Mabel Shot Part 3

My eyes watch the flames in the fireplace inside the small living room, burning the wood until it turns to embers. I take a deep breath, inhaling slowly, my fingers digging into my knees, flattening them against my dress. The large sofa I'm sitting on faces the rustic fireplace. I sigh and divert my gaze from the flames when a large hand reaches out and hovers near my face, offering me a glass of vodka.
"Thank you," I murmur to the large man and take the glass in my hands, bringing it to my lips for a small sip.
I study him silently, my eyes keenly following his movements over the rim of the glass. He turns his back to me and walks over to the small bar in the corner, pouring himself a drink. The black jeans hug his body, making him appear even taller. A biker leather jacket covers his broad shoulders, matching the military boots he wears. I slowly lower the glass and set it on my lap, gripping it with both hands. He turns and moves through the small living room with an authoritative air, his presence overwhelming the space. He lazily walks to an armchair, grips its back, drags it to the center of the room, and positions it in front of me. I watch him sit down, relaxing his back against the chair, his gaze locked on mine.
"Why are you here, Miss Shot?" His brown eyes remain intense, studying me closely as he takes a sip of his drink. "I recall asking you this in our last meeting, but I never received an answer. I hope you have one now."
I bring the glass to my lips and close my eyes tightly, breathing quickly, my chest rising and falling with agitation as I try to calm myself, with no idea what to say to him. I wasn't even sure I would meet him; I hadn't prepared a speech or imagined a dialogue between us, let alone be alone with him in a locked room.
"I imagine you must have liked my house," he says seriously, making me open my eyes and see him tilt his head to the side, gazing at my trembling fingers gripping the glass.
"Your house?" I lower the glass again and set it back on my lap, looking lost at him. "You live here? You own this, Sodoma?"
"Sodoma has no owner, Miss Shot." He straightens his head and looks from my fingers to my face. "Sodoma has advisors, and I am the one from Moscow."
"I—" I smile, embarrassed, and divert my eyes from his, feeling strange about how affected I am by his gaze, as if all the air in my lungs has vanished. "I thought you were the owner. Sorry, I guess I misunderstood when you said house..."
"But this is my home. Not where I live, but where I care for and protect the members of Sodoma who live in Moscow, or anyone who enters through the doors," he replies politely, using simple words as if explaining to a child. "Like a host when receiving guests in his home, he accommodates them, takes care of them, and ensures their stay is pleasant and safe."
"You’re responsible here, I see." I turn my face to the side and notice the peculiar decorations of the room: small sculptures of naked women in various positions on a counter. "The people who frequent your establishment are your guests."
"Exactly." His voice remains calm as he drinks from his glass of vodka. "Now you have my answer, little bird?"
My eyes turn back to his face, seeing him serious, studying me as he lowers the glass from his lips, showing no emotion on his stoic face.
"What exactly do your guests do in your house, sir?" I ask him instead of answering his question, still unsure of the answer I should give.
The dark Russian lowers his glass and sets it on the floor next to his chair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees while crossing his fingers, his chin resting atop them.
"Do you know what Sodoma is, Mabel?" Again, a question, as if we were playing a game of cat and mouse, trying to see who would catch whom first. And he knows that in this game, I will lose.
I remember the first day I entered and thought of so many theories: a butcher shop, an exhibition of depraved paintings, a religious cult of a half-goat man, and finally, the only thing that seemed logical was that this place was a secret swing club.
"A naughty version of the Illuminati," I joke, trying to use my ironic humor to hide my nervousness.
"Far from it, little bird," he replies seriously, keeping his eyes locked on mine. "Sodoma is the union of influential people with a broad idea of the pursuit of sublime pleasure. We simply have common interests and somewhat limited goals."
"It still sounds like a sex brotherhood, just one for powerful people who enjoy debauchery," I murmur, sinking deeper into the sofa, staring lost at my glass.
Crap, what am I getting myself into?!
I mentally scold myself, trying to think about the best moment to make my exit and leave as quickly as possible from this room.
"It’s not a brotherhood but a legacy that has traversed history, so to speak, that can be well found in the pre-Christian era during the Roman Empire."
"The pagan cults," I say, lifting my face to him, seeing him nod in agreement.
I remember Macro talking about Pan and all the staging they did that day. I did a little research as homework and discovered that the Romans enjoyed a lot of debauchery and depravity; that was clear. "As the cults gained more ground, the Roman monarchs felt threatened by the notoriety that was being created around it. Fearing it might reach their power and law, they chose to condemn the practitioners, silencing forever those who refused to give up the practice."
I fall silent, listening to his voice, which remains low and calm, feeling again like a quiet girl listening to Alekessandra, my adoptive mother, when she gave me lessons at home. The difference is that it’s not her scolding me angrily, but rather those dangerous brown eyes with a hypnotic voice that captivate me.
"Many powerful people in the Roman Empire participated in the cults, so out of fear of the monarchy, they thought it best to hide in the shadows, making their practices less conspicuous," he explains seriously, turning his gaze back to my hands.
"I think I got lost in this conversation." I shake my head slowly from side to side. "Are we talking about sex or the Roman corporate monarchy?"
"Sex?!" The loud sound of his booming laughter catches me off guard. I look at him and see him lean back and straighten his back as he laughs. "I’ve had Sodoma ingrained in me for so many years that sometimes I forget what it’s like for those outside who still don’t comprehend our vision. I find myself invigorated in your company, little bird."
He continues to laugh, leaving me confused, not understanding the reason behind his mirth.
"I guess I should feel flattered that my stupidity doesn’t bore you, sir," I say, feeling a bit irritated as I raise the glass to my lips.
"I never said you were stupid." He stops laughing and becomes serious again, giving me a stern look as if he were a strict teacher scolding a chatty student. "But I do feel invigorated. If I were bored, you’d know, little bird, rest assured."
I curl up on the sofa again, feeling like I’m about to become part of the upholstery, I’m so curled up.
"Sodoma is a place for everyone who wishes to be truly free in their desires, which is why it was taken from the eyes of the world, remaining underground." He tilts his face to the side and crosses his legs. I feel my neck tingle with the intensity his brown eyes fix on me. "Lust, power, perversion, and freedom are things that are part of humanity, but not everyone can understand the depraved souls, which is why Sodoma welcomes them and gives them what they need."
"Invisibility and security," I retort quietly. Now I understand how Macro ended up here.
Because he feels free in this place, with his relationship with his mysterious man. Sodoma guarantees their safety. Macro said it was his tribe, and I hadn’t understood at that moment. But now I do, I just don’t know if this is my tribe. I just want to find a way to coexist with my demons so that I can be free, not to feed them further, trapping myself with them.
"Now that you have your answer, I wonder if I’ll get mine, little bird!" I raise my face to the dark Russian, who doesn’t divert his gaze from me for a single second. "What did you come here to do?"
I leave the empty glass beside me on the sofa and squeeze my fingers into my knees, slowly tapping my toes on the floor. Knowing that we’ve arrived at the moment where I must finally make a decision, and to be quite frank, I don’t think I can end up worse than I already am, I just have to try.
"Help…" I mumble, embarrassed, closing my eyes, feeling the weight of the word that slipped from my lips.