Munroe and Stanka

by Daniela Jackson

  I attempt to feed her, but she throws up each time she smells the food so I give her only water. She looks like a corpse and I’ve never been so scared in my life, not even on the battlefields of Europe.

  I guard her like a dog for three more hours. The boat is drifting through two minor storms as my princess’s condition deteriorates even more. I feel so helpless I want to kill. Finally, we reach our destination. I support Stanka’s staggering body as we step onto dry land in Dover.

  Stanka looks up at the sky. Her face turns corpse white and she faints.

  Stanka

  A husky, concerned voice shakes me out of my oblivion.

  “Water,” I rasp.

  Somebody’s arm lifts me to a sitting position and I feel the edge of a glass at my mouth.

  “Drink, princess.”

  The refreshing coldness trickles down my gullet as the scent of seaweed brings calm to my soul. My eyes travel to the window ajar and I see a white wall of cliffs. I turn my head and meet Munroe’s glance.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “In the hotel room.”

  “Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “You’re not very heavy.” He kisses my forehead. “Eat something and have a bath.”

  My nostrils fish the smell of fresh bread and lavender as Munroe rises from the bed I’m sitting on.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “I will be back soon.”

  “Are you going to visit another woman?”

  “I said I hadn’t had any woman, except you.”

  “Liar.”

  “I’ve never lied to you.” He bows his head at me and walks off.

  I want to scream.

  The water in the portable bathtub by the opposite wall tempts me so I strip and immerse myself into the pleasant heat. Then I eat two slices of bread and drink a cup of tea.

  My rationality whispers he should have another woman. It would be better this way. I have to reunite with my family and forget about him. Everything I learnt in my old life before the war clashes with the new knowledge I’ve gained travelling with Munroe, creating devastation inside my head.

  The passion we’ve shared is too consuming, too unnatural, too wild. I wasn’t born to crave such passion.

  I was born to look modest and to behave like a modest woman.

  I can’t be Munroe’s wife because it would mean becoming a shameless whore, desiring all the filthy things he can do to me.

  I wasn’t born to have such desires.

  I will never allow him to touch me again, to ignite the fire in me I can’t extinguish.

  I can’t allow myself to love him. His life is not for me. He’s a gangster. I’m a lady.

  But most of all I have to join my family. It’s my duty and I should fulfil it. I’m not allowed to choose for myself. I’m not allowed to have opinions. I’m not allowed to love without permission. I’m not allowed to love a man at all.

  A malicious voice in my head whispers that I’m lying to myself.

  I sit in a worn out chair and stare out the window, waiting for Munroe, but he doesn’t come back. Minute after minute, more and more panic gathers in my stomach and travels up to my throat.

  He didn’t like what we did. Or he liked it, but not enough to crave more. I start pacing around the room and look through the window, sweeping my eyes over the basic road covered with mud. Many ruts stretch and cross like snakes, dying behind a hill.

  Is Munroe going to come back to me?

  I can’t breathe without him. And I can’t breathe when he’s close to me. Each is a torment. Only his body slapping against mine can give me relief. But then it will give me more pain.

  Munroe

  As I walk into the room, I see Stanka standing by the window that’s wide open. Her back is turned towards me.

  The wind ruffles her dress as the flowery curtain rustles.

  “Princess,” I say, but she doesn’t react.

  I move closer to her and kiss the nape of her neck. She shivers at my touch, sways like a branch moved by a summer breeze. Gasps like a startled animal.

  “Princess,” I repeat. “Will you marry me?” I take out a ring from the back pocket of my trousers and hold it in front of her eyes.

  I bought it like a decent man. Well, the money came from theft, but it’s a profession like any other.

  “I can’t.” She sounds like the rustling sound made by the wind waving the curtains in a ghost castle.

  “I love you.”

  “I can’t love you.”

  “Bullshit. You can love me. You can be a wife to me.”

  “No.”

  “No?” I shove my hand between her thighs as my fingers slide under her underwear and taste her drenched cunt. “Why are you lying to yourself?”

  “This is not who I am.”

  “Oh really?” I push my little finger into her cunt, and she rubs her ass against my erection. “I know who you are. You’re mine. My whore and my wife, do you understand?” I shove the ring onto her finger then gather up her dress and spread her feet as she leans slightly forward.

  “Marry me,” I demand.

  “Nie.”

  It’s fucking funny, that stubbornness of hers and the chains tying her to her kind. Yet, her ass is rubbing against my hardness, demanding to fill it.

  “I don’t want it like this,” I say. “I want all of you, princess.”

  “Just one more time,” she hums.

  I want to shake her, but then a desperate need to be inside her seizes my mind and body. Just one more time, like she said. After that? I fucking don’t know.

  She is brave. Brave enough to travel through Europe with a stranger. I just want her to be brave enough to change who she is, to choose freedom, to live differently. To dare love me as much as I love her.

  I open my trousers and push my finger into her tight hole, stretching it for my aching cock then rip her panties off her.

  Stanka moans and starts massaging her clitoris with her fingers. I push her back down so her forearm rests against the windowsill and she lays her cheek on her wrist, giving me access to her lush ass.

  I glide my palm over her round ass cheek, working her tight hole in circles. Then I lube my cock with saliva and line it up with her tight entrance.

  I push my cock into my princess’s ass and bury the head inside her. Stanka gasps and groans as I open the front of her dress and squeeze her breast. My hips move and I go deeper. And deeper. My balls slam on her ass and I twist her nipple, forcing a whimper from her mouth.

  “You like it, don’t you?” I rasp, fucking her slowly, her heat so deliriously tight around me.

  “I do,” she hums.

  I grip her hips, holding her in place for me, and fuck her until she thrashes in satisfaction and I moan my ecstasy just after her. I wrench in my orgasm with three more thrusts and pull her into my arms. We strip, wash ourselves with the water from the bowl then collapse onto the bed and our bodies entangle.

  Stanka

  The smell of his light sweat engulfs me like a blanket, so masculine. Mine. His hot mouth wanders on my neck. His teeth scratch my skin gently, sending a tingle across my skin. His fingers travel to my folds, spread them and search for my sensitive point, giving me more pleasure.

  “Are you really a gangster?” I ask.

  Munroe kisses my lips. “I was before the war. I told you. Are you scared of me?”

  “No,” I say.

  The aura of danger around him excites me. Makes me want him even more. How did that happen?

  Am I a wanton woman? Is this who I really am?

  Our glances collide and the warmth in his makes my heart ache.

  I spread my folded legs wider for him and he massages my nub with more pressure, expertly, giving me another violent release. His eyes burn like the fires in the deepest abyss of hell and I crave his wild love like never before. I want to incinerate in his desire for me over and over again. Until my days come to an end.

  I bury my
face into his unshaven neck and drop off to sleep.

  Munroe

  When I wake up, Stanka is not beside me.

  The receptionist tells me that my princess left the hotel two hours earlier. I look for her for two hours then sit on the shelf protruding from the cliff, a dangerous observation post, and I watch the sunset as it illuminates the grey sea waves. A cold breeze bites my cheeks but the anger inside me makes the blood in my veins burn.

  The war hasn’t taught her anything. It should have taught her to catch happiness in life and not to hesitate, to love, to dare do extraordinary things.

  I don’t want a stupid wife so fuck her. Aye. Fuck all the aristocratic cowardly women.

  Maybe I’ll go to America. Nobody’s waiting for me in Edinburgh. The old couple who owned the apartment I rented will have probably died by now. My parents died many years ago and the street raised me. The boys won’t return; they’re all dead so nothing’s really keeping me in Edinburgh.

  Then something stiffens inside me.

  “You will be my wife,” I say to myself. “You will come to me.”

  I will find her. I will wait for her to make the right decision. I’m a patient man.

  I don’t know whether I’m more scared about her or more mad with her.

  She’s young, lost, has gone through hell. She needs me to protect her and to guide her. To love her.

  I rise to my feet, clamber onto the cliff, and go to the hotel room to gather up my belongings. Then I aim for Edinburgh.

  Stanka

  I am lucky. I met this old man after Devon county started to blur behind me. He’s almost blind, wrinkled like a dried apple, humble and quiet.

  And he’s heading towards Scotland.

  The wagon sways on the basic road as the rattle of the wheels lulls me to sleep. Rain wakes me up. The sky is crying like my soul.

  I’m farther and farther away from Munroe and the wound on my heart burns more and more.

  He’s a fucking gangster. He will sell me to others like him the moment he gets bored with me. Or he’ll kill me.

  Why do I want to turn back and fall into his arms? Why do I want to surrender to his dirty love for me? To his dirty touch?

  Am I his favourite whore?

  He said he’d be faithful to me. A gangster faithful to a woman? No way. That’s a fairy tale.

  Yet, I fight my urge to give that dangerous criminal the whole of me.

  A lorry passes us in the opposite direction and the horse snorts. A group of people follows, their accents rough, voices loud.

  The roar of an engine startles me and I cock my head up, watching a bike approaching. As I recognise Munroe, I crawl towards the front of the wagon and hide under a dirty blanket. That man must have a sixth sense or what? Or destiny has just decided to strip me of a good luck. How is it even possible?

  The bike passes the wagon and I exhale with relief. Munroe hasn’t noticed me.

  A painful thought stabs my brain. That man never gives up. He doesn’t want to give up on me. I’m loved. Loved by a crude gangster.

  I bury my head under my arms and curl into a ball.

  The wagon stops abruptly as my body is thrown forward and back. The horse’s hoofs hit the ground. Someone clambers onto the wagon and tears the blanket off me.

  I raise my head. “Munroe, I can explain—“

  “Get yer noble ass out of this wagon,” he says in a threatening voice. “Now.”

  The anger in his eyes urges me to obey him so I crawl off the wagon and stand on the margin of the road.

  “Get on the bike,” Munroe says.

  I jump onto the bike and he watches me with fury.

  “I said I’d take you to Edinburgh,” he says through gritted teeth. “Remember?”

  “I thought—“

  “Maybe you shouldn’t think too much.”

  That insult feels like someone has punched me in the face, but I don’t comment.

  His face doesn’t betray any emotions as he watches me for a moment. I look for any signs of his feelings for me, but there is nothing. Just the coldness in his glance that rips my heart apart.

  Chapter 10

  Stanka

  We travel with a mortal silence creating a wall of ice between us. I realise that I still have the ring on. It’s beautiful. Probably stolen. Nobody is perfect, I guess.

  At first, I want to remove it from my finger but then I decide to keep it for a bit longer. I’m bathing in an illusion. In my illusion, Munroe is a loving husband to me and we’re happy.

  We camp in the woods where pine trees encircle a small clearing and we sleep opposite each other, separated by the fire.

  The next day, we reach the outskirts of Edinburgh.

  Munroe parks his bike in front of a three-storey house surrounded by a perfectly maintained garden. The German bombers must have missed the building unlike all the houses we have passed on our way here. My distant family must be some chosen beings, maybe they’re protected by angels or other mysterious forces so their house has remained intact.

  “As promised, princess.”

  Pain stabs my heart. “Time to say our goodbyes.” I jump off the bike.

  Munroe grabs my arm. “I will wait here every evening. I will wait, Stanka. You will come to me, do you understand?”

  “Never,” I step back and my fingers roll into fists.

  It’s the end of our journey and we have to forget what happened between us. I’m a pure aristocrat and he’s a pure criminal. Like I said-irreconcilable differences. The end of our story.

  “You will be my wife, Stanka.”

  “Never.”

  I back up, tears rolling down my cheeks. I squeeze myself through the metal gate, climb the stairs leading to a double ornate door and knock on it.

  A young maid opens the door for me. I look over my shoulder to see Munroe disappearing round the corner of the garden.

  “My name is Stanka Natalia Tesarik,” I say as my throat tightens.

  Munroe

  I stop and freeze then I take a cigarette out of my pocket and smoke it.

  She’s not one of them. Not anymore. Not after she met me, tasted me, got to know me. She won’t like it there.

  She’ll come to me.

  I’ll be waiting for her every evening and she’ll come to me. She was born to be my wife and share an exciting life with me. She loves that sprinkle of danger I’m giving her and I love that purity of hers soothing me, that joy she’s giving me. We’re a good match.

  I throw the cigarette onto the ground and rev up the engine then shoot towards my place, unsure whether it’s still standing.

  Heaviness presses against my chest as I park the bike at the back of the crumbling building accommodating Mr Brown’s bakery and my apartment. The building seems to be untouched by the bombings that devastated other parts of the city, like a monument symbolising survival. The smoke from the chimney invades my nostrils mixing with the aroma of fresh bread. Bringing a sense of nostalgia to my mind.

  I jump off the bike and stride towards the front door of the bakery, pushing it open. Walking in, I breathe in my childhood memories. Mr Brown freezes behind the counter at the sight of me. His wife emerges from the narrow passage connecting the shop and their house and squeals like a young girl even though she’s seventy years old.

  “Munroe!” Rose exclaims and rushes towards me with her arms outspread.

  Her soft curvy body first bounces off mine then she presses her chest against mine as I lower my head and kiss both her round red cheeks. The flour from her apron marks my jacket with thin smudges.

  Dave growls and bends under the counter, joining us. He hugs me and slaps me on the back.

  “Lang time nae see,” Dave says as his pale green eyes fill up with tears and he strokes his red beard.

  “Lang time nae see,” I say. “Good ye’re still alive, ye old git.”

  “Tell me,” Dave starts, but Rose shakes her head and looks at him sternly.

  He drops his head a
s his dry old body shivers.

  “He’s back in one piece and hungry,” Rose says and strokes my arm, then grabs my wrist and pulls me behind her. “That’s all ye need to know, Dave.” She strokes my cheek. “Come, handsome boy, I have to feed ye.”

  I follow Rose to her kitchen and drop into the worn out chair as she offers me a bowl of water to wash my hands and puts food and drinks on the table.

  Dave joins us and settles himself opposite me.

  “Nobody has returned, except ye,” he says.

  “Aye, only me,” I say.

  Dave nods several times as a sacred silence layers the kitchen.

  “What are ye going to do now?” Dave asks.

  “I’m going to wait for my wife,” I say.

  Rose lays her swollen red hand on my shoulder. “Yer wife?”

  I bite into a slice of bread and wash it with ale. “My wife, but she hasn’t decided to be a proper wife to me yet.”

  Rose’s eyebrows raise a notch.

  “She loves me,” I say. “But she hasn’t realised it yet.”

  Dave erupts into laughter. “Ye’ve always been an eccentric, Munroe.”

  “Who is she?” Rose asks and strokes my hair.

  “She’s a Slovakian aristocrat,” I say. “The Krizs’ distant relative.”

  Dave whistles. “Good Lord.”

  “An aristocrat?” Rose pats my shoulder.

  “An aristocrat with the most beautiful cunt I’ve ever seen,” I say as my hosts erupt into laughter.

  I eat, drink, and tell them about the war. Then I climb the narrow stairwell and enter my apartment. Dust fills my nostrils and the scent of damp makes me wince in disgust. I remove a few cobwebs from the cracked walls and fall onto my metal-framed bed.

  I shouldn’t have allowed her to leave me.

  She is mine not theirs. She is my wife. I just have to drag her out of the Krizs’ house and then drag her to the nearest church so we can be pronounced husband and wife officially. She only has to keep quiet about her pagan beliefs. All the Slovakian people I’ve met were Protestants. Pagans, I mean. Stanka will have to convert, that’s all. As my plan on our future together turns into absolute clarity in my head, I exhale and calm fills me. I know what to do. Nothing and nobody will stop me from claiming my princess.