The Perfect Sin. I Grant You Contempt

3

The District

The district, once home to tractor builders, greeted Him – surprisingly – with a morning coolness. Lush greenery of abandoned plantings, cracked asphalt lifted in places by massive roots. The chill, lazy cats basking in patches of sunlight, warm pavement, and a few passersby – that was all that surrounded Him on His way to the metro.

Descending underground, quickly passing the section belonging to the railway – just two minutes away from complete abandonment – and bursting into the brightly lit granite-tiled corridor of the subway itself, He casually remembered the lady with whom He had been lucky enough to spend the previous night. Her image surfaced in His mind and disappeared just as easily – never to return, most likely. She was now part of the past, though, He thought, it wouldn’t have been the worst idea to keep her on the list of those one could turn to in an unforeseen moment – for both body and soul.

Sometimes, “life cracked seriously,” and one needed someone who could create the illusion that existence wasn’t entirely hopeless – someone offering the comfort of another’s arms and warmth. More than once, people had tried to “tie Him down” and “settle Him,” but the inner feeling of a leash was unbearable. At the first sign of things turning into something serious, He would immediately pull away – sometimes disappearing altogether. That was His nature.

Women attracted Him. More than that – He simply couldn’t imagine His existence without them! They were not merely a necessary accessory; they were the very meaning of His life – but only as long as they didn’t claim His personal freedom or restrict His interactions with other members of their sex.

The cool air of the subway relaxed Him – relaxed Him to the point of drowsiness. The train rattled along, gradually filling with passengers rushing to work. They say that once upon a time, the direction toward the city center was almost empty at this hour. That was back in the days of the Union, when the main workforce headed to factories, and the morning flow moved toward the now-abandoned monsters of Soviet industry. Now, people hurried to offices in other parts of the city – heading in the opposite direction.

At Zhukov Station, not everyone could squeeze into the train anymore. Girls in low-rise jeans invaded His mind the moment He opened His eyes. Semi-transparent tops, sandals, bare bellies… His hands itched to touch, violating in an instant both moral and ethical codes – and perhaps even certain articles of administrative or criminal law.

Alas, the sun, the subway, the crushing sense of hopelessness at the threshold of the office – all of it destroyed the morning illusion of “a successful life.” On the contrary, the fatigue of recent days made itself known at once. He barely managed to stumble into His office. His legs carried Him straight to the chair, into which He collapsed, wishing only one thing – to drift away and send the world to hell.

Work, naturally, was out of the question. The only thing that could save Him now was a strong dose of coffee. The coffee machine was on the floor below, in the so-called “Kitchen,” the staff break room. It stood there quietly, indicator light blinking, waiting for someone to pour coffee and water into it. Naturally, there was no coffee.

But He knew perfectly well where to “acquire” some. In the cupboard above the machine, someone always left their pack, steadily dwindling day by day.

Contrary to His expectations, the Kitchen wasn’t empty. In fact, it was very much occupied. The young woman standing by the counter was – perhaps – too young. She was facing away from Him, so He couldn’t yet see her face. But from her figure alone, the weary and depleted male body immediately demanded procreation in the name of the species.

“Yeah, I’d sleep with her,” He thought – And at that exact moment, she turned around, fixing her still naïve gaze upon Him – the gaze of a girl who had stepped into adult life but had yet to truly understand it.

– What? – she asked.

– Guess I was thinking out loud, – He muttered, walking past her toward the cupboard where the coffee was kept.

– You wanted to sleep with me? – she asked in a childlike voice – one that made Him want that very thing even more. There was something in her – not yet awakened, but promising, as if great potential slept beneath the surface.

– I meant something else entirely, – He stammered, feeling the blood rush to His face. It had been so long since He’d last blushed that He’d forgotten what it felt like. Fortunately, she didn’t notice, still staring straight at His back.

No coffee in the cupboard, of course. He stood there frozen, not knowing how to respond or what to do next.

– I’ve got some, – she said in that same thin, almost fragile voice. – Only in a stick pack, though.

– Will you share? – He turned sharply – so sharply that she instinctively stepped back, though she’d been standing several meters away.

– Yes. – She handed Him the stick. – Will you drink it here?

He didn’t even know himself. Here? Why not.

– Only if you’ll join me, – He smiled. Apparently, His smile looked so weary that she immediately gave Him a look filled with pity.

– You must be tired.

He really was tired. The days – filled with hated, pointless work, though at least in an office. The nights – the other life, the one that drew Him in, though lately it had begun to repel Him more and more. At such times, life itself felt unbearable. The world grew hollow, He seemed misplaced within it, and the heaviness inside pulled Him toward the edge of a bridge or forward from the platform, under the next passing train.

Of course, that was all inside Him. Deep, unreachable, hidden from everyone. His inner world was His domain – no one entered there. For those eager for intimacy, He built artificial worlds tailored to them. It was interesting, even fascinating, but those worlds rarely matched one another. Mutual acquaintances were always puzzled: how could their shared friend appear so contradictory in everyone’s eyes?

– It’s just the blood pressure, – He replied finally. – You’ve already boiled the kettle?

She had, of course – it was already humming, ready to deliver its portion of boiling water. The mug – hers – was right there, and His trembling hands, blurred by the dark circles before His eyes, reached for it.

– What’s your name, girl? – He asked casually.

– I’m not a girl!’ she snapped. ‘I’m twenty-five already, and I…

“Maybe so, He thought. Maybe twenty-five. The last woman I knew at that age had two well-off lovers who kept her in comfort – and between their attentions, she earned extra money on a street corner in the evenings”.

– Sorry, I’m a bit blunt, – He cut off her indignation. “But still – what should I call you?”

– Alya, – she replied. – Alyna.

– Well then, Alya. Perfect. Let’s pour ourselves some coffee.

***

Alya turned out to be quite an interesting lady, involved in some kind of sport – something about teams, climbing, and quest-like challenges. He didn’t care much to understand the details.

There was something about her that made Him reconsider her entirely – not as an object of lust, but simply as a person. For the next fifteen minutes or so, they sat, drank their coffee, and talked about nothing at all. And for once, He didn’t feel the need to perform – to be the predator, to calculate His words, to entertain. She was something different: light, unburdening, not draining.

– Well, time to get back to work? – The coffee was gone.

– Yeah, let’s go, – she said quickly, almost flustered. – They’re probably looking for me already.

“Unlikely”, – He thought, knowing full well how mornings in the office went – but said nothing.

– What are you doing tonight? – The words slipped out of His mouth unplanned, already on the stairwell. Even He was surprised. The natural continuation of this day should have been rest – nothing more. But the old habits of the wanderer, the hunter, won out instantly over reason.

– I don’t know, – she said, looking at Him with those same naïve eyes. “I’ll have to ask my mom…”

– Right. Sorry, – He waved it off with a smile. – Forget it. Bad idea. Sorry.

And they went their separate ways.

4

– Remind me, – He asked, – how did you end up in My bed?

– Aren’t you against it? – Alya looked surprised.

Truth be told, He wasn’t. But neither was He eager to sleep with her. Fatigue demanded oblivion – right now – yet the naked female body pressed to His side, every inch of her skin against His, demanded attention, and…

– Sorry. I’m just tired, – He murmured.

– You live too active a life, – she said, and from her girlish lips, it sounded both amusing and defiant.

– How would you know about My life’s activity? – He smiled.

– People talk, – she whispered.

– Hard to argue with that…” His eyes were closing, hand frozen on her waist.

– They’ve been talking about You non-stop these past few days, – she continued, not noticing He was half-asleep.

– No surprise there. I won’t even ask what they’re saying.

– Karina’s mad at you. Says awful things.

– Only Karina? Amazing. I can think of at least four more who’d gladly join her righteous fury against Me.”

– You slept with them too?

– Worse.

– What could be worse than that? – she asked, genuinely curious.

– Sleeping together is just a physical act – fulfilling basic instincts, nothing more. Once all that talk about chastity and purity before marriage fades, you’ll understand. The real sin is destroying someone’s illusions, betraying their expectations.

– How do you mean?

– It’s when someone draws a line between intimacy and a relationship. They saw them as connected. I didn’t. To Me, intimacy was the end of it, not the beginning. Relationships without obligations – you know?

She nodded, pretending to understand, and pressed herself against Him again.

The strange thing was – He didn’t want her as a woman. His body wouldn’t have minded, but some inner switch had flipped. There was something about her that invited closeness – the dangerous kind – the kind that could lead, God forbid, to friendship, or worse, an actual relationship. And with Him, it was always either one or the other. People said friendship could turn into something deeper – but not for Him. Or maybe He just refused to notice when it did.

– So you hurt them all… – she murmured.

– From their point of view – yes.

– And from yours?

– From Mine… – He wanted to fall asleep. He still didn’t know why, after their walk by the river, He’d brought Alya home, practically started undressing her at the door. He hadn’t even wanted her – and now, He didn’t have the strength anyway. But that ingrained instinct, that primitive call of availability, had done its work. – From My point of view, – He continued, – our basic expectations simply differ. They wanted commitment. I was fine with the prelude.

– Really? – she asked softly, and He thought she didn’t fully grasp what she was saying – or maybe she did, and she was no different from all the others. – Still, they say terrible things about You. They lie…

– That’s where you’re wrong, – He interrupted. – If you ever hear something bad about Me – believe nearly every word. Because chances are, it’s true.

– You can’t be that bad.

– It depends on where you’re standing – and what rules you live by. I like who I am. But by their standards, I’m something monstrous.”

– That’s not true, – she whispered, timidly sliding His hand higher up her body. – You’re not like that.

– I won’t ruin your illusions, – He waved it off. – Sorry. I’m exhausted. I’ll sleep. You can stay up if you want – maybe on the computer… Just don’t open the photo folder,” He added, half-asleep. – That’s… not for you. Not yet.

***

Morning didn’t go well from the start. He hadn’t slept. She, on the other hand, woke craving affection and warmth. His head throbbed; hers clearly longed for something else.

– Not now, – He snapped, brushing her hand away and getting out of bed.

A cold shower brought Him back to something resembling life. For a moment, He even forgot He wasn’t alone in the apartment. But when He stepped out of the bathroom and saw Alya still there – it all came rushing back.

He hated mornings.

He hated the sunlight that broke through the gaps in the curtains.

He hated the necessity of getting dressed and going to work.

He hated the sluggishness, that post-night lethargy, when His energy level dipped below survival.

And most of all, He hated waking up next to someone from the night before – someone He already wanted gone. Naturally, this couldn’t help but affect Alya.

– What’s wrong? – she whispered, sinking into the mattress, pulling the blanket nearly up to her eyes.

– Everything’s fine, – He muttered, collecting His scattered clothes. – Forty minutes till I leave. Bathroom’s free. You’ll figure it out. I’ll make coffee. – He didn’t even glance at her, jaw tight.

“Okay,” she said, slipping from under the blanket – naked, of course. He watched her – slim, almost boyish frame, narrow hips, small shoulders, firm thighs, toned backside, and modest chest.

She didn’t linger in the shower, returning in under ten minutes – still bare, slightly shy.

“Why didn’t I… last night?” – flashed through His mind.

She dressed in the bedroom while He sat in the kitchen, already on His second cup of coffee.

– You look lovely, – He said, smiling for the first time. The caffeine and the shower had done their work – she no longer irritated Him.

– Thanks, – she replied, glancing sideways at Him. – Is that for me?

– Of course, – He handed her the cup. – Want a sandwich? I don’t eat in the mornings.

– No, thanks. Coffee’s enough.

– Sorry, – He said quietly, not looking up. – I’m unbearable in the mornings.

– That’s okay… – she sipped her coffee.

They went to work together. She tried to take His arm, but He freed Himself with a habitual motion – that small morning ritual of emotional distance He’d long since perfected.

5

Zhenya barely managed to squeeze into the subway car. He lived somewhere around Zhukov district, and during rush hour he had every chance of not fitting in at all, despite his thin build.

The crowd dragged him inside, pressed him against the opposite door, and left him there, floundering among the mass of overheated bodies rushing about their business.

What irritated him most, as usual, were the old ladies. Not that Zhenya disrespected them or felt any prejudice, but their sheer number during rush hour – when most people were hurrying to work – was discouraging. The grandmas rode just for the sake of riding, since their fares were discounted. They went to markets where cucumbers were twenty kopecks cheaper than near home; to recycling points where a beer bottle fetched a couple more coins. With their free rides and endless time, these trips gave them, besides a sense of being part of life – something they’d long since stopped feeling – also a small bit of extra income or savings, however meager.

One of them, a short, round figure resembling an overfilled beer keg – and smelling accordingly – kept rubbing against Zhenya with her bags and worn-out clothes. He grew tense, boiling inside, but his innate sense of politeness – like that of the well-mannered bunny from the old Soviet Winnie-the-Pooh cartoon – wouldn’t allow him to respond properly to the source of irritation.

The old woman, for her part, was just as nervous. Her bags, stuffed with bottles and plastic, were constantly being pushed, stepped on, or even kicked aside by those trying to get away from her as far as possible. She didn’t restrain her tongue, waving her hands, cursing everyone around, reminiscing about her hard life, praising the good old days of “developed socialism” – and with each such outburst, poor Zhenya caught the brunt of her fury.

“Excuse me, may I pass?” – he finally spotted a gap in the shifting crowd, which reshuffled at every stop. “I need to get through…”

– Go on, go on, – rasped the old lady back, needing to vent her frustration on someone, and it didn’t matter who that was – a student secretly kicking her bottles and laughing at the clinking sound, a tired office worker pushing his way to work, or just Zhenya, blocking her from leaning her massive behind against the doors that wouldn’t open until the very last station.

– And a lovely day to you too! – Zhenya snapped, squeezing past her, or rather, leaping over the heap of her precious goods.

– They breed idiots like rabbits! – she muttered after him. – No one bothers to raise them anymore. Back in my day… – she launched into the eternal story, familiar to every generation.

– Hey! – someone tugged on Zhenya’s trouser leg as he pushed away from the old woman, moving toward the center of the car.

– Hey, – he replied automatically, nearly missing the speaker. “Where’d you come from? – he asked, surprised.

– Going to work, – Alya smiled at him brightly, her girlish shyness only adding to her charm.

– So am I, – Zhenya tried to keep the conversation going. Where do you live?

– I was staying with friends, – she clarified. – So…

He was asleep. Just leaned his head back and, mouth slightly open, fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. The crowd moved around him – sometimes bumping his legs, sometimes sitting down or standing up nearby. Alya held onto his arm, but for Him, the world no longer existed. He slept, a faint rasp escaping his slightly parted lips.

– This is… – Zhenya was speechless, the smile fading from his face. – What’s He doing here? Also stayed over somewhere?

Alya blushed, let go of His arm, and turned red. Zhenya realized his slip, though the smile didn’t return. He wasn’t sure how to react. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen his friend with a woman. It wasn’t the first time they clung to Him – or He to them. Young or mature, naïve or worldly, He wasn’t particularly picky. Yet somehow, Zhenya had never imagined Him and Alya together. On the contrary…

– I see… – he managed to mutter, staring at Alya, glowing though visibly tired. “Well… when things go bad, you can come to me.” His tone darkened as he finished.

They spent the rest of the ride in silence, the three of them. Getting out of the subway wasn’t easy. He woke slowly, weighed down by exhaustion; consciousness returned reluctantly. Morning, the trip, and the sleep… beyond that, He simply didn’t exist.

After splashing some water on His face behind a lonely kiosk, He finally came to. He even tried to smile, extended a hand to Zhenya – but said nothing.

His workplace awaited, like a life ring floating on the surface – waiting for the drowning man who’d thrown it overboard himself before sinking the ship.

– You look terrible! – Karina breezed past, swaying her hips and teasing with her firm chest. – Plans for tonight? – She might’ve been joking – He wasn’t sure.

– Sleep with someone, – He replied heavily. – You, preferably… – His eyes were closing again. He wanted coffee, a woman, and sleep.

– Not likely, – she smirked.

– Pity, – He sighed without opening His eyes. – I was counting on you…

She walked away, hips swaying victoriously, sure she’d just scored a small but satisfying win. He, meanwhile, drifted into sleep again.

***

– Wake up! – rasped a familiar voice by His ear, and a not-so-gentle hand shook Him hard enough for His head to clear. – Wake up! – the hand repeated.

– All right, all right… – He brushed it off. – I’m fine.

He couldn’t stand Igor – not his worldview, not his comments, not his meticulousness, nor his eagerness to please everyone.

– Get up, – Igor said more evenly now. – We’re being called in.

They worked together – in a pair or maybe even in the same department – but in reality, they barely exchanged greetings. Their mutual frostiness had once even become a topic of discussion among colleagues and was brought to management’s attention. In front of their bosses, they smiled, shook hands, promised to “strengthen their cooperation” and whatever else – even swore on it, perhaps. But nothing changed afterward. He despised Igor; Igor returned the favor.

– What’s going on? – He asked, surprised. The sun had already made its way far across the sky, and its rays, filtering through the vertical blinds, fell directly onto His desk.

“How long have I been asleep?! – he thought in surprise. – Almost half past ten!”

It turned out he had slept for more than two hours. Slept right at his desk, and not a single bastard of a coworker had bothered to wake him! Or maybe someone had tried, but… either didn’t dare to push it or decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.

Whatever the case, it didn’t matter now – he needed to get up and move.

– What’s the question, anyway? What are we taking? – he shouted after Igor, who was already walking away. Igor turned around, mumbled something unintelligible, and continued down the hall.

The owner’s office was one floor up – a miniature golf course of a room, cooled by an air conditioner clearly designed for a real golf field. The chill that hit him as soon as he entered revived him better than a bucket of cold water.

– Permission to enter? – he said instead of a greeting.

They allowed him in. He sat down, sank into the chair, and fell into a gloomy anticipation – waiting for the moment when, once again, something would begin that would end with a headache, a sense of futility from all the wasted effort, and also…

– Hm… – The owner, sprawled in his seat, was watching him closely. He was clearly agitated, yet in no hurry to begin.

He could feel that gaze on him with his entire body. It was as if thousands of tiny electric discharges pierced his skin, driving through soft flesh and into his spine, jolting his tired nerves awake. He straightened, forcing himself to appear composed, though it was far from easy.

– We’re concerned about the condition of one of our employees, – the owner began delicately, never taking his eyes off him. “When he first came to us, he was a diligent young man – not fresh from the university, but still – that’s how he seemed. Over the years, he’s proven himself to be an excellent specialist, the kind any respectable company could be proud of. Thanks to him, we survived the worst of the crisis. His analytical abilities helped us build productive relationships with our partners in Southeast Asia, expand into Europe, and begin to penetrate both the African continent and the Arab world.

But alongside all this, at first imperceptibly, and with each year more openly, his other side began to surface. I’d even call it his second self – hidden beneath a thick layer of logic and rationality. His inner demons have started to take control. We hoped his marriage to a wonderful young woman would resolve this issue and that he’d finally settle down, but after a short time together, he… they separated. And since then, as it turns out, he’s become impossible to restrain.”

The owner continued speaking in the third person, but He, of course, already understood what this was about – and who was under scrutiny. Department heads, directors, and even several specialists – among them, unfortunately, was Katerina – about twenty people in all, sat around the table, fiddling with pens and crumpling papers, yet never taking their eyes off Him. He felt like he’d been impaled on a stake for public display, pinned in place by the owner’s gaze.

– Our security service even conducted an inquiry. It appears that his recent behavior is nothing but a relapse. At least, that’s how I’d prefer to see it – a relapse of his past. A relapse of the lifestyle this young man and fine employee once led during his reckless student years.