In an amalgam town in Lithuania - not far from the border of Belarus - an audacious young nymphomaniac by the name of Mila Alkaev traipsed clumsily home from school. She was born to wealthy parents, with a strong dose of self-entitlement. A family historically renowned for their hard work and contributions to their community were unsurprisingly let down by their lacklustre heir to the inheritance.
Mila was the kind of young woman who never pulled her punches and it was this quality that made her so attractive to the tame crowds she grew up beside. Mila knew what she wanted, and didn't have to work hard to get it. Mahogany hair tumbled way past her shoulders and framed her striking, porcelain face. Her eyes were jade and opaque and didn't give anything away, which made it even more difficult to distract oneself from her gaze; the impression was that if looked upon for long enough, those pools of green would perhaps utter nineteen years' worth of secrets. Despite her redeeming qualities, Mila's interests stretched from boys to soap operas and absolutely no further.
Upon arriving home, she was keen to stretch out and relax on the sofa, but half way into the living room, a note caught Mila's peripherals and she bashfully twirled back into the hallway, knowing that her parents were away on business.
Our Dearest Mimi,
We have been called away on business rather urgently, but before we left we received a telephone call from the principal of your school. This promiscuity has got to stop. You're bringing shame upon your Father and I, but more importantly yourself. We've arranged an appointment with the school's Educational Psychologist for lack of a better idea. Note that we will be checking up on whether or not you attended the appointment. Please, Mila, try to help yourself.
All our love, Mama and Father.
'Fucking typical.' She hissed. So often was it that her parents went away on business and left her instructions on how to better herself, she was deliberating over whether to collect all of the money in the house, and just run away from it all. Instead, Mila was feeling courageous.
'Yes, I'm so terribly sorry for the inconvenience,' she hummed, 'thank you ever so much. Good bye.'It had worked. She'd managed to call the Ed Psych and convince her that she was Mrs. Alkaev, cancelling the session due to a conflict in schedules. Finally, Mila could kick off her shoes and slouch lazily over the sofa for the rest of the evening.
3:36AM. Mila had woken with a start. Never before had she been so plagued by guilt - it was consuming her and over what, cancelling an appointment? Maybe this was her turning point. She walked over to her bedroom window and peered out into the night, thinking of all of the school professors she had bribed or provoked with her delicate, poisonous charm. How many hearts had she broken? She hadn't caused any controversies, thank god. Her scandals were very much private, her own source of pleasure and until now all of the men she had seduced were mere pawns. Now, her mind had personified them. They felt. They sweated, cried, shook, panicked and moaned and all because they were emotionally involved too. Sex wasn't just Mila – it was the coming together of two people. She knew she had to seek help.
A callous had formed on her index finger from furiously flicking through the phone directory. After what seemed like hours, Mila came upon a psychiatrist by the name of Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Was the name familiar? She was unsure, but felt compelled to dial the given phone number. Twice and thrice the dial tone echoed in the space between Mila's ears.
'Fancy being a Doctor and not having a secretary. Not even an answering machine.'
Mila had been encouraged by the onset of panic she experienced the night before and was determined to seek help. Why she didn't try another number for a different surgery, she didn't know. It was too late, anyway, she was already past the front door and ready to chase up Dr. Lecter.
Bedazzled teenaged boys and proper looking ladies all watched Mila as she walked down the street, each for their own reason. The eyes didn't feel good on her any more. She didn't want to feel judged or even adored, and it finally sank in for her what others meant when they said someone's eyes were burning into them. Paying too much attention to her feelings got her pulse racing and the fresh-faced young girl came over quite flushed. Her brashness was never dampened, however, and she started for the nearest house to request a glass of water. As luck would have it, she had reached the residence of Dr. Lecter sooner than she had estimated, and almost immediately after hurriedly rapping the brass knocker, an elegant, well-kept man appeared before her.
'Miss Alkaev, I believe.' He said, and nodded towards a very flustered Mila.
'Well…Well yes, but how do you know my name?'
'Don't be taken aback, I am no magician. I simply have caller identification and a knowledge of the so-called business gurus who run this estate. I am right in assuming you are Miss, and not Mrs. Alkaev?' Mila nodded and double checked the number on the door.
'Dr. Lecter, may I come in and have a glass of water?' Suddenly Mila had found her scarcely used manners. The Doctor was endearing and for the first time in a long time, she had sensed a good first impression was in order. He smiled at her.
'You may, but I must insist that in return for my hospitality, you will share something with me.' Mila looked on as he spoke.
'I'm referring to, of course, your phone call. I wouldn't quite call your turning up on my doorstep a surprise, but I was not readily expecting you either. Please do come in.'
His voice was captivating, his thick, Germanic accent was prominent, yet his English was impeccable. He didn't comply to stereotypical handsomeness, yet she didn't dare to maintain eye contact for long lest she should be turned on by his enigmatic good looks. As opposed to being calmed by him, Mila found Dr. Lecter exciting and the sensible thing to do would have been to apologise, about turn and promptly leave. She didn't.