Identity Theft

Svetlana Yulia Kozlovsky

“Sandra, let the doctor check you.” He ordered in a stern and stiff tone as if ordering his comrade and just by one look I could tell, that was the softest tone the man could muster. Probably an army man.

I frowned and gave the man a once over. Crisp expensive suit, leather shiny shoes that could probably reflect back your face, and a stick up his ass; this was a corporate shark through and through but in no way did I remember poking one. My world hardly had confrontation to anything as holy as a legit business.

Right now, I really wanted to know the extent of my ′talent’. How had I managed to ruffle these fine custom-made, imported feathers?

I would say the man was some perverted old man who brought me in for the kinks but I know that everyone knows that I am more trouble than a good f*ck and cutting and weighing balls seem to be my hobby.

To people, of course! Though I've no qualms following along.

Did I offend anybody without even knowing?! I finally decided to play smug, playing oblivious or clueless will definitely land me somewhere in their acres-spread garden as fertilizer. My name wasn’t even Sandra but I wasn’t going to be a dope-head and tell them that right away to discard me at once... 

Raising a brow, I turned around with a smirk, “Get to the hatchet. I have somewhere to be.” I ended my sass, checking my nails. Which I wasn't pleased with. Chipped and scrapped. No parlors for fugitives!

Gasps left the people behind the man like they were too shocked that I have talked back to their most likely cult leader like that. I barely held back cringing with the way the people were observing me and it was getting obscene with every passing second. They were eyeing me as if I was a chicken with a third leg. Annoyance now is freaking me out. I tend to get freaky freak when I'm freaking freaked out.

Following my comment, the whole room was silenced and eerily cold, it could be that I'm in a mortuary, if not for the cotton-candy themed decor. The man set me up with a piercing glare holding me captive in his electric rope version of stare.

“Leave!” He commanded in a calm warning, not once removing his glare from me. I had the urge to scurry away with the rest of the lucky lot. The room was emptied leaving only two of us in a second as if the lucky lot had been anticipating this bit.

The man took a breath as if summoning patience to not lash out and started in a nuke-like roar, “Sandra, I know you are upset so I will excuse this rebellious disposition of yours. But what you did was not excusable at all....”

I blinked confusingly at him and thought, ‘I, Svetlana Kozlovsky was upset? Nah! Not at all! And what did I do yesterday? The last thing I did was mock kozlovsky’s name, run several miles then knock out some clowns and get knocked out by his minions. Nothing of which was even partly offensive,' I opened my mouth to say something but the man's train ran over my thoughtfully considerate opinion.

“.....You could have been found by anybody! Anybody could have harmed you! But being the irresponsible girl that you are, you ignored all that just to throw a tantrum!” The man was rubbing his temple and shaking his head as if talking to me was giving him a headache and as if it wasn’t him that was cooking up fables!

And who is this God-sent cordial calamity to worry about my whereabouts! 

“Hold it right there!” I exclaimed, cutting off his another rumbunctious rant. “If this is a ploy, it's drilled with loopholes. Don't force my hand, I'll ask you one last time to peacefully let me exit at your expanse.”

His nostrils flared, jaw clenched, obvious sign-ins of his red-hot fury pushing past his non-existent calm, “Don’t test the last of my patience, Sandra! You are not going anywhere and you are getting married to your fiancé!”

“Married?” It wasn’t in my cards. A sarcastic laugh left me. I scoffed involuntarily turning serious. It was getting ridiculous fast. I took a deep breath and rolled my eyes and tried once again to get through to him, “I am not Sandra. I'm-”

“...But what is done is done. I won’t keep holding it against you but don’t think if you continue this delinquency, it will be forgiven.” The oh-so-gentleman ignored my words altogether. Swatted me away like you'd a bee buzzing in your ear. I tilted my head incredulous painting my features at the obnoxious man. He didn't want to consider the claims at all! Couldn't he see it? I'm what he had never seen before!

The man took a deep breath as if trying to rein in the vein that was going to pop in his forehead and eyed me up and down with distaste, “What have you done with your hairs and dressing!” He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a shaky breath in and ordered as if I was supposed to take orders from him, “Just change into something ladylike and come for breakfast. I am sure as you are standing here, you don’t need a medical assistant anymore.”

Leaving me dumbfounded as he was turning to leave, he halted, “I will reconsider the marriage. You don’t need to be a fugitive again to elope with some... hobo again,” And then swishing past the door, he left as he came. Like a Wildhorse riding on turbulent winds.

Blinking my eyes I tried to make sense of the situation but nothing I pieced together could illustrate my dilemma. ’What wicked parallel universes have I fallen in? What did I do with my hair and what dressing? What marriage? What elope? What hobo?! And most of all what the hell did the man mean by ‘ladylike’?′

Looking down I assessed my clothes: Ripped jeans, T-shirts, a Denim Jacket, and biker boots. Biker boot! I wouldn't even wear them to do grocery but this is my best American-themed apparel, Ok! How else I could blend in? I am sure a dress and six-inches heels wouldn't do.

In Russia, I wouldn't be caught dead wearing something ostentatiously cheap and awkward like this but I didn't want eyes scaling me on the occasion of my escaping riot.

Then it clicked. They are mistaking me for someone else. I snorted and made my way to the balcony when my feet froze eyeing the collage on the wall. My feet moved on their own accord as my mind numbed of the motor nerves.

“Blyad’!” I mumbled at the absurdity of what I was seeing.

(fuck)

The girl in the Polaroid pictures was a carbon copy of me, well her facial features strongly resembled mine save for the caramel hairs that were like the man earlier and tanned skin that was enough testimony to their common lineage heritage. And those captivating electric blue eyes that were piercing-sharp on the man but on her were entrancing-deep.

With a dazed look, I ran my dainty pale fingers on the glass frames where my reflection shone. I could see the on-point resemblance. It was like we were molded from the same cut-out. Too alike yet too contrasting. While I had Raven's black hair, the girl had rich caramel hair. Unlike my ghost-like silver grey’s she had deep electric blue eyes.

The wheels turned in my head at that instant. This filthy rich man has a delinquent daughter who was a replica clone of me and she was MIA. Bby his speech with some ‘hobo’ because of a said arranged marriage he was forcing on her.

Because the girl was missing and not being found they had assumed looking at me that the girl, Sandra had dyed her hair and changed her disposition, dressing sense to form a better camouflage.

I had to get out of here but if I was to, where would that leave me. I was hunted in the city and the ship that was to be my salvation ticket has long sailed because of this moronic domestic dispute. The earliest the next cargo will head for Italy is in six months or so. I needed a place to hide and there was no better place than that of the people who owe me an apology.

I could attempt identity theft and stay here till I can safely get out of the country but... there were loopholes.

The girl who probably was a spoilt suka could return. These people could notice the stark difference we both harbored. The Bratva or underworld national clans could find her and chop her to pieces instead of me. I could risk a bloodbath but everything comes with risks and this risk was laced with Stoli, too tempting to let go.

(bitch)

The Kozlovsky’s will never suspect me being in a corporate businessman’s adobe or maybe I could use this girl identity to leave the country in a fancy private jet... With the wheels turning in my head, I realized one thing for sure I had to stay here without anyone doubting me and make sure the original girl don’t get here in the meantime.

A smirk overtook my demure features. This was my best bet at living and slipping through the cracks in my faith. As I was further thinking my plan through, the door opened. I stealthily got away from the collage.

As the woman dressed in white and navy blue maid clothing entered the room she smiled warmly at me which I didn’t reciprocate, “Miss, I am here to help you dress.”