52

The sun had long since turned away from the windows and balcony of my room, and I blinked sleepily, not orienting myself in time.

There was a taste of rotten eggs in my mouth, and I was very thirsty. I reached out to a bottle of water that had come from somewhere on the bedside table and, sitting up, took a few sips.

I felt rested, but my head was porridge. The pillowcase on the pillow was dirty with make-up that I hadn't washed off before going to bed, and the only clothes I had on were panties. This discovery was the turning point for my sleepy memory, and I tightened my grip on the bottle, preparing to throw it at whoever opened the door, but it was only Martha.

- Good morning! How did you sleep? she asked cautiously, looking warily at the bottle in my hand.

- Where is this monster? I squeezed out.

- Grigory Georgievich washes a motorcycle, - Marta immediately answered, holding back a smile.

There were too many rough words on my tongue, and I, taking pity on the girl's ears, kept s