Page 59 of Scarlet Chains
I must not drink. I must not do anything that could harm this fragile new existence that somehow clung to life when logic says it should have been lost along with its twin.
The baby deserves better than a mother who drowns her sorrows in alcohol. This child— Osip’s child, my father’sgrandchild, a walking contradiction of love and tragedy— deserves a mother who fights for survival instead of surrender.
I close the cabinet door with a finality that echoes through the small apartment. And then a new thought strikes me. A much better idea that makes my pulse quicken with something that might be hope.
The Scarlet Fox.
It’s been a while since I thought of The Masked Guy at The Scarlet Fox— really thought about him, not just the fleeting memories that surface when sleep eludes me or when silence stretches too long. The man in the shadows, the one who made me feel seen, safe, understood in ways I still can’t explain.
Does he still go there?
What would he say if I told him everything? About my father’s murder, about Osip’s betrayal, about Slava’s innocent laughter, about this sinking feeling that my life is falling apart piece by piece while I stand helpless to stop it?
The Masked Guy had listened without judgment when I’d poured out my pain about Dad’s death. He’d offered comfort without trying to fix anything, understanding without demanding explanations. For those precious moments in Room Five, I hadn’t been a victim or a tragedy or a cautionary tale— I’d just been a woman worthy of attention, of desire, of care.
Maybe he could help me make sense of this chaos. Maybe he could offer perspective from someone who exists outside the fucked-up mess of my current reality. Or maybe— and this thought makes me feel pathetic and desperate in equal measure— maybe he could just hold me while I fall apart, the way he did before when my world first started crumbling.
Either way, I’m an emotional wreck, and perhaps it would help if I could speak to someone. Someone like TMG, who knows how to listen to pain without trying to solve it.
A small, irrational urge stirs within me, growing stronger with each passing second. It’s evening now— the sky outside the grimy window has deepened to the color of old bruises. It’s past visiting hours at the hospital, so I can’t go back and be with my mother. She’s on morphine, anyway, floating in pharmaceutical twilight that keeps the pain at bay but also keeps her unreachable. The nurses assured me she’s comfortable, that the medication will help her rest, that there’s nothing more I can do tonight.
And to top it off, it just happens to be Friday night.
“Maybe it’s a sign,” I whisper. It’s like the universe is offering me exactly what I need when I need it most.
Do they still do the masked nights on Fridays?
Has anything changed in the year and a half since I last walked through those doors, since I last surrendered my identity to the shadows and candlelight?
Maybe I should just go to The Scarlet Fox. Just to see if he’s still there, if the magic of that place can still work its spell on my shattered heart. Just to speak to him, even if only for a moment— that’s if he’s there at all. And that’s a big if, the rational part of my mind insists.
This is crazy!
It’s ridiculous that I’m even thinking about this. It just shows how desperate I am, how far I’ve fallen from the composed woman I used to be.
But desperation doesn’t always lead to bad decisions, does it? Sometimes it leads to exactly where you need to be.
Then again, it’s not like I can lose anything. I’m going crazy sitting alone in my mom’s apartment anyway, surrounded by the ghosts of her fading life and the echoes of my own failures. The silence here is suffocating, pressing against my eardrums until I want to scream just to hear something other than the whisper of my own breathing.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” I breathe the words into the silence of the apartment.
Nothing, that’s what.
The worst that can happen is that I get out, have a change of atmosphere, and clear my head. Maybe the Masked Guy won’t be there, maybe the magic will be gone, but at least I’ll have tried. At least I’ll have reached for something instead of just lying here, drowning in my own misery.
I sit up abruptly, surprising myself with how determined I feel. The decision takes shape in my chest like ice forming on a winter window— clear, solid, irreversible. It’s reckless, impulsive, probably stupid, but I need the distraction. If I stay here, I’ll drown in my thoughts. I’ll spiral down into the darkness that’s been calling my name ever since Jason told me the truth about Osip. I’ll become one of those people who suffocates under the weight of their own tragedy.
Just for tonight, I need to escape. Even if it’s just for a little while, even if it changes nothing, even if I come home more broken than when I left.
The shower runs lukewarm— Mom’s ancient water heater giving up the fight just like everything else in this building— but it washes away the hospital smell that had clung to my skin like grief made manifest. I let the water run over my face, mixing with the tears I can’t seem to stop, until I can’t tell where sorrow ends and simple cleansing begins.
I change into something simple but presentable— a dark dress that doesn’t require much thought, black tights that hide how pale my legs have become, a coat that’s seen better days but still maintains some dignity. These are the clothes of a woman going through the motions of living, and maybe that’s enough for tonight.
My reflection in the hallway mirror startles me. I look older, worn thin like fabric that’s been washed too manytimes. My eyes are shadowed with exhaustion and grief, my cheekbones more prominent than they should be. When did I stop eating properly? When did I stop taking care of myself?
I need to get back on track… for the baby, if nothing else.
But there’s something else in my reflection too— a flicker of determination that reminds me of the woman I used to be. The woman who could make decisions and follow through with them. The woman who didn’t let tragedy define every moment of her existence.
