I flung open all the windows. At long last, I didn’t need to worry about catching a cold. Smoky air rushed into the room, pushing out the last remnants of Dad. In summer, it always smelled of flowers, even during the battles. Now, the whiff of fire was as inescapable as the unending roars of the shelling. I fetched Dad’s jacket from the coat rack and threw it over my shoulders. It smelled of smoke. Shivering with cold and anxiety, I stood at the window greedily sucking in the air. I had to start packing. And I knew that once I started, I would never stop. If I left, I would never come back.

In my room, I repeatedly rearranged my clothes. I was trying to work out how I would manage to fit in our stash of water with all those clothes in there. And then I suddenly laughed at that stupidly obsolete concern. But there were the books to think of. Mum’s books. They couldn’t be left behind. The looters would surely steal everything once I left. I held up my white cotton summer shirt, it still retained a hint of perfume. My favourite: Chloe.

I placed the shirt on the pillow and buried my face in it. I dreamt of a life that smelled like this. A real life.

I had left behind such a nice guy in Kyiv to come live with Dad. Then I lost Dad to meet you. Now I’ve lost you to find myself. Don’t argue, that’s the way it is. I have to find my own way, not wait around to be saved. I’m good. I coped. I fell asleep. In my dreams, Dad was shouting at me, and I plunged a knife into his hand. Mum had bought a large white kitchen tablecloth. A large bloodstain was now spreading across it. He tried to remove his hand from the table, but couldn’t, so he scrunched the tablecloth into a ball and lifted it away with his hand. Shame. It was a nice tablecloth.

Afterwards, I dreamed of Grandma. She stared at me angrily and then lunged and stabbed me in the back with that same knife. My legs wouldn’t move. A terrible pain shot through me. I span around and shot her a reproachful look. “Grandma, do you have no compassion?!” She again drove the knife into me, but from below, into my vagina, and opened her toothless mouth as if to sing. I woke up moist with excitement. My lower abdomen was aglow. It was painful, sweet, and wet. I removed the pillow from under my head and placed it between my legs and squeezed my knees tightly, moving my hips and enjoying the friction. Again I fell asleep and I dreamt that you and I used our hands to catch a small fish in a puddle in the middle of Dad’s room. The room was still intact, although pieces of wet plaster occasionally dropped from the ceiling.