"The voltage jumped, the mechanic is on call in the neighboring building. We'll have to wait about twenty minutes," they said into the microphone, without even listening to the question.
Twenty minutes? Now I needed to hyperventilate. After taking a few deep breaths, I felt that Lyuba had died and began to stir. She took off her coat and awkwardly pulled the collar of her dress away from her neck, trying to fan herself with her palm. The folder with papers ended up on the floor, as did her purse.
We were silent, but the tension was becoming so palpable, and the sighs of the woman next to me were so heavy that I realized that this would not last long.
"Mrs Titov, I... us..." Lyuba began awkwardly, although she had an excellent speech. I taught her this myself - confidence and literacy in constructing sentences, without hesitation and with the right intonations. "I want to say that I did not plan any of what happened."
"Shut up, please."
"But how... I can't do that either, knowing that because of me, that now you... Mr Titov is a good person, he is a kind, generous, fair leader. I always looked at him and admired him, but to go any further. This…"
"Lyuba," I didn't look at her, already knowing that I would see a guilty grimace in front of me, which would not fix anything, "stop."
"This shouldn't have happened. It just happened!"
The last word flew to me like a bullet, exploded inside like shrapnel, hitting everything at once.
"It happened? What happened, Lyuba? That you seized the moment and dragged my drunk husband onto yourself? That you were both so carried away by the foreplay, forgetting about the condoms or the possibility of not releasing all of Max's reproductive potential inside. Emergency contraception? I could have washed myself, after all!" The voice was filled with anger, not with a ditch and hysteria. What I didn't have time to say to Max, I could now dump on his mistress.
"I'm sorry."
"Shut up, Lyub. I hate it when people lie to my face."
"But I really am sorry."
"Fuck you!"
I took a step towards the door and loudly banged my fist on it. I turned to face the panel with buttons and tried again to call the dispatcher, but no one else answered.
"Mrs Titov, no need, they'll let us out soon and..."
I didn't hear anything else except the noise merging into one monotonous sound. White spots danced before my eyes. I pressed my forehead to the cold metal surface of the wall, but even its coolness did not calm the waves of uncontrollable panic and anxiety.
How and when will they let me out of here? I hit the closed doors again. And again. I don't know how long it lasted and when my physical strength began to leave me. The last thing I remembered was the doors opening and the panic in Max's eyes, who stretched out his hands to meet me.
And then there was darkness.
***
I always treated fainting as something terrible. Now I realized that losing consciousness is sometimes salvation, it takes away all fears, all pain, leaving only one desire - not to come to your senses as long as possible.
It's good there. There are no problems and worries. No utility bills, morning sickness, suddenly seeming so uncomfortable high heels, ex-husbands and their pregnant mistresses. Only darkness and absolute silence.
But right now someone is persistently trying to pull me out of this vacuum.
"Sonya, darling, wake up!"
I heard the voice very clearly, right next to my ear. I felt cold, sticky sweat dripping down my temples and back. And my stomach hurt.
It was scary to open my eyes. The bright light cut through all my nerves at once, so my first attempt to show my ex-husband that I could hear him and was already conscious failed.
That's when I realized that he had picked me up in his arms and was carrying me somewhere. From this involuntary shaking, my head was dangling like his funny clown-dummy on the dashboard of a car.
The hands that finally began to obey me again instinctively grabbed Max by the shoulders, fingers clutching at his jacket.
"Stop, please," I couldn't speak loudly, I mumbled, as if my tongue was a sponge swollen with water, so Max didn't listen to me. "I'm going to throw up, Max Titov."
It seems that the full name that I pronounced so rarely attracted his attention and he first slowed down, and then stopped completely, lowering his worried gaze to me. He still had the same beautiful and expressive eyes as I remembered. Blue, with yellow specks.
"Put me down on the floor, please," the voice returned slowly, but at least it was no longer a whisper. "Where are you taking me anyway?"
"In the car. I'll take you to the nearest clinic to the surgeon on duty, before you go from pale gray to blue and cold," his voice sounded caring, and in any other case I would have certainly argued. "Do you understand how scared I was when I found out that it was you who was stuck in the elevator?"
I guess I did. This is more than just attention and politeness. We were next to each other most of our lives, so we couldn't ignore even a cold. This attitude gets into your skin, settles in your subcortex. Is my loved one feeling bad? What can I do? Anything.
Max's face darkened when I squeezed his shoulder harder because of a new attack of pain.
"Are you going to go yourself or should I pick you up again?"
I shook my head, not really understanding what exactly I was giving up. The first or the second?
"Sonya, did you have anything for breakfast?"
"Rye crackers with milk, because only this strange combination kept me from feeling sick in the morning. But I will never tell Max about this.