The way this woman looks at me though... Something strange happens to my body, something dangerous that I don’t particularly like. She will not be my future either. She isn’t even the present. I look out the window, ignoring her and the effect of her attention.
“I’m a nurse, you know. I’d be happy to take a look at your injuries if you’d like.”
I look back, surprised by her persistence. “Thanks, but like I said, I’m fine.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Bratislava.”
“Oh? I am too.”
I nod, not surprised. Where else?
“I’m Nadeja.”
“Christian.”
She’s still staring at me, and I’m not sure what else she wants.
“What’s in Bratislava?” she asks when I ignore her again.
“University.”
“I see. You’re a student?”
“Will be.”
“Oh.” Is she disappointed? “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
Yes. She’s definitely disappointed. Good. But she’s pretty, I’ll give her that.
“You?” I ask, if only to cement the end of whatever this is.
“Twenty-four.”
I nod. “What’s in Bratislava for you?”
“Home.”
“I see. Well, good luck,” I say with a tight smile.
Why is she still staring? “Hey… Would you want to get a drink when we arrive? Maybe dinner?”
My stomach cramps at the thought. When’s the last time I’ve eaten?
“My treat, of course,” she adds. This time her smile is different. I can’t read it, but she really is pretty. Her treat.
“Sure.”
“Her name was Nadeja,” he says, not looking at me. I expect a wistful expression, but if anything his face hardens.
“Did you love her?”
“No, but I had nowhere else to go.”
A sharp pain twists through my stomach. Another puzzle piece, slapped down and bare in the space between us. His gaze is far away when I dare to look again.
“People, they think they help but… There is always cost.”
Emotion burns in my chest, dark and beautiful at the same time. I find myself lowering back to his chest, returning to the steady beat of his heart. Silent, we let our breathing sync and calm the fractured moment. I take his hand and tuck it against my own heart.
“I still want you to be my first,” I whisper. “When you want it to.”
He squeezes my fingers and tucks his other arm around me. I don’t know how long we lie there, connected and broken. Shattering and healing until the silence isn’t necessary—it’s safe.
Chapter Nine: Bonfire Regrets
Sarah doesn’t call the next morning. She probably forgot, and given her initial response, I can’t see much benefit from a dragged-out version of the same conversation anyway. She has her restaurant; I have my lists. It’s a tacit agreement we’ve had since she left the past behind. I wish I could let go as well, but she doesn’t have the same nightmare imprinted in her brain. “Run, Emma!”
I blink away the memory and settle my attention on the bed instead. A smile tugs at my lips as I dress, remembering how it felt to share such an intimate experience with Christian. Maybe Harper was right: I do get wet from conversation. We never went further than bare chests and naked souls, but I feel closer to him now than any amount of tongue-tango or groping would have done. It’s only nine in the morning and already he’s messaged me in his reserved, honest style. Simple, to the point, and priceless coming from him. I glance down again, warming at the exchange.
Christian: Dobrý deň. Going to work now. Ako sa máš?
Me: I’m fine. You? Just kidding. I’m great. I had fun last night.
Christian: Me too.
Me: Harper wants to go to a party tonight. Do you want to go?
Christian: Will you go?
Me: Of course.
Christian: Then yes.
I do my best to focus on my school work next. It’s an online course, so after watching the latest lecture, I create a list to organize the corresponding assignment. By mid-day, I’m flying high with dopamine, courtesy of Christian’s greeting and measurable academic progress. I’m feeling so good, in fact, that I finally answer the phone when Gram calls.
“Emma! Thank goodness. I’m sorry, dear.”
I sigh and drop to my bed. “I’m sorry too, Gram. I should have called you back. It’s just…”
“Run, Emma!”
I clench my eyes shut and shake the memory away.
“No need to explain. I understand. Truly.” She quiets, and I can almost picture her twirling the phone cord around her finger like she does when she’s nervous. Yes, she still has one of those types of phones. This time though, I’m stronger and ready to face whatever comes after the pained silence.
“I hope you understand,” she begins hesitantly. “All of this, with Zach. It’s for your sake, not his, that I’m interfering. You have your entire life ahead of you. Too much to be weighed down forever. Zach will spend the rest of his life paying for what he’s done. You shouldn’t be sentenced to the same.”
My fist is clenched around the phone, my teeth pressed hard into my lip. The bed vibrates with the frantic rhythm of my knee. She’s right, of course. I shouldn’t be sentenced to the same. Should is such a pointless word. Why do we need a word for what hasn’t happened?
Her advice sounds strangely like Kate’s, my therapist back home. Is Gram seeing her now too? I’d promised I’d find a local counselor when I moved here, but I suppose this isn’t the first of history’s promises to be broken. Besides, I’d been doing well—relatively. Nothing my lists and hidden wall couldn’t handle until Zach decided to blow up his daughter’s life again.
Funny how my mind rushes to Christian and his stars. I’d thought he’d solved the riddle of trauma until last night. His stars may follow him, but he’s far from free. Maybe there’s no such thing as freedom. Maybe all we do is learn to adapt until lists and stars are enough.
“I know, Gram. But I’m not ready.”
“All right. I understand. Well you let me know when you are. I want you to know that I’ve been taking calls and visiting him. He’s still my son, sweetie.”
I fight to steady my breathing. “Okay.”
“I love you, Emma.”
“Love you too.”
I check the time when I hang up. Seven hours to pull myself back together.
Nadeja is usually gone when I wake. She often works the early shift at the hospital, which is fine with me. I like having the day to myself. She’s left money on the table with a note to pick up whatever I want for dinner. She’ll be home around 18:30. I fan the bills, quickly calculating the cost of groceries and the time it will take to put together a decent meal. I don’t mind cooking. I don’t mind shopping, cleaning, or doing laundry. I’ve been doing all of it since I was a kid. So why is my stomach sick? Why has it been since I got off the bus in this city I couldn’t wait to reach?
Maybe I know. But knowing and accepting are two very different things.
We pick up the guys at their apartment. Jakub jumps into the passenger seat beside Harper; Christian slides into the back with me. His smile is almost shy, understandable considering the breakthrough of our previous encounter. He reaches for my hand, though, and the simple gesture leaves my heart hammering in my chest. His thumb brushes over mine as we stare out our respective windows—him at his stars probably. Me, well, also at his stars. We frequently lose them to the towering condo buildings and bright signs and street lights. Night life in this area isn’t New York City, but it’s still a college/beach town.
Harper and Jakub joke around up front, a stark contrast to the silence in back, but I don’t mind. No, right now his hand is enough, and I wouldn’t trade places with her for anything. I peek over at Christian and notice the hard set of his jaw as he stares out the window. What’s he thinking? It’s a c
onstant question in his presence. I’ve never met a person so open and hidden at the same time. His smile draws you in, teases you with glimpses of warmth. Then the second you get close, he’s gone. Even now I wonder how many lifetimes it would take to crack his code. To be fair, I’m not exactly an easy story. No wonder meaningful conversation is a drug for people like us.
Harper pulls the jeep into a public lot near a line of beach front villas. One of these belongs to a group of her friends who rented a house for the summer. Based on the blare of music and raucous shrieks, I’m hoping the other houses are rented by coeds as well.
“Emma!”
I’m not the only one surprised to hear my name. I turn, along with Harper and the guys, to see Logan approaching.
“Oh hey, Logan,” I return with a smile. “Guys, this is Logan. He’s also a psych major.”
Harper crosses her arms. “Really? Are you being an overachiever and taking a summer class as well?”
I cast her an annoyed look, but he only laughs. “Actually, yeah. We’re in the same abnormal psych class.” He turns back to me. “So this is totally lame since we’re at a party, but do you have a sec to talk about the Concepts of Normality project?”
“You mind?” I ask Christian. He offers a tight smile and lets go of my hand.
“No problem.”
“Thanks, I’ll catch up with you.”
Is it weird that I already miss him as he walks away? Jakub slings an arm over his shoulder and says something that earns him a shove. Even that has my pulse racing. Whew, yeah. Clearly I need some “Concepts of Normality” in my life.
“Sorry to take you away from your date,” Logan says, drawing me back. “I didn’t realize you had a boyfriend.”
“It’s new,” I say. Wait, why is he staring after Christian like that?
“Where’s he from?”
“Slovakia.”
He nods. “The accent,” he says, as if I didn’t know why he asked.
“Yep. So Concepts of Normality.”
He clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair. “Right. Yeah.”
The longer we talk the more I suspect Logan didn’t have much of a crisis over this assignment. He certainly doesn’t need help from me. A strange flicker ignites in my stomach. I’d never thought of Logan that way, at least, never considered the possibility he could be interested in me. He’s very intelligent and super-cute with his curly dark hair that makes a girl think about what it’d be like to wrestle her fingers in it. I don’t know how many times I’ve seen his own fingers tangled in the mass during our joint classes. When he’s bored, concentrating, frustrated… okay so maybe there was a time when I’d thought about him that way. But that was before Christian, and if it took this long for even the smallest hint of interest, who knows how long an actual relationship would have taken to develop. It’s a stark contrast to the instant chemistry with the Slovak boy who barely speaks English. Speaking of…
“Okay, well you have my e-mail. Let me know if you need anything else,” I say, breaking away and starting toward the party.
“Sure yeah. Thanks. And uh, good luck with your boyfriend… I mean… Shit.” His hand moves clumsily through his hair.
“Thanks,” I say with a chuckle. There’s a person on the planet as awkward as I am? Who knew? With a wave, I continue on to the party.
Crowds of students gather around a giant bonfire, their faces both illuminated and obscured by the flames. It would’ve been hard to find my friends if we were in a well-lit classroom, let alone a hellfire-themed beach party. Most are only shadows, and the further I get from the fire, the guests become downright invisible. How do you pick out a pretty blonde girl and two Slovak lifeguards in the dark?
“Emma!”
Thank goodness. I turn and accept the embrace of Harper. “How’s Logan?”
“Fine,” I reply, mocking her unnecessary conspiratorial tone.
“You get everything worked out?”
“I did.” Are we going to emphasize random words all night? Jakub is clearly bored with our exchange already. Wait…
“Where’s Christian?” I ask.
Harper shrugs and glances around as if noticing his absence for the first time. “Not sure. Maybe he went to get a drink?”
Jakub hooks his arm around Harper. “He probably goes for a swim.” They laugh at that. Is it an inside joke? Because none of this is funny to me.
“I’m sure he’s fine.”
“I’m sure he is too,” I mutter. Not the point. I leave them to their exclusive universe and go in search of mine. I don’t see him at the snack tables, and another pass around the fire comes up empty. I pull out my phone and tap out a text, hoping he has his phone on him. A few seconds later, I get a response.
The pier.
Interesting. I hadn’t even seen one in my search.
I move down to the water’s edge, and sure enough, a long, straight shadow juts into the ocean several hundred yards away. He got all the way there in the few minutes since our arrival. He must have run. My heartrate picks up. He wasn’t at the bonfire so… he ran. Oh no.
I slip off my shoes and launch into my own jog toward the structure. The beach is dark and secluded along this strip of private homes. A small ember of fear starts to burn in the pit of my stomach. Right? Because this situation is pretty much ground zero in my serial killer scenario. What was Christian thinking?
He wasn’t. He was running.
The truth crashes down hard, and I find my legs increasing to a more urgent pace. Serial killers be damned. I’d like to see them try to stop me from getting to that pier right now.
I’m out of breath by the time I reach the entrance, and I’m sure I’m a mess from the sweat gathering at my temples and the extensive damage ocean climate does to hair like mine. Whatever. I forget all of that when I see a lone figure at the far edge of the pier, staring out over the water. When his gaze lifts up to the stars I know my run isn’t over.
He turns in surprise at the clapping of my feet on the boards, and my pace settles to a stop. His expression, so haunted, so bare—gosh, it’s breathtaking. My pulse, already racing from the run, starts cracking a loud rhythm in my ears. Or maybe that’s the electricity snapping from one troubled soul to another in the eerie silence. His stars shine above us, radiant from the darkness below. It’s funny isn’t it? How light requires dark? How its brilliance can only be appreciated from the shadows?
We say nothing as I approach and slip my arms around him to settle against his chest. Within seconds I feel his breathing slow and the tension start to release from his muscles. He rests his chin on my head as we huddle close, holding each other, allowing the stars to make everything okay.
“I don’t like fire,” he says finally. The pain in his tone burrows into me, and I squeeze tighter.
“I know.”
“I didn’t think…” He doesn’t finish, but I know the rest of that one too.
“I’d rather be here anyway.”
My hand moves over his back in a soothing gesture. How long have I been doing that? I don’t even know, just that I never knew someone else’s pain could hurt me more than my own. And suddenly…
“My father contacted us from prison. He wants to talk to me.”
No one is more surprised than I am to hear that sentence pour from my lips.
He pulls back slightly to study my face.
“Will you talk to him?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’ve been… different.”
I’d have to explain that to anyone else. Christian only nods and pulls me back to him again.
“If you talk to him, that is hard. If you don’t, it is also.”
Right.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can.”
“You can. It is hard. It will hurt but you can. We always can.”
Just sometimes we don’t—the part he doesn’t say but I know he gets more than anyone.
We separate enough to start moving
toward the railing of the pier. The water is strange in the dark. Waves reflect the moon’s light in flickering shadows over the surface. Is that what people like Christian and I look like from the heavens, trying to survive in the dark below? We’re little waves in a giant ocean, briefly drawing strength from a patch of light.
“Does Kenneth still have you working in the shed?”
He looks over, surprised, and maybe a little grateful for an easier topic.
“No. I am in chair again.”
“Yeah? Not ours, I guess,” I say with a laugh.
He returns my smile. “I think never again.”
“I think you’re right.”
His elbows rest on the railing as he leans over, and I move close enough to take his hand. We stand like that for a while, watching the dancing shadows below.
“Do you want to talk about the fire?” I ask.
“Do you want to talk about your father?” he returns with a smile.
I bump his shoulder with mine. “I will if you do.”
The amusement fades as his stare settles over the water again.
“How do you say fire in Slovak?” I ask.
He clenches his jaw, studying the waves. “Požiar.”
“How about sister?”
His glare snaps over to me. “Sestra.”
“And afraid?”
This time his shoulders sink and he turns back to the water. “Strach.”
I squeeze his hand, wanting so much to bring it to my lips. Instead, I lean against his shoulder and repeat the words to myself. Požiar. Sestra. Strach.
“Father is otec,” he says quietly, exploding the silence.
I swallow hard. “Otec. Strach,” I whisper.
“Odpustiť.”
High Tide Page 9