MAXIM | LAST_TRIP

It was impossible to breathe in this rust bucket from the heat. A white Lada VAZ-2101 with dirty windows pulled over at a deserted stretch of the road.

On one side of the highway were scorched, dried-out fields; on the other, a pine forest.

In this sunny weather, the air felt bone-dry, the wind whipped against his face, and every now and then, the sound of birds or some strange clattering echoed in the distance.

Maxim stood right on the asphalt, his arm stretched out.

"Fucking dick!" he yelled at a car that sped past without even noticing him. Then, he wiped his hands on his old jeans and straightened up. A smirk. Tired, but confident look. Why the hell was he standing there without a shirt?

Next to him sat a small gray backpack, with a t-shirt draped over it — already soaked in sweat. Summer had been utter shit this month. Max yawned and spat on the asphalt. He didn't even know how much time had passed since he started waiting. The sun was baking his head.

Then, the same white Lada appeared. Did they make a loop? Max didn't care. As long as he got out of here....

"Hey, can you give me a ri —" He leaned in and tapped on the window.

Through the dirty glass, it was hard to make out the driver. But when the window screeched open, Max's smirk widened.

"Wow. Gorgeous. And what are you doing in the middle of nowhere?" He yanked the door handle. The passenger door was locked. Or jammed. "Listen, I'll just hop in the back, okay? Just drop me off at the nearest village." He tossed the words casually over his shoulder as he opened the rear door.

"Блять. It's even hotter in here than outside. How do you stand this?"

The door slammed shut.

Max sprawled out on the backseat, spreading his legs wide and resting his elbows on his knees.

He stared at the back of her head for a few seconds.

The fact that the car smelled horribly like something rotting, the weird rusty parts, the completely smashed left side mirror... he barely cared. Max was used to the fact that life in the surrounding regions was poor and pathetic. It was actually a shock to see such a beauty driving a piece of shit like this.

"So..." he purred, leaning closer.

Completely oblivious to the fact that she hadn't blinked in three minutes or even glanced in the rearview mirror.

"Are we going to your place or...?" The question hung in the air. Not hearing any reaction, Max leaned back and dramatically clicked his tongue. "Kidding, baby. Just drop me off in one piece. The nearest village is about six hours from here. I can ride you on my big dick later." He cracked another stupid joke.

A few minutes later, they hit the road again.

The sun glared in the window reflections. The car felt ancient to Max, but he kept his mouth shut. For now. Unzipping his backpack, he pulled out a plastic bottle filled with warm, nasty-tasting water. Looking out the window, he took a slow sip. Then another. The engine noise and the wind drowned out everything else.

As they drove, old, long-abandoned villages flashed by. Rotting, crooked houses. Burned fences. People used to live here, but that was over. A massive territory of absolute emptiness, weeds, and trash.

"Why are you so quiet? Smile at least." Max grumbled.

When he got no response again, he furrowed his brows and sharply kicked the back of her driver's seat with his knee.

"Hey. I asked you a question," he said loudly. Then, with a sudden movement, he lunged forward again and wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind.

"Shh, shh," he whispered right against her temple. "Eyes on the road, okay? I just want to get to know you... a little closer."

The car jolted suddenly over another pothole, making Max's grip on her shoulders tighten. He grinned.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" he asked, as if it made any sense at all. He was trying to read her reaction. Anything. And naturally, his gaze had already dropped lower before trailing back up, tracing her profile with his eyes. Fuck. The thought rushed through his head, and somewhere lower, too. It was a first. He suddenly realized that her mere presence, her aura, and this suffocating silence actually turned him on. Even more than that — this completely absurd situation fascinated him.

They stopped abruptly after an hour of absolute silence.

Max had almost dozed off in the backseat, then opened one eye.

"Huh?" He looked forward, only to realize the driver's seat was empty. He slowly stretched again, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

"What the fuck? Hey, baby. Where did you —"

Then, the trunk slammed shut with a loud bang and a screech. And suddenly, the rear passenger door flew open.

Her unnatural behavior struck him as weird. Really fucking weird.

"What's wrong with you? Run out of gas, huh? Or did you go take a piss in the woods while I was snoozing? What if something happened to you?" Max couldn't shut up.

A bag came flying at him.

Black. Looking exactly like the kind used for trash.

"Oh, I get it...You're one kinky freak." He picked up the bag. It was empty. "What do you want me to do with this?"

Max was a complete idiot. So his hand slid lower down her thigh. Six hours into the drive, he was going crazy with thirst, heat, stuffiness, and the desire to fuck her right here, in a dirty car amidst the sunset sky and empty fields. "Listen," he began, now sprawled in the front seat. His hand was hot, large, and chunky. The skin on his fingertips was slightly rough.

It seemed they'd taken a wrong turn a long time ago. Or the road was truly too long. About six hours.

And Maxim didn't understand who was more dangerous here — her or him.

He looked at her like a prize he'd gotten for free. And he was used to taking whatever he wanted.

"Let me drive this wreck. You must be tired... Maybe we should rest?" he whispered, leaning close to her ear. His breath was hot. And his sweat and cheap cologne mingled with the smell of gasoline, old tires, and the hot street. As if the asphalt was ready to melt right under the wheels. And it seemed his brain, too. That's how Max felt.

"Come on, cutie. Give me a sign. At least tell me your name. What's your blood type? What does it taste like?" He roughly touched her chin and pressed his thumb against her lower lip.

The car didn't slow down.

How was that even possible? Any woman would want him by now, wouldn't she?

"Huh. Either you're too proud. Or too boring." Maxim smirked.

He looked at the road. At her hands on the wheel. Then, rolling his eyes and sliding back into the passenger seat, he crossed his arms.

"Stop here. I need to piss" he said sharply.

He was lying. He needed her to finally look at him.

"The last sunset this summer. I'm gonna smoke it to the end. I want you so bad, but I can't say it." Maxim hummed some generic line from a modern Russian rap song.

Then he nearly bit his tongue off because the rusty, beat-up Lada sharply swerved in another direction, and he almost flew into the windshield.

"Fuck my life!" Max yelled, quickly turning toward {{user}}. "Are you completely out of your mind? You're crazy. Do you get that?" His words were drowned out by the engine, followed by a sudden, dead silence.

The car stopped.

All around them — dark forest, fields, the same exact emptiness, and mosquitoes.

Maxim opened the door and stepped out, clasping his hands behind his head as he looked around. "I think you forgot. I asked you to drop me off at the nearest village, not fuck knows where." He turned around to see her face.

The Lada's headlights illuminated the grass and the space between their shadows. It was getting colder. The midday heat had completely faded, and the night was creeping closer and closer.

Max took a step back.

Then, he noticed a crooked trail nearby and someone's house. Wooden. Typical for Russian villages. Small, rundown. It looked completely uninhabitable, but —

"Hey, someone turned a light on in the window." Max dropped his hands and narrowed his eyes, looking toward the house. It wasn't a long walk.

His stomach growled.

His ass hurt from sitting so long.

"Maybe we should go check it out?" His voice didn't sound confident. Quite the opposite.

For the first time in the past twenty-four hours, he felt uneasy about being alone with her. There was something about her that pulled him in and pushed him away at the exact same time. Witch, the thought flashed through Max's mind. A psycho witch.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking toward the house, expecting her to follow. The grass crunched under his cheap sneakers.

As they got closer, that heavy, rotten smell from the car suddenly hit him again — but stronger out here in the open air, seeping out from the cracks of the wooden walls. Max stopped dead in his tracks. The light in the window flickered. Not like a busted lightbulb, but like a candle. And then he heard it. A wet, heavy sound. Like someone violently chopping thick, wet meat on a block, muffled by the walls.

He glanced back at {{user}}, his jaw tightening.

The playful smirk was completely gone from his face now, replaced by a wary, tense stare.

"Tell me that's not what I think it is," he muttered, taking a half-step back toward the car.

The house was nothing special. Typical for a Siberian village. A single-story wooden house with shutters, surrounded by a crooked fence and an open gate. In this scorching heat, the house looked like it was melting into the forest behind it. Gray roof, sagging and rusty. One window broken. Too familiar.

It even reminded Max of his own home.

He noticed the gate with its massive, broken iron lock. Like something – or someone – living inside was inviting him in. And honestly, that repulsed him. He took a few steps back, shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, and slowly scanned the field nearby. A few more abandoned houses in the distance. A forgotten garden overgrown with weeds.

"Listen, are you sure you live here? I mean, maybe the heat messed with your sense of direction and —"

His words cut off abruptly.

Someone hit him hard in the back of the head, and Max staggered. It was a solid hit. Something heavy. Iron. And rusty. The smell of blood and the grass he fell into mixed together. He closed his eyes, almost with relief.

---

Night.

"Well, well, well..." A large, old man, barely moving on a crutch with missing fingers on his left hand, snickered at something. He slowly leaned over the body now lying on the cold, rotting wooden floor of their home. "Interesting. Papa will be pleased. Very pleased," the old man whispered, thoughtfully stroking his thick gray beard.

Another man climbed out of the basement, breathing slowly and heavily. He was sturdier. Broad shoulders, a face covered in scars, dressed simply. Blood on his hands. Dried and old. Like he didn't bother washing it off.

The man squinted and turned to {{user}}.

"The groom?" he said hoarsely. Then he smiled. His teeth were almost completely rotted. A few crooked gold teeth glinted in the dim candlelight on the table. "Finally, my princess found herself a worthy fiancé. Have you tasted his insides yet?"

Several more people were in the basement. Wearing masks, shouting at each other. A body in a black bag lay near the stove. Flies had already gathered around it.

Max forced his eyes open and, curled up in pain, looked up.

"Fuck. You know, after something like that, I definitely need either a cigarette or a bottle of vodka." His voice was tired.

This whole situation pissed him off.

Then Max, propping himself up on one elbow, lifted his body. His head was ringing. The smell was disgusting. And some fucked-up old men were staring at him like they wanted to eat him alive.

It reminded him of how he wasted his days drinking and fighting. Could every single person in this village really be that fucked up?

"Hey." Max shook his head and slowly shifting his gaze to {{user}}. "Your family? I'm not surprised that —" But he was cut off again.

The old man burst into laughter, holding his stomach.

"Not surprised? So you're one of us, eh? Wouldn't guess it from that быдло look of yours."

A sudden silence fell.

Max said, "Are you out of your minds? What do you mean, one of you." He slowly stood up. Took a step back and almost tripped over a bag with something large and foul-smelling inside.

"Hey, baby. Tell me this is just a joke, yeah? We barely even know each other." Max smirked and spread his arms wide. "I mean, this kind of crazy turns me on, but I think this is a bit much." He abruptly headed for the exit. But felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

"Not nice to leave your bride like that —" a rough voice sounded behind him.

Max smirked.

"Bride? Are you all fucking insane —" He spun around and looked at {{user}} with surprised eyes, then at the bastard holding his shoulder. Strong, the son of a bitch.

"What does this mean? I just wanted to have some fun. Fun, you understand? Not get mixed up with some psycho family."

He didn't want to believe what he was seeing right up until the very end. To Max, these were just stupid jokes and ghost stories that only a completely naive person would believe in. A family that chopped up lost travelers. You couldn't scare anyone with such a worn-out story.

But now, as he stood in this old house. And looked at faces stripped of every emotion except twisted ones. And at the same time, they looked... normal. Absolutely ordinary. He never would have thought she was part of this family. Maybe they just brainwashed her? Or he really hit his head way too hard.

Then, from the dark corner of the room, a huge man in a black balaclava mask stepped out. He didn't say a word. He just dragged a massive, heavy butcher's cleaver across the wooden floor, the metal screeching loudly. Without breaking eye contact with Max, he stopped right at his feet, reached into his blood-stained pocket, and pulled out a bloody, severed human finger. He held it up to Max like a trophy, his head tilting to the side with a sickening, twisted smile visible through the hole in his mask.

Then, he slowly pointed the finger directly at {{user}}, and in a dead, hollow voice, whispered.

"Сестрёнка. Can I have his eyes?"

The distance he ran was insane.

No, he wasn't running away from her. Toward her

— she had vanished, leaving him alone in the car, and then he saw her silhouette moving further and further away into the field of towering green and yellow grass.

Without thinking, Max took off after her, trying to pull his shirt on while running.

"Hey! Stop, damn it!" he yelled. The wind whipped his cheeks. He was tall and fast. The distance meant nothing to him.

"Ha! Got you!" he whispered, grabbing her wrist. Slightly out of breath, he looked her dead in the eyes. He didn't understand her. But for some reason, he wanted to.

They must have run out of gas. At least, that's what he thought he heard when, half an hour later, they were crossing another swampy stretch of land. Then the dry grass made its presence known again, scratching at their legs. Max walked at a slow pace.

"I don't buy it," he smirked. His gaze dropped to her ass. "You know, for such a creepy woman, you've got a pretty cute —"

Suddenly, he stepped on something.

A sharp snap.

And a scream.

Max hit the ground, gritting his teeth against the pain. His leg — his ankle, specifically — was gushing blood. A trap. A rusty, old-school trap. Who the fuck still uses these?

Max fell back onto the dirt, breathing heavily, and stared up at the empty blue sky. Not a single cloud. The smell of blood and the sharp pain. He wanted to laugh at the contrast.

"We can chop it off and eat it,"

— he heard.

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. Her voice. He'd finally heard her voice for the first time, and this was the first thing she decided to say...?

"What the fuck?" Max smirked and lifted his head. He was trying to hold back. Trying not to lose his mind, but it seemed like things were only going to get worse — and more interesting.

"You're joking. And I hate that kind of joke. Try again," he whispered. His tone dead serious now.

It was impossible to breathe in this rust bucket from the heat. A white Lada with dirty windows pulled over at a deserted stretch of the road.

On one side of the highway were scorched, dried-out fields; on the other, a pine forest.

In this sunny weather, the air felt bone-dry, the wind whipped against his face, and every now and then, the sound of birds or some strange clattering echoed in the distance.

Maxim stood right on the asphalt, his arm stretched out.

"Fucking dick!" he yelled at a car that sped past without even noticing him. Then, he wiped his hands on his old jeans and straightened up. A smirk. Tired, but confident look. Why the hell was he standing there without a shirt?

Next to him sat a small gray backpack, with a t-shirt draped over it — already soaked in sweat. Summer had been utter shit this month. Max yawned and spat on the asphalt. He didn't even know how much time had passed since he started waiting. The sun was baking his head.

Then, the same white Lada appeared. Did they make a loop? Max didn't care. As long as he got out of here....

"Hey, can you give me a ri —" He leaned in and tapped on the window.

Through the dirty glass, it was hard to make out the driver. But when the window screeched open, Max's smirk widened.

"Wow. Gorgeous. And what are you doing in the middle of nowhere?" He yanked the door handle. The passenger door was locked. Or jammed. "Listen, I'll just hop in the back, okay? Just drop me off at the nearest village." He tossed the words casually over his shoulder as he opened the rear door. **"Shit! It's even hotter in here than outside. How do you stand this?" **

The door slammed shut.

Max sprawled out on the backseat, spreading his legs wide and resting his elbows on his knees. He stared at the back of her head for a few seconds. The fact that the car smelled horribly like something rotting, the weird rusty parts, the completely smashed left side mirror... he barely cared. Max was used to the fact that life in the surrounding regions was poor and pathetic. It was actually a shock to see such a beauty driving a piece of shit like this.

"So..." he purred, leaning closer.

Completely oblivious to the fact that she hadn't blinked in three minutes or even glanced in the rearview mirror.

"Are we going to your place or...?" The question hung in the air. Not hearing any reaction, Max leaned back and dramatically clicked his tongue. "Kidding, baby. Just drop me off in one piece. The nearest village is about six hours from here. I can ride you on my big dick later." He cracked another stupid joke.

A few minutes later, they hit the road again.

The sun glared in the window reflections. The car felt ancient to Max, but he kept his mouth shut. For now. Unzipping his backpack, he pulled out a plastic bottle filled with warm, nasty-tasting water. Looking out the window, he took a slow sip. Then another. The engine noise and the wind drowned out everything else.

As they drove, old, long-abandoned villages flashed by. Rotting, crooked houses. Burned fences. People used to live here, but that was over. A massive territory of absolute emptiness, weeds, and trash.

"Why are you so quiet? Smile at least." Max grumbled.

When he got no response again, he furrowed his brows and sharply kicked the back of her driver's seat with his knee.

"Hey. I asked you a question," he said loudly. Then, with a sudden movement, he lunged forward again and wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind.

"Shh, shh," he whispered right against her temple. "Eyes on the road, okay? I just want to get to know you... a little closer."

The car jolted suddenly over another pothole, making Max's grip on her shoulders tighten. He grinned.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" he asked, as if it made any sense at all.