Текст книги "Intermix Nation "
Автор книги: M. Attardo
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
Nazirah spots Adamek speaking to a dark-skinned beauty with purple lips and gold bangles up her arms. He is dressed in a metallic sharkskin suit with an open white shirt. Aldrik, bouncing an obscenely young ingénue on his lap, leans over and says something to him. Adamek laughs. Nazirah has never seen him look so relaxed, so approachable before. Several exotic girls, and quite a few boys, gather around him like moths drawn to a flame. Because he is the flame, the fire everyone wants to be burned by.
Nazirah included.
Aldrik kisses along the girl’s neck, glancing at Nazirah casually. He blinks his one eye several times before recognizing her. “Good God, Nation!” he cries drunkenly. “You mean there’s actually a girl under that harpy exterior?”
Adamek looks up, their eyes lock. Nazirah watches him follow the curves of her dress all the way down and back up again. The girl with the purple lips continues chattering away, touching his arm intently. But his focus isn’t on her anymore. Nazirah sits down with her back to all of them.
This is a very dangerous game she’s playing. And if there’s anything Nazirah hates more than losing, it’s being in over her head.
She watches the crowd for hours, mesmerized, craving to join the swaying mass. The partygoers dance individually, steps uncoordinated, all of them to their own rhythms. But together, they somehow move as one, part of something more than themselves. Together they are whole, carefree, careless.
She wants that feeling.
“Nation.”
Adamek sits down beside her, his jacket now removed. He hands Nazirah a drink, which she sips without a second thought. “Tequilux?” she asks curiously.
Adamek smirks. “That’s your drink, right?”
“Thanks.”
“Sure,” he says, shrugging.
“So,” Nazirah asks, “how does this compare to a Medi party?” She already knows, of course. But she’s curious what he will say.
Adamek stares ahead. “Medis are all about showing off,” he says. “It’s about having that something, that hook, which no one else has.”
Like tigers, perhaps.
“And this?”
“This is about the vibe,” he says, “the experience … the feeling.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.” He looks at her oddly, but she is lost in thought. “I always wanted to come here,” she says. “When I was little, Kasimir brought home a Deathlandic peddler for dinner. I remember listening to his stories, wanting to experience it all for myself.” She sighs. “But he was always too afraid to take me.”
Adamek gives a short, mirthless laugh. “Sounds nice,” he says, “having a father who cares.”
“Cared,” she corrects automatically.
“Cared.”
Nazirah glances at him, but he remains fixated on the crowd, eyes glazed over. Turning her attention to the table, she finds that Aldrik is gone … probably to bed with that infant. “Disgusting,” she mutters.
Adamek also focuses on the empty space over her shoulder. “Yes, he is.”
“Do you think anyone here really believes we’re together?”
“Probably more than we think.”
“But we hate each other.”
“Cheers to that,” he replies, clinking his glass with hers and taking a sip. “Half the time I’m around you, all I want to do is strangle you with my bare hands.”
“And the other half?”
He looks at her fully now. Nazirah is acutely aware that she is entering forbidden territory.
“Miss Nation.”
They glance up at the new, deep voice. Standing before them is a handsome, tall man. He is dark, with kind eyes, and a dazzling white smile. He looks strangely familiar, although Nazirah knows she’s never met him before.
“Nazirah, please.” She extends a hand to him, which he kisses softly. He’s completely disarming and Nazirah is grateful for the distraction.
“Nazirah,” the man corrects. “Your face is legendary throughout our humble territory. But you are somehow even more beautiful in person.”
Nazirah flushes. “What is your name?” she asks.
“I am Ramses,” he says, “son of the late Khan.” Adamek stiffens beside her, but Ramses pays him no notice. “Would you do me the great, undeserved honor of a dance?”
“Of course,” she says, standing up and setting her drink down. Nazirah is more than eager to get away from Adamek and their escalating conversation. Ramses escorts Nazirah into the throng of bodies. He gently grabs her hands and they begin dancing to a lively tune. Nazirah tries to follow the people around her, laughing as she stumbles, unfamiliar with the steps that come naturally to them. Ramses grins, teaching her the moves patiently.
“You’re a quick learner,” he says, dipping her effortlessly.
“I have a good instructor.”
A slower melody begins playing as a female soloist chants ethereally. Ramses wraps two firm hands around Nazirah’s tiny waist. “We have to get a bit closer,” he says, pulling her towards him. Nazirah hesitantly places her head onto his chest, relaxing after a moment. It feels nice, platonic, and safe.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Ramses,” she says softly, knowing his grief all too well. She has felt it too, caused by the same person.
“It is quite all right, Nazirah,” he replies. “The Khan and I were not especially close. I was but one of dozens of his progeny.”
“But he was still your father.”
Nazirah recalls how she felt right after her parents died. She locked herself in her new room at the compound, not speaking to anyone, not eating, barely living. She didn’t come out for days, except to attend their funeral. She thinks Ramses might still be in denial.
“We deal with loss differently than in other territories,” he says. “Deathlanders do not dwell on the tragedy of death, but rather celebrate the joy of life.”
A worrying thought pops into Nazirah’s head. “You’re not going to challenge Morgen to a battle, are you?”
Ramses laughs. “I am not,” he says. “That was Khanto’s burden, what Bantu asked to be done in his honor. Although I am not sure my grandfather imagined it turning out quite that way.” He is serious now. “No, I must pay tribute to my father differently.”
“How?”
“Honoring his last wish,” Ramses replies.
Nazirah gets the feeling he doesn’t want to talk anymore about it, so she drops the subject. The party is dying down. Nazirah spots Adamek sitting exactly where she left him, watching them closely. She turns her attention back to Ramses. “I should probably head back,” she says, smiling. “But thanks for the dance.”
His grip on her waist tightens. “Nazirah,” Ramses says, “I know that you are with Adamek Morgen.” His eyes flash briefly. “And that he cares for you. But before you return to him, would you be gracious enough to accompany me for a walk in the gardens? They are truly stunning at night.”
Nazirah looks back towards the table, but Adamek isn’t there anymore. The room is almost empty now, save for a few remaining stragglers refusing to let the party die. Nazirah doesn’t see him anywhere. She wonders if he snuck off with that purple-lipped vixen. “I don’t see why not,” she says.
Ramses grins widely and grasps Nazirah’s hand, ushering her out of the room. He leads her rapidly through an unfamiliar corridor. “It’s just a little further up this way,” he says.
“We’re not going to the courtyard?”
“It’s a shortcut.”
Nazirah becomes aware of how clammy his hand is, as they turn down an even narrower passageway. She stumbles in her heels, which are killing her feet, but Ramses doesn’t slow down. Nazirah glances behind her nervously, but the passageway is empty.
Nazirah stops then. She tries to wrench her hand away, knowing in her gut it is already too late. Ramses turns around, facing her. He lets go of her hand. “What are we doing here?” she asks warily. The kindness in his eyes is gone, replaced by something else, something dark and sinister. Nazirah has seen this same look before, not a week ago.
She should have known better.
“Honoring my father’s last wish,” he says. Ramses speaks softly and then punches Nazirah square in the jaw.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nazirah isn’t expecting the blow. She tries to dodge it, but his fist pummels her cheek and mouth, sending her sprawling to the floor. Her dress rips, tearing clean up the side, lace splitting to mid-thigh. Nazirah spits blood onto the floor, staring up at Ramses in fury.
He comes at her again. Nazirah jumps up, reflexively kicking him in the shin, spike of heel vibrating against bone. He curses loudly, hissing and momentarily hunching over. Nazirah knows she can’t overpower him or wall kick in a dress.
She runs.
Adrenalin pumping, Nazirah pulls off her shoes. She throws them at him, sprinting back down the passageway. The dress is too long and she trips over it, staggering. Ramses swiftly catches up to her. He grabs Nazirah and spins her around. She tries to punch him. “Help!” she screams. Hoarse cries echo down the empty corridor. Ramses forcefully shoves his palm into her mouth. She bites down on his hand, breaking the skin, tasting his sickeningly sweet, metallic blood.
“Intermix bitch!” he yells. Ramses slaps her across the face with his other hand, shoving her against the wall. Nazirah thrashes, fighting to break free. But he is too strong. He is far too strong. She tries kicking him again, but he anticipates it this time. He pulls her away from the wall and then slams her back into it, knocking the wind out of her.
Ramses grabs her inner thigh. She struggles against him, managing to reach an arm up and claw his face. But he doesn’t stop. With one hand, Ramses unbuttons his pants. Nazirah panics. Rapidly losing strength, she battles unconsciousness. She shouts at herself to fight, to do something – anything – other than freeze.
Using every last ounce of energy, Nazirah throws herself forward. She slams her head into Ramses’, temporarily stunning him. Not wasting a second, Nazirah latches onto him. She jabs her fingers into his eyes, trying to rip them out of his skull. Ramses yells in pain. He attempts to rip her off him, but Nazirah’s grip is too tight. He begins choking her, but she does not let go.
She will not go out like this.
She is suffocating. Ramses throttles her throat, compressing the delicate column of bones and muscle. Her vision blurs and wavers. Desperate, Ramses blindly fumbles in his jacket pocket. He pulls out something, silver gleaming in the dark corridor. Nazirah knows her time is up.
She can’t breathe.
She can’t breathe.
She can’t …
Nazirah collapses into a heap on the ground. She leans against the wall, encircling her hands protectively around her throat. She hacks, coughing, inhaling oxygen that feels like pure heaven. Ramses has let her go.
But why … why has he let her go?
Vision and thoughts unfocused, Nazirah watches the knife fall from his hand, clattering to the floor. Ramses crumples before her, screaming in agony. His arm is twisted, bone cracked and protruding.
Sight returning, Nazirah peers up through the blur. Someone stands over Ramses, beating the life out of him. The white spots before Nazirah’s eyes give her savior a crude halo, which she finds absurdly hilarious. Because she should be surprised that he would be her angel. But she isn’t surprised. Not in the least.
The look in Adamek’s eyes could send a man straight to hell and make him want to stay. Adamek grabs Ramses’ scalp and slams his head repeatedly into the floor, until his nose is busted and his cheekbones are shattered. He pulls Ramses up, tossing him like a rag doll against the opposite wall. Nazirah flinches, can hear ribs breaking, cartilage matchsticks. Ramses moans loudly, slumping to the ground again, too stubborn to lose consciousness.
Adamek turns his back on Ramses, staring at Nazirah still huddled against the wall. He scans the blood on her face and arms, immersed in her pain. He doesn’t notice Ramses, gripping his uninjured hand around the fallen knife, staggering to his feet.
“Behind you!” she screams. Adamek whips around swiftly, the knife missing his exposed neck by centimeters. But he isn’t quick enough to dodge the blade entirely. It slashes into his upper left arm. Adamek hisses. Nazirah can see the blood pooling under his white shirt, staining it crimson.
Adamek grabs the knife, snapping Ramses’ wrist. Ramses wails in anguish, but Adamek doesn’t let go. Nazirah covers her ears, unable to hear that sickening noise. Ramses falls to his knees, face nearly unrecognizable. Adamek holds the knife against his throat, intentions clear.
“No!” Nazirah stumbles forward, grabbing Adamek’s wrist. He looks at her, bewildered. “No,” she repeats, more forcefully this time. “Just … don’t.”
“You want me to spare his life?” Adamek hisses. “This man who just tried to kill you and fuck your corpse?” He’s angry with her and doesn’t remove the blade from Ramses’ throat. But Nazirah doesn’t waver and she doesn’t let go of his wrist.
“Please Morgen,” she begs, “no more violence tonight.” Adamek stares at her for a long time before lowering the knife, dropping Ramses entirely. He slumps to the floor, body making a somber thud as it hits the ground. A moment later, Nazirah hears someone running down the corridor. Olag appears before them, breathless. He stops short, taking in the scene, taking in Nazirah’s appearance. He walks over to Ramses, shaking, growling, and howling.
“It’s okay!” Nazirah cries, touching his arm, hoping he understands. “Nothing happened!”
“Let me talk to him.”
Adamek speaks rapidly to Olag in Deathlandic, eventually handing him the bloody knife. Olag nods, pocketing it. He bends over Ramses’ body, preparing to pick him up.
“Wait!” Nazirah says, bending down. She grabs Ramses’ collapsed face, making sure he is still semiconscious. Adamek and Olag watch her curiously. Their expressions turn to shock as Nazirah delivers several excruciating kicks to his groin. “That’s for trying to kill me, you bastard!” she screams, raw, losing control now. Ramses moans, unable to shift even an inch. “And I’m an intermix bitch?” Nazirah reaches into her mouth, scooping some blood and saliva and rubbing it over his remaining face and lips. “See how good intermix tastes!” She kicks him one final time before backing away, hyperventilating.
Adamek stares at her wordlessly. Olag slings a now-unconscious Ramses over his shoulder. He walks away, leaving the two of them alone in the corridor.
“Right,” Adamek says after a beat.
“What did you say to Olag?” she asks, wiping her bloody mouth with the back of her arm.
Adamek inspects his own arm, wincing slightly. “That our alliance with the Red Lords is too precarious, especially with us still in the Deathlands,” he answers. “Solomon will inform them about tonight after we leave tomorrow. Also, not to tell Slome anything until morning.”
“Good point,” she says.
“Come on, Nation,” he sighs. “Let me take you back.”
Nazirah doesn’t pull away from Adamek when he wraps a hand around her waist, holding her steady. They slowly start walking. “Shouldn’t you go find a healer?” she asks him.
Adamek shrugs his good shoulder. “I’ve had worse,” he says. “I’ll bandage it in my room … it looks deeper than it is.” His eyes roam over her cuts and bruises. “What about you?”
Nazirah shakes her head, even though her body is screaming. “I think I’m more upset than anything else,” she says. “I don’t want to see anyone.”
He nods like he is expecting it. They pass through the empty courtyard. Nazirah struggles to climb the stairs. He waits patiently at each step. They finally reach the corridor where both of their rooms are located. It’s black outside. The only light comes from the hanging lanterns that line the walls. They stop in front of Nazirah’s door.
“How did you know?” she asks.
Adamek shakes his head. “Once he said his name, I knew. Before the party ended, I went to find Olag. When I came back, you were already gone.” He sighs. “I should have never let you out of my sight.”
“We were just going for a walk,” she murmurs. Adamek is silent. “Thank you,” she says in a rush. “I was such an idiot for leaving with him. I should have known better; I don’t know what I was thinking.” She stares at her dirty hands. “I wasn’t thinking. You saved me.”
“Not fast enough.”
“You were.”
He reaches out to touch her forehead, thinks better of it. “What happened there?”
“I head butted him,” she says, oddly proud.
He smirks. “Figures.”
Nazirah clears her throat. “Before Ramses attacked me,” she says shakily, “he said he was honoring his father’s last wish. Do you know what he meant by that?”
“The Deathlanders are savage people,” Adamek says, shrugging. “Khanto’s last wish was probably to kill us all.”
“Savage people?” she asks, annoyed. “Unlike the Medis, obviously.”
“Nation, I’m in no mood to argue with you,” he says. “You should know by now that I don’t care about race like that anymore. I haven’t since … a while. The Deathlanders live a harsh life. And yes, they can be savage for it. That’s all.”
“Fine,” she says simply.
“You should get some sleep,” he says. “Make sure you lock your door.” He stands there, waiting for Nazirah to walk inside. Her hand is on the doorknob, but she finds herself unable to turn it. Nazirah faces Adamek. There is caution, wariness in his eyes.
“I really don’t want to be alone right now,” she says quietly. Nazirah waits for his rejection, waits for him to tell her no. She waits for a long time.
“Okay.”
Adamek turns abruptly, walking down the corridor towards his own room. Nazirah trails behind him, surprised. He pushes his door open, gesturing for her to enter. She does before she can regret it. He follows her inside, locking the door.
Adamek’s room is a mirror image of her own. Nazirah, whose belongings are usually strewn into careless heaps on the floor, is not surprised to learn that he is much tidier. There are no photos, no childhood mementos. There is no mess, only a few books. It is spotless, almost clinical. Save for several empty liquor bottles, resting precariously on top of the silver briefcase in the corner.
Adamek walks over to his dresser, retrieving a small bag from one of the drawers. He rifles through it, lazily grabbing an open bottle of vodka. Nazirah watches him pop a white pill and take a swig. He comes over to her, dropping another pill into her hand. “It’s not tequilux,” he says, extending the bottle. “But it’s all I have, unless you want to drink from the faucet.”
Nazirah stares suspiciously at the pill in her outstretched hand, cautiously grabbing the bottle. “I’m not interested in going on some acid trip with you,” she says.
Adamek snorts. “Do you even know anything about drugs, Nation? You don’t drop acid on a pill like this.”
“What is it?”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s just MEDIcine! Don’t take it if you don’t want to, but it will help with the pain and swelling. Not the bruising though … or the hangover.”
“Great,” she says, popping the pill into her mouth. She grimaces, tipping the bottle back as well. Familiar, icy relief immediately spreads through her sore muscles. She touches her face, slightly dazed. The bump on her forehead is gone. Adamek laughs before taking back the bottle. He walks into his bathroom, leaving the door open.
Nazirah stands there awkwardly. Her curiosity eventually wins out and she leans over, trying to see what he is doing. She jumps a little when Adamek appears at the door, barefoot and smirking. “You can come in, you know,” he says. “I promise to be a good boy.”
Nazirah sheepishly follows Adamek inside, automatically shutting the door behind her. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. Metal lanterns bathe the ivory walls in soft candlelight. Adamek sits on the flat edge of the tub, inspecting his hand casually. His knuckles are bruised, but nothing appears broken. Nazirah quietly sits beside him, pulling a knee to her chest. Adamek takes another swig of vodka before pouring some over his bloody hand.
“What are you doing?” she asks, confused.
“Don’t have any rubbing alcohol,” he says, shrugging. “This is the next best sanitizer.”
“How resourceful.”
“Would you expect anything less?”
Adamek winces slightly, letting the now-red vodka drip from his hand into the tub. Nazirah is reminded of the last time she saw a bathtub filled with blood. From the forlorn look on Adamek’s face, she knows he is thinking the same thing. She grabs the bottle from him, taking a big gulp.
“This is weird.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Right.”
“Right,” he replies, chuckling. Satisfied with his hand, Adamek inspects the stab wound through his shirt. The blood has dried, causing the material to stick. Nazirah takes another swig, trying not to seem squeamish. “Never would have pegged you for much of a drinker, Nation.”
“Well, you don’t know me all that well,” she snaps.
“I’m beginning to learn that.”
Adamek grabs a nearby hand towel. He leans into Nazirah, reaching behind her to turn on the hot water. Steam fills the room as Adamek wets the cloth. He dabs the wound through his shirt, struggling to get a good angle.
“Can I help you?” she asks softly.
Adamek stops and looks at her strangely. He says, “That remains to be seen.”
Wordlessly, Nazirah sets the bottle on the floor. She takes the towel from him, folds it, placing it on her lap. Leaning over, Nazirah rinses her hands under the running water. She washes the blood off, scrubbing under her nails, removing the stain and shame Ramses has left behind, until she feels clean. Realizing how long she’s taking, Nazirah pulls back quickly, knocking the tap. She shakes her wrist, looking hesitantly at Adamek. But he’s just watching, waiting for her to finish. Nazirah picks up the towel, gingerly dabs his arm. Slowly, the shirt lifts from his wound. She’s so close, too close. Nazirah smells the sage and cardamom and spice, the scent that’s so uniquely him. She holds her breath, praying for a distraction.
“My shoes,” she says suddenly.
“Your shoes?”
“I forgot them downstairs.”
Adamek takes the small towel from her. He folds it into a square and places it behind him. “You really do say exactly what you’re thinking, don’t you?”
“Not all the time.”
Adamek slowly unbuttons the rest of his shirt. Using his good arm, he slips it off his shoulders. He tosses the shirt behind him. “So what are you thinking about right now?” he asks, smirking.
Nazirah’s face heats up, knowing he’s intentionally dragging it out. “My shoes,” she repeats.
“I stand corrected,” he says. Adamek grabs the bottle off the floor, takes a huge swig. He then pours some more vodka over his arm. Nazirah feels lightheaded from the alcohol, the blood, and his shirtless presence. He delves into his bag, pulling out a needle and some thread. Revolted yet fascinated, Nazirah watches Adamek thread the needle and skillfully begin stitching up his arm. Niko said he did this after getting shot, but hearing about it is one thing. Actually witnessing it happen is an entirely different beast. Queasy, Nazirah reaches between them. She snatches the bottle and takes another sip.
“Take it easy,” Adamek says, wincing slightly as he finishes suturing his arm. He breaks the thread with his teeth, setting the needle aside. “I can’t have you passing out on my bathroom floor.”
Nazirah smiles a little, placing the bottle behind her. “No, we can’t have that.”
She inspects his arm closely. The stitches are even and tight, like Adamek has done this countless times before. Nazirah also notices his long white scar from the Khan, healed bullet wound on his shoulder, and several other marks blemishing his inked skin. She wants a reason to touch them, these beautiful flaws of his.
“It’s an unlucky arm,” he says quietly.
Nazirah leans forward, blowing on the stitches lightly. Adamek doesn’t breathe. She looks up, biting her lower lip. “For luck,” she says.
“Thank you.”
Nazirah nods. She pulls back, adding space between them. Adamek removes a roll of gauze from the bag and bandages his arm. Nazirah doesn’t look him in the eyes anymore. Her thoughts are cloudy, muddled, and disturbing.
Finished, Adamek stuffs the remaining gauze back into the bag and sets it behind him on the floor. As he turns his body, Nazirah finally sees the dusza in person. Instinctively, she reaches a slender hand out, tracing the dark characters down his back and up again. Adamek inhales sharply when her hand makes contact, but she is too engrossed to notice. “It’s so beautiful,” she says.
“It’s anything but.”
Quick as a flash – or maybe her reflexes are just slow – Adamek turns around. Her palm is flush with his chest, gossamer touch. Nazirah tries to pull away. He traps her hand under his, holding it there.
“Let me go,” she says.
Adamek’s eyes drift over Nazirah’s small frame, taking in her ripped dress, bruised neck, and finally settling on their hands. “Right in the heart, Nation,” he says. Nazirah can feel it, steadily beating into her palm.
Water splashes her thigh. Nazirah pulls her hand away, turning her head towards the source. The bathtub has filled to the brim, spilling over the sides, flooding the room. “I must have accidentally slid the nozzle before,” she says, quickly turning off the tap. She laughs brightly. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the circumstances, maybe it’s neither … but she suddenly feels inexplicably light, borderline insane. She looks at Adamek, playful spark.
“What?”
Nazirah doesn’t answer him. Entirely clothed, she drags herself over the edge of the tub. She sinks down into the steaming water, sending even more waves crashing onto the floor. Lace flows and floats and pools, rivers of scarlet freedom. Nazirah tips her head back, immersing her hair, washing away the night. Stretching her arms, gasping, she holds her hands to her head. She laughs loudly, uncontrollably, convulsing, cracking up.
She is completely cracking up.
She can’t hold it in anymore, none of it.
Life will out.
“Congratulations Nation, you’ve officially lost it.”
Nazirah sees through the sarcasm. There’s that familiar, odd longing in his eyes again. She knows he understands. Giggling, Nazirah sends another wall of water his way. Adamek raises his leg, narrowly avoiding it. “Come on, Morgen,” she teases. “Don’t you ever want to just be a teenager?”
He is quiet then, pensive. Nazirah doesn’t realize she has been hoping for it until after he sinks down opposite her. Adamek completely submerges himself, a moment too long. He surfaces, shaking his hair out, eyes sparkling mischievously.
She cannot stop laughing.
It’s as though months and months of pent up laughter have finally bubbled over. Nazirah laughs so hard she cries. And it’s infectious. Because the two of them, here, is absolutely the weirdest, most incredible thing.
Transcendent.
Adamek rests against the tub, inhaling deeply. He asks, “Moment of temporary insanity?”
Nazirah shakes her head, water droplets flying. “Clarity!”
“Temporary clarity?”
“Most definitely.”
“You’re a strange one, Nation.”
“You like it.”
He snorts. “I am never letting you drink again, ever.”
Nazirah bursts into renewed laughter. Body shaking, she bites the inside of her arm. She kicks some water at him once, then twice. On the second time, Adamek lazily catches her foot with his hand.
She stops laughing.
Nazirah pulls her foot away slowly, letting it slide through his hand. “Stay on your side,” she warns.
“I will,” he says, “if I can ask you a question.”
“Ask away.”
“Why did Caal leave?”
She hesitates. “You know why.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
Nazirah sighs. “Cato thinks there’s something going on between us,” she says. “For real, not for show.”
“He’s not exactly wrong.”
“No, he’s not,” she murmurs. “Even though we hate each other.”
“I don’t hate you, Nation.”
The moment is strange, fragile. She whispers, “I don’t hate you either.” Nazirah places her head in her hands, overwhelmed. After everything he has done, she should hate him. But she doesn’t. Not anymore.
Adamek remains silent and Nazirah eventually looks up, meeting his eyes. “There are these unexpected moments about you,” he says slowly, “These bright, irreverent moments that I can’t quite explain. Right now … when you were on the swings … jumping off those cliffs.…” He looks at his hands. “That’s the real reason I wanted to replay that memory. You have these moments of complete innocence I am completely drawn to.”
“So you think I’m a child?”
Adamek pulls his hair, frustrated. “It’s not that,” he says, “although you can certainly act like one. Sometimes, it’s hard to look at you.”
“It’s hard to look at me?”
He nods. “It hurts to look at you.”
“You’re looking at me now.”
Adamek exhales, gripping the sides of the tub. “You don’t get it, Nation,” he says, voice raw and honest. “You’re not getting it. You make me feel even more tainted, even more fucked up than I already am. Because you’re the complete opposite of me. I am corrupting you, just being around you. And it hurts.”
“So why bother talking to me at all?”
“Because if I’m anything,” he says quietly, “It’s masochistic.”
The water ripples. He is closer now, only inches away. “You promised to be good,” she mumbles.
“I lied.”
He lightly grazes the bruise forming on Nazirah’s forehead with his fingertips. Her eyelids flutter, breath hitching at his butterfly touch. The feeling is electric, catatonic. His fingers trace the whorl of her ear, drag lazily along her jaw. He maps her face to memory, afraid to blink, like she might disappear.
Fingers trail down her neck, fingertips aligning with the bruises where Ramses choked her. Adamek gently cups the column of her throat with one hand. His eyebrows knit together in intense concentration. Nazirah can see flecks of gold in his green eyes, perplexing minute suns, mirror images of her own. Alarms sound in her mind, begging her to leave while she still can. But Nazirah thinks she is way past leaving, and probably has been for a while.
His hand journeys lower, past her collarbone. Nazirah watches Adamek’s face transform from captivation to recognition to knowing. Slowly, he slides a finger under the chain around her neck, holding it there. She immediately locks her hand around his wrist.
“Do you trust me?” he asks. He looks at her carefully, revealing nothing. She thinks about it, nods her head. He pulls out the chain, letting his amnesty pendant hang in plain sight. It dawns on Nazirah that she has wanted him to find it all along. They stare at each other for a long time.
