Twenty-nine days. In two days it were going to be thirty-one. Mila had said she should wait for a month. In two days it was going to be a month.

Dasha looked outside the window. In the end, she was probably dead; she had to accept it and move on.

A beep on her phone startled her and brought her back to the present. Another Tinder match. This time the guy looked extremely handsome. When did she swipe right on that guy? She usually swiped right only on guys that looked rich. Handsome and rich was usually rare and mostly a waste of time. Too much competition, too big egos.

That guy though... Maybe he was going to be good in bed. Some distraction from her thoughts would be welcome.
His long hair reminded her of Kiril a bit, even if his was brown. Being with him had frightened her terribly, but it was still the best sex she ever had.

Was he dead too? Did he kill Mila? No, that was not possible. He got a hard-on from only smelling her hoodie and seemingly missed several occasions to kill her, which meant he didn't want to. What he wanted to was to bang her. Only bang? Dasha was not sure, Kiril didn't seem like the type that was holding your hand and cuddling with you. Or was he really in love with Mila? It looked almost like the devil was having a crush.

What did all these guys want from Mila? And why? Erik, that was probably the most handsome man she had seen in her life, was looking at her as if she was the only one in the world. She just couldn't forget the look he gave her when they had both visited her that damn day. And she had bought her books and wanted to pay for her to study medicine. In other words, he cared.

Dasha couldn't name one guy that she felt had truly cared about her except her father.
She had loved him so much. It broke her heart when he died. It had been a stroke almost five years ago, short and painless, but the empty space he left behind was overwhelming.

How pathetic was that? Being envious of her friend, her dead friend. Mila had been there for her, even if they had only a few months together, she was kind and selfless and seemed to really care about her. Maybe the only real female friend she ever had. She really sucked in the genuine relationship department it seemed. Ah, Mila...

"Daria you have to prep Mr. Wittfeld's room, he is coming back," said Jane the head nurse making her put her thoughts to rest.

"Really? I thought he is dead. He ran off three months ago and never came back."

"Seemingly he has more lives than a cat."

"Yeah. Ok I am on it," said Dasha standing up and heading to the room.

That guy was weird, besides the obvious reasons. The last time they had met he told her she was in trouble and several other things that didn't make sense and creeped her out. But shortly after she met Kiril, so the old crone seemed to indeed have a sixth sense after all.
At least he didn't grab her ass like Mr. Smith from room twenty-two.

"Back to current issues? Should I or should I not give you the chance to charm me, Andrew? I guess not," thought Dasha and put her phone away.

Later that night she regretted it though and wrote a message, after all, hoping he would help her feel less lonely the days to come. 

Andrew: What do you want us to do, Daria?

Dasha rolled her eyes at the question. She didn't like it, she wanted a man with initiative. Kiril never asked her what she wanted but he kind of always knew. Kiril... Kiril was not a normal man though and Kiril was likely dead too.

Daria: I would like to be your spoiled girlfriend. ;) And what would you like?

Andrew: To sink my dick into your mouth till deep in your throat.

Daria: This just activated my gag reflex.

Daria has blocked Andrew.

"What a moron, is chivalry really totally dead? With Kiril it was at least deep-throat and poetry. Damn, it looks like I am feeling nostalgic about life-threatening werewolf sex. I wonder if there is any of them left..."

She also concluded that thinking about him trice that day was really not healthy and that she needed to meet a guy soon.

Dasha heard her phone vibrating again.
It was a message from her sister Olga. She didn't feel like talking to Olga these days. In two days would also be her 26th birthday, what an annoying coincidence on top of the fact that she would celebrate it totally alone.

For an instant, she thought it was bad to block Andrew but then again better alone than in bad company.

The apathy followed her next day to work. At six in the morning, she was waiting with Jane at the front door for Mr. Wittfeld to turn up.

The unusual pattern was that he would come out of the adjoined woods, many times naked and disturbed.

But surprisingly that time a black Jeep parked in front of the building and one of the most gorgeous men Dasha ever saw stepped out of it together with the old Mr. Wittfeld.

He was tall and muscular, his jaw was sizzled and covered by light stubble and his blond hair was cropped short.

"What a man..." whispered Jane beside her and Dasha could only agree.

When he took his sunglasses of she could also see he had beautiful blue eyes, and unlike Kiril's that made the marrow freeze in your bones, his seemed to be somehow sad but courteously friendly.

Dasha also noticed the scar on his left cheek that extended down to his jaw and neck. She wondered where he got it from. Not that it mattered, it gave him an edge, as if he needed one more to make panties drop.

"Michael Wittfeld," he said extending his hand to Jane that was still looking at him dumbfolded.

"J... Jane Garber," she muttered.

"Wittfeld? You are his son? How come we never saw you before?" asked Dasha curious.

"I am. And you are?" he said stretching out his hand to Dasha now.

"Daria Krasinski, enchanted and at your service," she said smiling alluringly.

If that man was not the answer to her prayers from the day before she didn't know what he was.

"Well, nice to meet you, Daria," he said gracing her with a half-smile.

After that, he helped the old man out of the car into the wheelchair that was prepared for him.

"Can you be a darling and bring Mr. Wittfeld to his room, I will fill out the forms with the younger Mr. Wittfeld," said Jane signaling Dasha to get lost.

"We have to be quick I have to pick up my wife," said the man.

"Sure..." muttered Dasha double disappointed and walked away with the father pushing the wheelchair without any trace of enthusiasm.

"Wife... Of course, such a guy has a wife...they always do..." she was talking to herself mildly annoyed.

"Yes, he does."

"I forgot about the old crone," thought Dasha when she heard him speak.

"But they are not really happy with each other," he answered.

"Look, look..." thought Dasha letting her hope blossom.

"But don't get your hopes up sweetheart, as gorgeous as you are, you are not his type."

"Now that is to be seen..." thought Dasha.

"Ok sir, you are all settled now, is there anything else I can do for you? No? Great. See you in a while," said Dasha and hurried out, hopeing to still catch Michael before he left.

She bumped into him and Jane on the way out.

"Dasha darling, be so kind and get started with the rounds, I will see Mr. Wittfeld out," said Jane.

"Dasha? You are... Dasha?" said the man and Dasha could swear that a hint of sadness flew over his face.

"Yes, it is short from Daria in Ukrainian," she said smiling triumphantly for having finally gotten his attention.

"Nevermind me, Dasha is the name of a friend of a friend. See you next month, ladies," he said and closed the door of the car and drove away.

"Is he now going to visit the old crone regularly?" asked Dasha.

"Looks like it. And don't refer to our patients like that."

"Those were your exact words from two hours ago..."

"Ah cut me some slack I am still head nurse. But my goodness have you seen that man? Have you ever seen any man like that? Christ... We never get this type of visits here," swooned Jane.

"Actually... I have... Just not lately," thought Dasha and walked away disappointed.

That night she ate a microwave dinner and drank alone a bottle of wine. She hoped it would make the loneliness feel less suffocating and tomorrow less sad.

The only thing she felt was a hangover on top of all that. The next morning, after the second coffee she decided she needed some friends.

All the nurses were now talking about Mr. Wittfeld's handsome and rich son but that didn't touch her anymore.

Before that nobody wanted to have rounds on the third, now everybody did.
Luckily Jane liked Dasha quite much so she got the first.

On her way up Dasha got to think about how she got to be a nurse. She never really liked it. She would rather have wanted to be the Ukrainian Kim Kardashian but somehow her late mother got into her head with the sentence she kept repeating 'you need a good solid job, Daria, and you need a good, loving man.
The good solid job was at least something she had. After six months she even got a raise, the west was dying for reliable nurses, even if not very passionate ones. Once again she thought about Mila, she would have become head nurse in two years with her abnegation.

"A wonderful good morning Mr. Wittfeld," said Dasha, as enthusiastic as a wet cat.

"Well good morning to you too, sweetheart. I have to admit I never thought bringing my son along for once would have any effect on my life yet here I am. Yesterday five nurses came to chat me up and today I get the pretty one, two days in a row. I feel like a lucky bastard."

"Here are your pills, sir,"  said Dasha with the same lack of enthusiasm.

"Now what's wrong, sweetheart? Yesterday you were much more jolly."

"It's a bad day."

"Would you like to talk about it, darling?"

"Hell no!" thought Dasha, but somehow she thought sharing with a stranger might help.

"Today is my birthday."

"Well happy birthday, that is not a reason to be sad, however," continued Wilhelm.

"But I am all alone and have nobody to celebrate it with. And besides that, I kind of just found out that my best friend is dead."

"Now that is sad to hear. I feel for you, love."

Dasha let a tear roll. Sharing felt good after all.

"I miss Mila..."

"Ah, Mila," said the old man and sighed.

"Yes, she worked here too, you must have met her."

"I did, I can never forget that encounter."

"Nice chatting with you sir, but I have to go now, ring if you need anything," said Dasha and walked away to not dwell in sadness any longer.

The rest of the day went by uneventfully. At the end of her shift, Jane asked Daria to her office.

"What can I do for you?" asked Dasha.

"Mr. Wittfeld asked for you to go see him.  He seems to like you after all. I thought he never liked anybody."

"Great. I hoped I can go cause my shift is over but well I guess it won't kill me if I drop by. Thanks, Jane, have a good night," said Dasha and headed there.

The old man was sitting in his bed but unlike usually he has a bottle of champagne in his lap, of the expensive kind.

"Can you give me a hand in opening it?"

Dasha smiled for the first time that day and opened the bottle.

"I guess we are friends now," said Dasha clicking their glasses.

"I guess this is indeed the beginning of an interesting friendship," said Wilhelm smiling.

After finishing the bottle Dasha took, tipsy as she was the bus to town.

Ten minutes before twelve she was standing in the rain on London Bridge holding a dozen white roses.

She let the roses fall one after the other into the water and the tears fall freely over her cheeks.

"Dasha, I think I need your help," said a vaguely familiar voice behind her.