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Flipping the pancake, I frowned automatically, watching as the thin batter cooked to a perfect golden crust. "Damn, they're perfect," flashed through my mind, and I felt a strange sense of satisfaction. But that feeling immediately irritated me. "Why the hell am I proud of making pancakes?" I mentally snapped at myself, yet it didn’t stop me from skillfully sliding the pancake onto a plate.
With a soft sizzle, the pancake landed on the plate, joining an already neat stack. Absentmindedly, I wiped the spatula on a towel and slung it over my shoulder. The fabric of the robe brushed against my skin, and I felt my breasts shift beneath the thin material. That was irritating. Everything was irritating today.
"Pancakes… What the fuck am I doing?!" The thought pierced through me, and I froze for a moment. I was standing at the stove, in this damn floral robe, making breakfast for Marek. This wasn’t me. I shouldn’t be doing this. But my hands kept moving on their own—familiar, deft, as if I had been this fucking Apolonia my entire life. "Well, of course, if you make breakfast for this idiot for a month, anyone in my place would turn into a pro," I justified to myself, taking a deep breath.
But the truth was, I actually wanted to cook right now. Weird, huh? Maybe to avoid thinking about what happened yesterday? Brr… Why the fuck did I act yesterday like I had actually become Apolonia? "Shit, I screamed like a whore!" The memory made me shudder, and I accidentally tore the pancake with the spatula. Now this piece of batter reminded me of the dress that had been disgracefully lying on the cold tile floor last night. I had caught a glimpse of it—Marek had picked me up in his arms so easily, like I really was some delicate little thing.
And I… I clung to him, begging him not to stop, growling "fuck me" when he threw me onto the bed. And then I even curled up with him afterward, pressed against him like… like a real wife. Even now, recalling it, I felt a tremor in my lower belly, as if expecting a repeat.
"It was shock, just shock," I convinced myself, flipping another pancake and remembering those crow’s feet at the corners of my eyes, the other signs of aging on my face. "It’s all because of the mirror. That damn mirror and this face… this old face. My face! Aged, foreign, female. I wasn’t in control, yeah. And this stupid role of Apolonia, the one I have to play all the time because of those cameras. That Marek, or whoever the hell he really is, took advantage of the situation. The cameras—yeah, yeah, yeah, it's all because of them. They’re always watching, always recording. I was just playing the part, that’s all."
For a moment, I stopped, leaning on the counter, running through my morning search of the apartment again in my mind. There were no cameras. None. I had searched everywhere—the bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, even behind the damn curtains. That wasn’t right. Just yesterday, the cameras were everywhere, and now—nothing. What did that mean? Where was the control? Who was watching me? And if no one was… what was the point of this whole act? Maybe the experiment was over? Or was this just a new phase…
At that moment, Marek walked into the kitchen. I heard the wooden floor creak under his steps. Without even looking, I felt his presence—heavy, certain, filling the room.
— Good morning, Polya, — he said calmly, walking past me to the fridge.
His hand, in a movement that seemed to have become a habit, smacked my ass. I jolted—not from pain, but from how this damn body reacted. I flinched, feeling the soft flesh jiggle under his palm, the motion setting off an unpleasantly familiar sway in my hips. It was humiliating, fucking humiliating. But even worse was how my body responded—a brief wave of strange heat rolled across my skin, making me shudder. And despite my protests, I fucking liked it!
— Stop it! — I blurted out, spinning around sharply. My voice came out a little higher than I intended and way too indignant for Mike—the person I still believed myself to be.
Marek, casually opening the fridge, only gave me a calm glance over his shoulder.
— Oh, come on. It’s just a morning greeting, — he said with a smirk, grabbing a bottle of milk and snatching a fresh pancake off the table. — And who was the one begging for more last night? — he asked, mouth full, and when his lips glistened with butter, I felt my breath hitch.
My hand shot out on its own, smacking his fingers as he reached for another pancake—exactly like in those old comedies about nagging wives.
— Don’t eat like a starving dog! — the words flew out before I could stop them, and I nearly bit my tongue. Fuck, that came out on autopilot—I didn’t even think about what I was saying.
Marek laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. His laugh—deep, rolling—made my knees weak.
— Alright, alright, my little storm, — he plopped down at the table, spreading his legs so wide that the seam of his jeans stretched tight. I looked away, feeling my cheeks flush. — John invited us over tomorrow, — Marek stretched lazily, scratching his unshaven cheek. — He wants to meet you.
— John? — I repeated absentmindedly, picking up a plate and carefully transferring the stack of pancakes onto it. Marek kept talking about the trip, but I barely listened. His words reached me as if through a fog. My mind was too full, thoughts too loud.
— I don’t give a shit about John! — I snapped suddenly, cutting off his calm monologue. My voice came out sharper than I intended. I set the plate of pancakes down so hard it clattered. — Do you even realize something’s wrong here? This whole… this "Town." The cameras! They’re gone, do you understand? Yesterday, I searched everywhere. They’re nowhere to be found!
— Took them down yesterday, — Marek smirked, slowly reaching for the mug I had just slammed onto the table. — Yesterday, before you… before we… — the corner of his mouth twitched.
The words hit me like a thunderclap. My heart stopped, then plunged deep into my stomach. I froze, staring at Marek.
— What? — I whispered, unable to believe my ears.
Marek calmly set the mug down, took a sip of milk, and looked at me like I had just asked the most obvious question in the world.
— I said, I took down the cameras, — he repeated, his tone so casual it was like he was talking about taking out the trash. — I got sick of them being everywhere. Enough of your experiments.
— What the hell are you talking about?! — I spat out, feeling a wave of panic rise inside me. — What do you mean, "enough of my experiments"? This is all part of the plan, right? This is some new phase, you knew everything?!
I stepped toward him, barely holding myself back from grabbing him by the collar. But instead, I did something that shocked even me—I put my hands on my hips. Just like that. Like a woman. Like my mother used to do when she scolded my father.
Marek squinted slightly, his gaze softening—and that only pissed me off more.
— Polya, relax. I think you’ve been too wrapped up in those cameras and instructions, — his voice was low, soothing. — I took them down. We’re living our lives. That’s it. End of story.