He stirred, and opened one eye. He said something unintelligible into the pillow, but then rolled over and sat up. “What are you doing?” he looked at her, wide-eyed, as if he thought she really was about to use the candle.
“Leaving. We’re leaving.” She straightened. “Come on, get up and get dressed. Quickly.”
“I don’t get it.” His voice was still thick with sleep.
“I’ll explain after we’ve left.”
He shook his head and began to rub at his eyes, mumbling something.
“What?”
“I said ‘no,’” he told her, though she was sure it had been more than that.
The candle teetered a little; her right hand was trembling again. She set the tray down on the nightstand, her fingers cramped from holding it so tightly. Liseli noted that Russ’s clothes were folded up on the stand. Good. She turned back to him. “Things aren’t right here. Trust me. We have to leave.”
“Liseli,” he sighed, peering up at her, “this is . . . you . . . beat . . . you’ve . . . it’s the middle of the night.”
“I—”
“Where are you going?” He lifted his arms out in a shrug which said there’s nowhere to go.
“Anywhere but here.” She rubbed her elbow absently, returning his shrug with one of her own, tilting her head to the side guiltily. Something had taken the go-get-’em mood and doused it with cold water, because when she tried to explain she stammered apologetically, “I know it’s dark, and a little cold out, but I . . . if you knew . . . I feel it’s . . . not strictly . . . you see there were dreams. I had nightmares.”
“Uh.” Russ flopped onto his back and put his hand to his temples, rocking his head back and forth. “I can’t believe you got up . . . came here . . . for this . . . do you . . . ohhhh—” Liseli interrupted him by tossing his blue jeans at him.
She crossed her arms as he sat up again. “Just put those on, and let’s get out of here.”
“Why?” He slapped the jeans against the bed. “Because you had dreams?”
“No! Because there is a . . . is a bad, bad vibe. Here.” She pointed to the floor. “And it was more like a ha-hallucination than a dream, really.”
“Vibes.” Russ’s voice was flat. “Look. Just tell me about the nightmares and I’m sure they won’t seem as—”
Liseli flung his shirt at him and retorted, “You can’t possibly understand, so just do as I say or you’ll . . . .” She drifted off.
He waited a moment, bunching his shirt up between his hands as he watched her face in the dim light. “What? Or I’ll get burnt?” his eyes shot meaningfully toward the candle before he threw the shirt aside.
“No! I don’t . . . know! You’ll be dead,” Liseli broke out, louder than she’d intended. She ducked her head, and added quietly, “I dreamed about you being dead. You and everyone.” She watched for his reaction.
“Oh.” Russ paused. The frown disappeared, and he smiled with a wobble, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. But dreams don’t mean anything. That’s not really gonna happen. Okay?” He reached out and touched her elbow. “Okay?”
“I . . . ” Liseli pressed her fingers against her temples. This is going badly. I don’t think you know what you’re doing, her other voice told her coolly. Liseli looked up at the ceiling; it was lost in the darkness, and the walls fell down from it in dim grayness. Russ’s hand was warm around her elbow; he was waiting for her response. “I . . . need . . . some fresh air,” she said, dropping her hand from her head. She stepped back and lowered her gaze to Russ briefly, but turned away before their eyes could meet. She hurried around the end of the bed and fumbled with the handles on the balcony doors, then left the doors swinging open behind her as she paced out into the chilly night air.
One deep breath made her feel better. Somewhere in the garden nocturnal flowers were blooming, and a scented breeze blew across the balcony, lifting the ends of her hair away. She crossed her arms and shivered, but walked all the way to the rail and looked down at the dark bushes and trees lining the walkways, lit pale in the moonlight. This is, by far, the stupidest thing you have ever done in your life.
She shook her head, taking another deep breath. The cold air made her shiver, but her mind cleared. The idea of leaving was absurd — good grief what had she been planning? Must not have been all the way awake. Just one stupid dream after another . . . . Well, at the very least it was good that she had gone to Russ first instead of stumbling down the stairs out into the streets of Elharan. Alone.
Liseli heard footsteps below. It was a quiet, cautious swish of someone trying to tread discreetly. Who could be out this time of night? She leaned over the rail, remembering the pain in her right wrist as she leaned on it. Now it felt as if she’d definitely just struck the heel of her palm against the floor while flailing out of bed. The hand gripping her had been nothing more than a vivid dream.
In a moment, she saw a woman — or girl? — come out from a tree-shaded portion of the path. Liseli squinted. All the Alisiyans looked so similar, but . . . was that Eliasha? Hmmm. Hm hm hm.
The figure halted. Her feet made a scraping noise. She hugged herself and lifted her face to the balcony. It was Eliasha. She looked Liseli straight in the eyes, but Liseli didn’t start or back up guiltily — she was too fascinated by the way the whites of Eliasha’s eyes seemed to glow with a silvery milky sheen. Even from up on the balcony, she saw them glittering starkly in the night. Her mouth fell open unconsciously.
Eliasha lowered her head and turned away, continuing on. She disappeared through the archway leading into the courtyard, and Liseli turned away, pondering. She heard a slight rattle from the glass doors and saw Russ emerge from the room. He’d put on his jeans and shirt, though he seemed reluctant to commit to buttoning it up, having only fastened two in the middle. He stood in the doorway fiddling absently with another button.
Liseli stepped away from the rail, but didn’t say anything. How odd that Eliasha was walking around the garden at night. And why had she stopped and looked up at the balcony outside of Russ’s room? Maybe she’d sensed Liseli watching her . . . or maybe she’d been contemplating climbing the stairs? Opening the glass doors? Hm. Liseli slowly walked sideways over to a bench, watching Russ. She cocked her head to the side and sat down, looking at him as if to say, Well? Hmm? She almost said, “I just saw your little friend . . . .”
But she didn’t.
Chapter 12 ~ Lavender’s Blue, part 3
Russ walked across the balcony on bare feet. He sat down next to her and asked, “You alright?”
“Yeah.” Liseli shrugged, looking down at her lap as she rubbed her arms. “Forget everything I said. I think I was sleepwalking.”
“Oh. S’okay.” Russ paused, and scratched his head. “You wanna tell me about your, uh, dream?”
“No.” Liseli shook her head. “I’d rather just forget them.”
“Sure? Might make you feel better.”
She smiled. “I doubt that.”
“They never seem as bad when you say ’em out loud.”
“I don’t want to think about it,” she assured him.
“Alright,” he stared at her sidelong, doubtfully. She stared back at him. His hair was a cockeyed mess around his face. The moonlight made his face whiter and cast dark shadows around his eyes. Unwillingly her mind crept back to her dream.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, s’alright, you don’t have to tell me about ’em if you don’t want to.” Russ shrugged, looking down at his hands as he rested them on the bench.
“I meant . . . about this afternoon.” Liseli reached out and touched the top of his right hand.
“Oh that.” He met her eyes. “It’s no big deal.”
“It was. I didn’t mean to hit you.”
He smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “It’s okay, didn’t really hurt.” He darted his eyes to the side and blinked before looking at her again.
“I still hit you, and I shouldn’t have. I wish I co
uld take it back.” She brushed her fingers against his face, watching his eyes. He held his breath. “Here,” she put both hands on his shoulders and leaned forward, kissing his left cheek, lingering for moment before sitting back.
He’d shut his eyes, and didn’t open them again for a moment, then stared ahead. “Liseli . . . .” He reached out to touch her leg, but stopped. “What do you want . . . from me? I mean, really.”
She hesitated. She hadn’t expected such a lukewarm reaction. And she didn’t want to answer that question; she didn’t always know how to answer that question. Sometimes she wanted nothing but for him to leave her alone forever, and there were times when she wanted just the opposite. That was now. “What do you think?” she asked.
“I dunno what to think.” He drummed his fingers on his kneecaps, looking at the ground.
“Look at me.”
His drumming stopped, and he looked.
“I don’t want to go back to my room tonight,” she said, picking her words slowly. She thought about the woman, and the maggots, and the dreams of death. “I can’t sleep there. I can’t . . . sleep . . . alone . . . tonight.” She thought she’d made it painfully clear. But just in case he missed it, she slowly undid the buttons on his shirt as she spoke, then leaned forward and kissed his chest.
He didn’t say anything, but she felt his hands brushing her hair, fingers touching her neck before running down her arms. She looked up, and he tried to speak, but she silenced him with a kiss. She didn’t want to hear no, she didn’t need to hear yes, and she didn’t want to change her mind.
Liseli took Russ by the hand and got up from the bench, pulling him after her across the balcony. He followed more than willingly, and she felt a flutter of fear at what she was doing. She didn’t know what she was going to do, she didn’t have any practice. Oh she knew exactly what sex was, but it was something she’d only read about or seen edited versions of in TV and movies. She’d never even watched porn, for God’s sakes.
They went inside and Russ dropped her hand, turning to pull the doors shut. The room felt tiny and claustrophobic all of a sudden.
“Leave them open,” she said, touching his elbow. “I need the air.”
He turned back to her and they kissed, a little nervously . . . after all it was what, the second time they’d even ever kissed? She’d put the brakes on, the first time, but there were no brakes now. Russ pulled her close and began to kiss her throat and neck, and she could feel him stiffening against her.
On impulse, she stuck her hand down his pants. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, so she immediately found what she was looking for. Russ uttered a sharp groan of pleasure as she circled her hand around him. He gripped the back of her neck with one hand. With the other, he reached down to unzip his jeans. They fell to the floor and he covered her hand with his own, pressing down, sliding it down the length, then pulling it up again. He’d stopped kissing her, and just rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed, as if the intensity of the whole situation was almost too much.
Liseli began to fear he might come before they’d had a chance to actually have sex — and this was distressing because she felt her own sense of throbbing urgency, down there, telling her to get on with it. Now.
“Russ,” she said, and he opened his eyes. “Let’s get in bed.”
“Okay.” He let go of her hand, and she let go of him. He moved away, looking a little embarrassed, and Liseli quickly started struggling out of her clothes. She cursed the fear that had made her knot up her nightgown and button every last button her shirt, because her hands were shaking now and that made it hard to undo everything.
Russ didn’t have much left to take off, and was in bed before her. He covered himself up with the blankets, as if suddenly self conscious about letting her see what they’d both been stroking just a moment ago. He stared at her, though, as she shrugged out of her shirt and pulled the nightgown up over her head. She met his eyes briefly before reaching back to unhook her bra. His expression was hungry — starving, even — but he didn’t say anything. She bent over and pulled off her pants, then crawled under the covers with him.
They wrapped their arms around each other, pressing together, but didn’t do anything else for a few moments. She could feel his heart pounding, a mirror of her rapid beat — fear and excitement and uncertainty all working in overdrive.
Finally Russ rolled on top of her and pushed her down into the pillows. He reached down, searching for the right place with his hands, and she helped him as best she could, spreading her legs. She found herself eye level with his armpit, and noted, inanely, that it was the same untamed black as the hair on his head.
He was worried about crushing her; she could tell because he asked, nervously, “Am I hurting you?”
“I’m fine,” she said, impatiently pulling him down toward her, lifting to meet him.
“Ummm,” he, maddeningly, resisted. “I’d feel better if—”
“If what?”
“You were on top.”
“You’re not crushing me. I’m alright.” She drew her foot up the back of his leg, hoping he’d forget his reservations.
He shook his head. “Still.”
“Fine.”
He rolled back, and she climbed on top. It only took a moment to lower herself onto him, and she felt a heady mix of pain and pleasure as she went all the way down. A half cry, half gasp escaped her. Russ seemed worried by it, but he couldn’t pull out in some kind of misguided attempt to save her pain. She was glad now that she was on top.
He looked incredibly serious as he gazed up at her, gripping her forearms with both hands. She held his arms, also, holding herself upright. She wasn’t sure what to do next. Wiggle around? Bounce up and down? Rock back and forth? The last seemed the least undignified (though really there was nothing dignified about her current position, skewered on him with her breasts dangling over his face) so she moved forward experimentally.
The initial pain of penetration was numbing a bit, and it felt good to move. She slid back and forth a couple times, and Russ closed his eyes, again, with a sigh as if the pleasure was just too great. He moved his hands from her arms to her breasts, and she pushed herself against them, bucking her pelvis with more urgency. The less she allowed herself to think the more the urgency intensified, until she felt just on the edge of an explosion.
Russ opened his eyes, and a made a strange, awkward grunt. His eyes bugged out as if he was trying to hold something in — then she felt him come inside her. And that ended it. He let go of her and she slipped to the side, falling back onto the pillows. She wondered if she’d almost had an orgasm, or if the building fire was the orgasm — she really didn’t know how it was supposed to feel.
They were both still for a few moments, then Russ turned over on his side and put his arms around her. Neither of them said anything, and some time passed in silence. Liseli felt unexpectedly at peace — she would have thought she’d feel more turmoil and regret after the loss of virginity, especially to one she’d always felt so ambivalent about. But she’d liked it. She liked him. She was already thinking about how to do it next time, so she’d be sure to know if she’d come, or not.
She didn’t know what Russ was thinking; perhaps he’d fallen asleep. But just as she though that, he stirred.
“You’re killing me,” he whispered against her cheek, and she blinked, wondering what that was supposed to mean. It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. The suggestion of death reminded her sickly of the nightmares that had driven her to him, and she shook her head.
I love you, she wanted to say, but swallowed it impulsively. Love meant thinking beyond tonight and she didn’t want to. I do love you, right now, she mouthed against his skin, before saying, “I . . . liked that.” It didn’t seem the same. She wanted to say more but didn’t know how.
But he smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”
She curled her legs up and turned her face into his neck, shutting her eyes. The nightmares couldn’t reach
her here, with him, she thought as she drifted under the tide of sleep. She thought how comfortable it was in his arms; her last thought before falling into dreamless sleep.
* * *
Russ lay awake a little while longer, listening to her breathe, feeling the faint rise of her chest with each inhale and the brush of warmth on his neck as she let it out again. He had been dreaming, just before she came to him, dreaming about her. In that dream, he had locked her in a small room, and he remembered it as she slept in his arms; every moment was as vivid as if it had actually happened.
The room was square and dimly lit, the floor and walls wooden. They were both naked, and he tried to kiss her. She shoved him away and slapped him. He fell back against a wall and she began to pummel his head and neck, making no sound. Her face was livid with anger. He slid down to the floor, the rough wood sending splinters into his bare skin. She continued to hit him, scratching his chest open and kicking him in the groin. Over and over. He didn’t fight back or try to shield himself, but lay on the floor looking up at her as his blood splashed across her breasts and dripped from her nipples.
Her hair hung long and loose around her shoulders, and the ends brushed his body as she leaned over him. Her hands continued to slash and strike, but her hair caressed him. “Please,” he reached out and touched her knee, “kiss me.”
She stopped, and took her hands away. She gathered up her hair and pushed it back from her face, and then she wasn’t Liseli anymore. She had sleek black hair cascading down her back, and a beautiful long body that gleamed white and clean over him. For the first time he felt terrified. She bent down and was going to kiss him . . . .
But instead, she spoke, in Liseli’s voice: “Russ, wake up.” He stared at her. She hit his shoulder and repeated, “Wake up!” Her face wavered and disappeared, but Liseli’s voice continued, and he felt her hand on his shoulder still, shaking him.
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