"Koschei, you're hurting me."
"Hold still."
I remembered now. Those had been the words.
Those had been the exact words which had echoed around our house.
Koschei you're hurting me.
I had said it over and over again.
And my father must have heard it.
I hadn't been screaming. In fact it hadn't been that bad.
Koschei had wrestled me down on my bed and had knelt on me; he had placed one of his knees on my stomach and had grasped my shoulders.
Really, it hadn't been anything.
We did what children simply do.
But Koschei was no child. He'd never been a child, I guess.
He didn't hurt me.
No, that wasn't right. He never intended to hurt me. Back then it simply happened. And I didn't blame him. Prior to this I had pushed him off my bed.
And Koschei was on top of me.
And I had told him to get off me.
And he had smirked.
And my father had been running; he had been running upstairs.
Something in my voice must have scared him. He'd been frightened.
My shouting had been a warning, he knew.
Something was wrong.
Something went horribly wrong.
"Koschei, stop it, you're hurting me."
"I told you to hold still."
There had been nothing else. No more words. At least none I could remember.
I had been lying there, on my back, with Koschei on my body, touching me in a childish way.
That was all Koschei had always wanted. That I'd hold still for him.
That I'd stop struggling against his childish attempts to bring me to heel.
But there was nothing childish about Koschei, in the eyes of my father.
And he had stood behind us.
And he had stared at us.
At Koschei, who had been touching me innocently, and at me, while I was lying still and wouldn't move a muscle.
He just stood there and stared at us horrified.
Koschei must have felt his piercing gaze on his back. He'd turned his head towards him, let go off me and fled through the window. He was gone in five seconds, leaving me alone with my father, who just kept staring at me.
I met his gaze irritated.
My father had been appalled. My behaviour had appalled him.
And I didn't know if I had done anything wrong.
But I felt guilty nonetheless.
He made me feel if I had done anything wrong.
And stupid as I was I thought that I shouldn't have been shouting. As stupid as I was I thought that it had been wrong to put up a fight with Koschei. I should have let it happen.
I just should have let it happen.
I had run after Koschei, I had left my room and the house without saying goodbye. My father hadn't said anything. He had stood there in my room, shocked and irritated.
And I had put him to shame, I had figured.
Because I hadn't held still.
Because I had struggled against Koschei.
I had caught up with Koschei soon. I ran faster than he could, as always.
I was still frightened. I was still scared and shocked. And somehow Koschei managed to blow it all away. He caressed me. He cared for me.
And we just sat down on a hill and he'd hold me in his arms and protect me.
He was there for me.
He'd always been there for me.
And we watched the sky, the darkening sky.
All night long we stayed there, watching the sky and the stars. Friends had joined us, others had left, but we had stayed the whole night up there, fascinated by the dazzling light of a dying solar system.
We had just stared at the stars.
No.
We hadn't stayed there the whole night.
I had left him as well.
I had been frightened. I had remembered that I hadn't told my parents where I was. They didn't know where I had gone to, or where I'd been the past few hours. I was scared that I had frightened them as well.
My mother probably didn't even know why I had left the house in a hurry.
My father wouldn't have told her, I knew.
If I had ashamed him... if I had embarrassed him...
I had run.
I had run home.
I had run as fast as I could.
And I pushed the front door open only to be met by my father's gaze.
His frightened eyes. His shocked stare. His aghast glare.
And he would do nothing except staring at me; stunned, scared to death and in shocked silence; he just stood there. He said nothing.
Stared at me as if he hadn't known me. As if he wouldn't recognize me.
As if it had been someone else... or something else... but not his son. No.
As if I had been some kind of disgusting creature.
He looked me over, from head to toe.
He just stared at me; his eyes were glistening with unimaginable dismay.
He was scared.
He was appalled.
And I stood there, minute after minute and didn't dare to move.
I didn't know what I'd done wrong. But there was no doubt about that I had done something wrong. I had let him down. I had disappointed him.
Something had been wrong. Something had happened with Koschei.
And I never knew what.
And I never knew why.
Eventually my instincts had kicked in and I had run upstairs to my room.
And I stood there in my room, staring at my bed.
And I still didn't understand it.
And I didn't know what I had done wrong.
In the end I figured that I never should have raised my voice, that I never should have said a word.
I should have kept quiet.
My father shouldn't have been forced to notice it.
He never should have witnessed it.
Whatever it may have been.
I didn't know. And I didn't know what Koschei had done to me; and I didn't even know why my father had been upset.
The door behind me had opened after a while and light intruded my dark room, enclosing a long drawn-out gloomfull shadow. I had crept inside my bed and stared at my father's distorted face.
Slowly he moved closer and glared down at me; his eyes were burning as well with rage as with fear.
Tears had bedabbled his cheeks.
"Close your legs" his voice was cracking as he spoke the words I'd never ever forget "And never open them again."
I had lain there, silent and frightened, being protected by nothing but the blanket, which I had grasped with tensed up fingers.
My father took a step forward and searched my gaze when he was about to reach for my blanket. I slipped backwards and knelt on my cushion; I had pressed my back against the cold wall.
"Close your legs" he had repeated it, I can't even remember how many times he'd tried to inculcate it to me, but he'd said it over and over, coming closer and scaring me more and more with every repetition.
"And don't let anything come between them."
Those had been the last words for the night. He had left the room silently.
And I had pressed my legs against each other absent-mindedly.
I took a deep breath after he'd left.
My legs had been locked. I wasn't able to move them.
I had leg cramps and felt sick.
And I had thought that I could never sleep ever again after that night.
But well... you never knew...