head into the bushes, immediately there were sounds of some kind of fuss, a man's scream - and everything was quiet. After waiting a minute for decency, I got out of the bushes on all fours and turned around. The failed maniac lay on the ground in a broken heap, and above him stood two rockers dressed in black leather: black leather trousers, black leather jackets, high boots, long hair, an earring in each ear. Although, maybe not rockers, maybe bikers, who can figure them out. The main thing is that they saved.

– Alive? - one of the guys drawled lazily, a brunette with a large silver earring in his left ear.

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

- Get up then.

I obediently got up, brushed off the twigs, saw the torn sleeve of my jacket, and got upset. She looked at the jeans that had been drenched in the mud and got upset again.

“Thank you,” I finally turned my gaze to my rescuers. “He suddenly attacked, I didn’t see him.

“Go,” the brunette said just as lazily and waved his hand in the direction of the road along which the cars were speeding.

- Yeah thanks.

Limping, I wandered towards the house. The shock was still making itself felt, so I did not want to cry yet. I will do this at home when I take off my dirty clothes and wash myself. My saviors were talking in an undertone about something, but I didn’t want to listen, so I moved my legs and tried to recover from this stupid fright.

- Stop! came from behind.

Slowing down, I looked back.

- How old are you? - the second rocker entered the conversation, with long light blond hair.

- Fourteen. I sniffled. - Today is fulfilled.

The guys looked at each other, came, apparently, to some kind of decision and approached me.

- It will do. It's a brunette again.

– Do you think? Somehow not really ... But, by the way, it's not a pity. - It's blond.

- What's the difference? The brunet looked at me.

- And if…

- Do not make me laugh. Give me your hand! - This is for me.

Without understanding anything, I held out my right hand, but he shook his head and nodded to his left. Left so left, they are equally dirty. I extended my left hand. The guy firmly took my hand, and suddenly put a thin silver ring on my ring finger, which his friend gave him, taking it out of his pocket. Well, “put on” - I, of course, am cunning, in fact, he practically screwed it on me, given that the ring was clearly not intended for such well-fed pens. But the guy managed, and the ring was on his finger. I looked at the sudden gift in bewilderment and waited for some explanation. Is this for a birthday? Although why suddenly completely unfamiliar guys give me a gift? Saved and thanks for that.

“You will be a bride,” the brunette replied phlegmatically to my unspoken question.

- What? – I stared. I can't get married, I'm still a child.

“But no one calls you to marry,” the blond grunted. - You will be a bride for several years. You received an engagement ring. Come on. They nodded and moved towards the trees. And the blond turned around, gave me a good-bye cheerful look and winked.

- Wait! I shouted. - How many years? What for?

“Four years, maybe five,” the brunette threw over his shoulder. - So it is necessary.

- Yes, whose bride is it? I shouted again.

- Never mind. The guys looked at each other, laughed and disappeared between the trees.

That's how I became someone's bride at the age of fourteen. Knowing neither the name of his mythical fiance, nor who he is, and if he is one of these two, then which one: brunette or blond? Not knowing for how long. She didn't even give her name.

I wisely did not tell my parents and girlfriend about what had happened. What for? First, they get scared and nervous. And then, if they find out about the attack, then you can forget about freedom and have to return from any trip in the company of your grandmother. Well, about the unexpected ring and the "miscarriage" I was all the more silent. They still don't believe it, they just laugh. And I understood them especially keenly when I looked in the mirror. What bride? What are you speaking about? A fat, awkward, pimply teenager with short hair. Here is a bride without a seat.

Two months later

I forgot about what happened pretty quickly, since I was not physically hurt, and everything else was erased from my memory like a bad dream. Well, a maniac attacked, well, it happens - it’s her own fault, there was nothing to go in the dark through the square. This, by the way, I got it right. No more walking at night through the square alone. It's okay, I'll make a detour, I'll be healthier, training again.

You will be a bride, - the brunette replied phlegmatically to my unspoken question.

What? - I stared. - I can't get married, I'm still a child.

And no one calls you to marry, - then the blond grunted and answered. - You will be a bride for several years. You received an engagement ring. Come on, - they nodded and went towards the trees. And the blond gave me a goodbye cheerful look and winked.

Wait! I shouted. - How many years? What for?

Four years, maybe five, - the brunette answered over his shoulder. - So it is necessary.

Yes, whose bride is it? I shouted again.

It doesn't matter - the guys looked at each other, laughed and disappeared between the trees.

That's how I became someone's bride at the age of fourteen. Not knowing the name of his mythical fiance, not knowing who he is, and if he is one of these two, then which one, brunette or blond? Not knowing for how long. And he didn't even give his name.

I wisely did not tell my parents and girlfriend about what had happened. What for? First, they get scared and nervous. And then, if they find out about the attack, then you can forget about freedom, and I will have to return from any trip in the company of my grandmother, who meets me at the doorstep. Well, about the unexpected ring and the nevestivanie, I was all the more silent. They still don't believe it, they just laugh. And I understand them, especially sharply when I look in the mirror. What bride? What are you speaking about? A fat, awkward, pimply teenager with short hair. Here is a bride without a seat.

Two months later.

I quickly forgot about what had happened, since I was not physically hurt, and everything else was erased from my memory and forgotten like a bad dream. Well, a maniac attacked, well, sometimes it was her own fault, there was no point in walking in the dark through the square. This, by the way, I got it right. No more walking at night through the square alone. It's okay, I'll make a detour, I'll be healthier, training again.

The only thing that somehow reminded me of that strange meeting in the park was a silver ring on my left hand. But it somehow quickly became a natural extension of my finger, because I couldn’t take it off, it sat so tight that I couldn’t even scroll it on my finger. I don't know, how did that guy manage to get me to put it on? It was two or even three sizes too small for me. The ring looked very simple, but pretty. A thin bezel that did not restrict the movement of the fingers at all, and on it a stylized sun: a round, slightly convex core, with a painted smiling face, and triangular wavy rays.

But two months after that memorable birthday, I met a strange couple not far from home. A young beautiful girl with a cold thoroughbred face and long black hair and a middle-aged man. I don’t know his age, he looks about like my dad, and dad is forty-seven years old. They stood and looked out for someone among the pedestrians, and when they saw me, they perked up, and the man, nodding in my direction, led the girl to me. They caught up with me and, blocking my way, began to examine me.

She? The girl raised her eyebrows contemptuously.

She, - nodded her companion.

You did not confuse anything?

What are you. There and the ring, - the man nodded at my left hand, and the girl turned her gaze there.

Are they completely insane? The girl shook her head in surprise. - I understand everything, but choose this? - she so contemptuously stretched out the word "This", that I felt crushed by cockroaches, which they look at and disdain even to sweep away with a broom.

Arita, but it's good. Think about it, how many chances ...? - the man measured me from head to toe with a thoughtful look.

Ah, yes. I keep forgetting the rules. This is not a pity. You're right, - she brightened up and even smiled a little, if you can call a smile that her lips trembled and lifted, because her eyes were still icy and contemptuous.

I stood without saying a word, because I did not understand the situation at all and whether I should say or ask at least something, or it would be better to remain silent. Prudence screamed about the danger, and begged not to rock the boat, but to be silent, to be silent. They look and leave. Although you ask me what this beautiful, well-groomed brunette can be dangerous for, I would not be able to answer. I just felt that nothing good could come from her. Crush and pass by without even noticing.

And so it happened, they looked at me again, then the girl said some short word to her companion, which I could not make out, and they left.

And for some time I stood, looking into nowhere, and tried to accept the reality in which they called me "this" and said that "this is not a pity." It wasn't just insulting, it was humiliating to the point where you just wanted to lie down and die. Then, inappropriately, I remembered that something similar sounded from the lips of the guys who handed me the ring. It seems that they said that "somehow not really", but "however, it's not a pity." Now I understood what was meant by this mysterious "But by the way, it's not a pity." Do not feel sorry for me, because I am "it", "it".

It was then that I ended my tender mutual love with fast food and sweets. Having arranged a farewell dinner at McDonald's, I gorged myself on burgers, fries and milkshakes so much that I would beat myself off for the rest of my life. And I succeeded. I overate to such an extent that then I felt bad and I painfully said goodbye to everything eaten around the corner, into the first urn that came across, and my friend twisted her finger at her temple and said that I was completely crazy. But you can’t explain to her that I don’t want to be pointed at me and said “this”, and there is not enough willpower to stop eating any unhealthy food. And so ... Well, well, everyone has their own methods. McDonald's never forgave me such deceit, and never again lured me into its warm, fragrant insides, tempting with delicious, but terribly harmful food for the figure, and I'm glad. I did the same radically and unethically with cakes, pastries, sweets and other tasty things. And after saying goodbye to them, she allowed herself only once a year on her birthday a piece of birthday cake. And sometimes tasteless, but not high-calorie and glamorous dark chocolate. I said goodbye to milk chocolate with nuts forever.

One year later.

It's my fifteenth birthday. That morning, oddly enough, my parents left for work a little later and even managed to congratulate me before leaving. So I was in a rosy mood, inhaling the aroma of wonderful perfume, which I had long wanted and finally received as a gift from my parents, and gently fingered the silky stole received from my grandmother.

My dislike for unhealthy high-calorie food gave its results, and I stopped looking like a bun. Over the past ten months, I have lost weight, and a lot. And although it was impossible to call me thin or even slender by any imagination, but still I definitely looked much better than it was a year ago. Even the hormones, realizing that they would no longer be fed various sweets and genetically modified foods, went into sadness and visited me less and less.