The V Girl: A coming of age story

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The V Girl: A coming of age story Page 12

by Mya Robarts


  I glance at Olmo, who, sitting on a stool next to the examination table, suddenly looks serious. Despite his mirthful nature, he’s acting strange today. Perhaps it’s because lately he’s been struggling to breathe, even with his inhaler. Or maybe it’s because today’s lesson is about medicine, his least favorite subject. Having a disease like fibrosis type-Z is bound to create a distaste for talking about illnesses.

  Lessons without our solar e-reader are tedious. To lighten them, Dad plays Guess the Disease. I have avoided homeschooling since I turned eighteen, but today I’ll participate. I like medicine.

  “The immune system turns against the patient.”

  “Lupus!” I say.

  Dad nods. “Rigidity of muscles. Body functions slow down.”

  “Catalpsexy,” says Olmo.

  “Catalepsy,” Azzy corrects.

  “Inflammation of the bowel. It can be alleviated by a gluten-free diet.”

  I hesitate. “Cellist … Celia?”

  Dad corrects me. “Celiac.”

  The games goes on for several rounds before Olmo interrupts. “Dad, I need to go to the washroom. It’s urgent.”

  Dad looks concerned. “Are you struggling to breathe again?”

  Olmo’s tone is innocently serious. “No, I think I got my period.”

  Uh?

  Azzy bursts out laughing while Dad blinks. Both twins know perfectly well the mechanics of the female cycle. Olmo is forgetful and imaginative, but this is ridiculous.

  Dad climbs down from the table and sits on his cart. “Olmo, men don’t have periods.”

  “Eh? The brown spots I have in my underpants … Azzy told me I should get a tampon and—”

  Azalea plays innocent. “I never said such a thing.”

  When Olmo returns to the ER, my dad checks his blood pressure and temperature, then asks him several questions about possible bloody discharge. It becomes evident that Olmo hasn’t really been spotting his underwear … at least not with blood. Azzy has messed with his gullibility.

  Dad shoots Azzy a we’ll-talk-about-this-later look. “Olmo, diarrhea and periods are very different things.”

  Azzy smiles maliciously. “Diarrhea is hereditary; it runs in your jeans.”

  My dad sighs. “Don’t listen to her, Olmo. You’ve been eating too much of Mr. Fürst’s food, haven’t you?”

  Olmo’s face changes from slightly embarrassed to exceedingly confused. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it after a moment of hesitation. His attitude is unusual, and I realize that there’s more to this than mere confusion. I’m getting worried about my brother.

  Olmo looks at Azzy for a long moment before saying in a detached voice, “When you get your period, would you give me some blood?”

  Azzy’s face is priceless, but I can’t find humor in her disgusted expression when I observe Olmo. What’s wrong with him?

  “Ew!” shouts Azzy. “You’re crazy.”

  Olmo says something that makes my stomach twist into a knot. “The blood of a V-girl heals, and I’m tired of being sick all the time.”

  My legs shake, and I sink to the floor. For a while, nobody moves or says anything. I desperately want Azzy to say something sassy that will make us all laugh, but she doesn’t. The only sound comes from Aleksey’s mournful music.

  Olmo never mentions his disease. He goes to extremes to avoid it by creating all kinds of imaginary worlds. Not that we press the topic much. It’s an uncomfortable reminder of a cruel reality—the reality that Olmo is living on borrowed time.

  We always treat Olmo as though he’s healthy, but he’s growing up. He can’t keep reality at bay by making up stories much longer.

  Dad comes to his senses first, and he hugs my brother. That stirs Azzy out of her silence.

  “No, you idiot. The blood of a virgin doesn’t cure diseases.” There’s bitterness in her irritated tone, and a tinge of unspoken misery. The misery of knowing that, as much as he wants to, and as much as we wish for it, my brother can’t magically fight death. He needs medical treatment.

  Olmo looks at Azzy. His voice is grave. “That’s not what the soldiers told me.”

  I gasp. Olmo’s interaction with soldiers is a terrifying revelation, but Dad looks at him tenderly. “They’re superstitious, Olmo. Don’t you think that if they were right, I would’ve already cured you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it has to be the first period. Ow! Don’t slap my head, Azalea! Dad, look at her!”

  Dad’s voice is unusually stern. “Azalea, stop it.”

  Olmo rocks on his heels. “It’s just … I want V-blood because … I don’t want to die.”

  Nothing breaks the silence this time. It’s heartbreaking to realize that Olmo is not only more aware of his illness than I thought, but that he’s also sicker than I wanted to admit.

  After what seems an eternity, Dad leads Olmo out of the room, his cart creaking. I know they’ll have a conversation. Before today, Olmo has dismissed every attempt my father has made to explain his illness. Azzy follows to eavesdrop, but I stay rooted to the spot. I don’t need to hear how Dad will address death with him. I know Dad will be honest as usual, but he’ll infuse his explanations with hope.

  I pace the room anxiously. Hope. The feeling that keeps my dad alive. Can hope save Olmo, too?

  After a few moments, I clench my fists and dash out of the room. Perhaps there’s hope for Olmo, but we have to be proactive. I’m not for passive optimism. There’s something I can do.

  I can and I will accept Aleksey’s offer.

  The metal scaffold that leads to Aleksey’s room screeches under my weight. I knock nervously. He must be around. I heard him playing his bass recently.

  Time goes by. Aleksey doesn’t answer.

  Perhaps he doesn’t want to see me. This morning, because of the overwhelming sensation his kisses awoke, I felt the strange compulsion to grab his hand and hold it as we walked toward town. But he looked remarkably uncomfortable and retracted his hand from mine. As soon as we arrived in town, he disappeared, leaving me confused. It was a foolish, impulsive gesture. We’re not a couple, and even if we were, soldiers are not known for their sweetness. Most don’t relate to women unless it’s for copulation purposes. Besides, in Aleksey’s case, fraternizing with me could ruin his life.

  I sit with my back against his door, thinking. Aleksey’s a mature man who has seen the world. He must have understood that my foolish attempt was the result of my youth and inexperience. If he’s not answering my knocks, there must be a reason other than that he’s mad.

  Tristan’s lilting voice comes from below. “Miss Velez! He’s not there. He’s going to New Vegas on commission and won’t return for some days.”

  I scowl. New Vegas is so far away. I can’t wait that long. I climb down in a rush and almost trip on my cloak. “Tristan! It’s urgent.” Please.

  Tristan smiles at me. “You have about an hour before he departs.”

  I call Poncho and sprint toward the staircase. I don’t turn back, not even to look at Tristan when he shouts after me.

  “He’s at the canteen.”

  18

  Secrets and promises

  Near the passenger station ruins is a two-story saloon that smells of alcohol, tobacco, and sweat. The round tables are full of men playing cards. At the large wooden counter, some local girls sit with their legs spread, showing their undies. Or lack thereof.

  The canteen wasn’t supposed to be this shrine of perdition. Starville volunteers built it to serve the Nat troops in a non-sexual way. Nowadays, it’s frequented by soldiers and local males who might not have enough to eat, but who can always spare something for gambling, drinks, and sex. The soldiers won’t come before the curfew because they hate mingling with the local customers.

  Women aren’t allowed here unless they’re willing to give services. Under my closed cloak, I can pass for an unmarried young man searching for visitant services.

  I don’t need to scan the room to know that Aleksey
must be upstairs. I let Poncho lead the way to the wooden staircase. He sniffs the doors along the torch-lit corridor and stops at one. I hesitate, but before I knock, the door opens. Three cops with Indian facial features stand in the threshold, holding drinks. The moment they see me, recognition shows in their faces.

  I force myself to sound confident. “I’m looking for Prince Aleksey.”

  They exchange looks, and I swear they’re trying to suppress smiles. I turn to leave.

  “Don’t go, he’s here,” says the oldest one. When they walk past me, I hear them murmur something like “Fürst Donnerkeil.”

  I ignore the stares I get, and the fact that all conversation has stopped at my arrival. He’s sitting at a round table. Two Accord cops and an old soldier are with him, playing cards. He’s brooding as usual, scowling, focused on his cards and ignoring everyone.

  Aleksey’s eyes can’t hide his surprise and disapproval when he looks up. His face turns a furious red that matches the anger in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

  Glad to see you, too, Aleksey. “I’d like a word with you before you go.”

  For a brief moment, he looks at me like he’s trying to convey a message with his eyes. Then he turns to his cards, and his voice comes out curtly. “I’m busy. Go back to the clinic, Miss Velez.”

  The men around Aleksey chuckle, but their smiles vanish when they see Aleksey’s glare.

  I force my voice to sound confident and firm. “There’s an emergency at the clinic.”

  His voice is impatient, although his face remains expressionless. “Don’t bother me.”

  I freeze on the spot, revealing an incredulous look. I feel unwanted and betrayed. We’re not supposed to fraternize, but can’t he at least be politely indifferent? Especially in present company?

  It’s then that I look around the room. There are two additional round tables where Accord cops sit playing cards, some stealing stealthy glances in my direction. On a bed in a distant corner, a dark-haired Patriot visitant straddles a barely dressed cop who looks as though he might have passed out. She wears an orange unitard. Her blue eyes shoot me a brief, scornful look. I recognize her. She visited Aleksey on our first night at the clinic.

  She moves to sit on the edge of the bed, her legs spread wide. “Who’s next?” she asks indifferently.

  The zipper on the lower part of her garment is open, revealing her most intimate parts. How many times has that zipper gone up and down today? Has Aleksey used this woman today? The thought makes me frown. I thought he was different.

  One of the cops gets up. “My turn.”

  “And then you’ll serve General Fürst, Coco,” says the soldier. Coco’s expression turns hopeful.

  My nose wrinkles in disgust. Fury and disappointment course through my veins, corroding my thoughts.

  Aleksey growls without looking at me. “Are you deaf? Go away!”

  In a heartbeat, I’m out of the canteen and running through the streets, Poncho trotting alongside.

  As I cross the Judges Avenue overpass, I bump into a drunken man who tries to start a fight. I try to avoid him, but he’s persistent. He throws a jab at my face, but I use his momentum to bring his chest against my elbow, making him lose his breath. When I use all my strength to kick his heels, the man tumbles to the ground with a loud thud.

  My hood must have fallen during the fight, and my cloak opened. My long, bushy mane is on full display. The man looks at it, shocked.

  “Holy Mary! You’re a girl!”

  Did he think I was a man? I wonder why girls, in his mind, couldn’t be fighters. Are we only brides, baby carriers, or recruits? Or worse, visitants? I suppress the urge to kick him in the balls. Instead, I continue to run until my chest hurts. The ache in my lungs distracts me from other pains.

  A big hand stops me. Of course, this bastard can catch up to me with minimal effort. Aleksey’s voice isn’t breathy, but furious. “Could you stop that?”

  I force my hand away and glare at him, fighting to breathe air into my lungs. “Stop what!?”

  “Fraternizing with the enemy in public. In a canteen, of all places.”

  “You said you didn’t care.”

  “I don’t care if it’s me. I won’t risk you. My unit won’t dare betray us, but there was a soldier in there.”

  He reaches for my face, but I step back and resume running.

  Aleksey trots beside me. “What did you think you were doing there?”

  “Your proposal.” I stop my sprint and look at him. “You told me you’d arrange for Olmo’s care in New Norfolk’s Accord hospital in exchange for—”

  “Yes,” he looks surprised. “As long as Dr. Velez goes with him and both prove their neutrality in a polygraph test.”

  I glare at him again. “I came to say yes. You didn’t have to be so rude.”

  For a fleeting moment his pupils dilate, and the corner of his mouth twitches. He almost looks … happy. I must have gotten it wrong because his voice recovers its angry tone. “I had to. Didn’t you notice they were leering at you? Never go to that place again.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” My voice is sharp with anger. “This couldn’t wait. You’ll go to New Vegas soon, which I found out by hearsay. When were you going to tell me?”

  He’s taken aback by my fury, but his voice is harsh. “Why would I tell you?”

  I suppress a gasp. It sounds like, Who are you to receive any explanations? Turning my back on him, I dart toward the clinic staircase.

  I hurtle up some steps before he grabs my waist and forces me to turn around. I’m slightly taller due to the step on which I’m standing.

  “What I meant is that I’m not used to giving explanations.” His voice is unexpectedly kind. “I just received my commission an hour ago. I didn’t think you’d care.”

  My anger is gone, replaced by a sudden shyness. I look down. He’s making me nervous, but I do my best to sound nonchalant. “Aren’t we both lone wolves and voyeurmates? That’s almost like being friends, and friends tell each other things.”

  “Friends,” he says, savoring the word. Apparently, it’s not to his liking. With his thumb, he forces my head up to meet his gaze. “Ours has to be a discreet arrangement.”

  A tingling sensation runs through my skin as I stare into his eyes. “A secret?”

  His voice becomes silkily sexy. “Let’s say we should avoid being conspicuous around the wrong people.”

  His face is getting closer and closer. I gulp. Not two kisses in one day. It’d be too much.

  And yet my eyes are starting to close. My lips part.

  Uninvited thoughts assault me, right when our lips are about to touch. His rudeness at the canteen. The visitant’s beautiful, artificial face. No!

  I disengage from his grip and ascend the steps at top speed.

  By the time I reach the top, he’s with me again. He looks at me with a tinge of puzzlement in his sky blue eyes.

  “You can’t be rude one moment and kiss me the next. Not even if we have to pretend we’re perfect strangers.”

  He scowls. “You don’t know how dangerous that place is. I was anxious for you to get away, but you stayed. You’re stubborn! I would have lost it if someone had tried to attack you. I was enraged, worried, and … deeply uncomfortable.”

  His usual I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude doesn’t match this statement.

  “You? Uncomfortable?”

  “My unit was killing time, so I had to keep an eye on them. But I don’t frequent the canteen, and I don’t like to use visitants. The fact that you, of all people, found me there was uncomfortable.”

  “That woman … did you use her services today?” Damn! Now he’ll think I’m jealous.

  Aleksey seems genuinely pleased by my question. “No. In fact,” his eyes travel up and down my body in a sensual manner, “I won’t ever require visitants’ services again. I’ve lost interest in the opposite sex.” He tilts up my chin, forcing me to look at him. “With one exception.”
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  A sense of relief washes over me, but I don’t know why. I can’t hold up to his intense gaze. Should I believe him? I’ll test his honesty. I ask casually, “Have you ever been with her?” knowing the answer already.

  Aleksey shakes his head and guides me to his room. “I slammed the door in her face once. She has tried since then, to no avail.”

  The only acceptable option now is to believe both statements. I know he’s being truthful about the former, so I’ll buy the latter. He might believe my questions are rooted in jealousy, and I want to say something that will erase that impression. Perhaps a joke? I shake my head. No doubt an older man like himself must find my sense of humor too juvenile and lame. Then I remember that I have no reason to try to impress this guy.

  At the bottom of the scaffold that leads to his room, I turn to look at him. “So, we have a deal now. Your first proposal. You’ll get Olmo, Azzy, and Dad out of here.”

  “I’ll make time for the necessary paperwork during my commission. They’ll need a temporary visa to stay in New Norfolk. It’ll take a while.”

  I purse my lips. “You said, in return for this, you want my company during nights in a non-sexual way.”

  He exhales deeply. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  My stomach does a somersault, and my voice turns desperate. “Don’t, please. Olmo needs help!”

  “I meant that you don’t have to offer anything in return. I already started arrangements, not knowing whether or not you would accept my offer.”

  “But if you’re putting your own money into this, I want to pay you back. My dad suggested looking at this as a nursing job.”

  He frowns. “When did you discuss this with him?”

  “The day after you proposed it,” I say, shrugging. “Dad’s an optimist. He believes that you’re a gentleman and that we won’t sleep in the same bed.”

  Aleksey runs his hand through his long hair. “Before proposing anything to you, I discussed the plan with him, and he said he wouldn’t make any decision without you. I thought that an exchange of services would appeal to you better than if I offered you charity, but …” He pauses and looks down at me meaningfully. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

 

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