When I head back into the dressing room to try and squirm out of the dress, Seth grabs me by the arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks. “I’m not letting you out of that dress for the rest of the day. Besides, you’ll be late for your next appointment.” He winks at me, and starts leading me to the door.
He drives me to a beauty salon, where three women surround me. After an hour of hairpins and what had to have been three cans of hair spray, and globs of concealer on my bruise, we head to dinner.
The restaurant is dimly lit, but even in the darkness I can see that the walls are all covered in dark wood and mirrors. The tables have crisp white tablecloths, crystal goblets and more polished silver utensils than one person could ever possibly need for one meal.
I should feel like Cinderella on her way to the ball, but instead I feel used. Being all glammed up like this is just not me and I can’t help but feel sad that after two years together Seth doesn’t seem to know this about me.
We’re finally seated at a large table in the corner and I feel a bit more relaxed, tucked in discretely at the back of the room. I pick up the large menu in front of me, intimidated by its elegant font. When I open it, I’m speechless. The entire menu is in French. I lower my menu and glare at Seth.
“It’s in French,” I hiss.
“Oui,” he smiles, bringing his menu back over his eyes.
“I don’t speak French, let alone read it!”
“But I do,” he says simply.
Aggravated, I close my menu sharply and cross my arms. The waiter comes to take our drink orders. I search the menu frantically for something that looks like it could be iced tea when Seth shocks me.
Casually, he puts down his menu and picks up the wine list and asks for a bottle of wine. I wait for the waiter to laugh or at the very least card him, but all he says is, “Very good, sir.”
I watch with my mouth wide open as the waiter walks away.
“What?” Seth asks, innocently.
I lean across the table.
“We’re minors,” I whisper.
“Not tonight,” he smiles.
Chapter 9
Etash
The hour-plus drive to Grams' nursing home passes in a daze Saturday morning. The songs on the radio are doing little to erase my thoughts of being allowed to hold Naya's hand last night.
When I get inside, I’m told that Grams is finishing her breakfast and will be ready shortly. To pass the time, I pour myself a cup of coffee in the lobby, surprised by how I'm actually starting to enjoy its bitterness.
Sitting in a cream high-back chair, I flip through their collection of AARP magazines a few times before counting the beige carpet squares that cover the home's floors. The squares, I'm told, are not only cheaper, but more practical in a place where 'accidents' are known to occur. I’ve gotten up to 120 stain-free squares when Nurse Morgan tells me I can see Grams now.
Making my way up the old oak stairwell, I run my hand against the smooth, well-loved banister. Every time I come here, I can't help but think about this banister and how many hands have run up and down it.
The building is an old, renovated farm house from the 1800s. The love that has gone into fixing it up after all the years of disrepair is something that never fails to touch my heart. Visiting Grams here has always been like visiting an old friend.
“Anyone home?” I ask, tapping on her door.
“Etash! Come, come,” she says, waving me inside. Even though she’s in a nursing home with dementia setting in, no one seems to have told her about it. She is fully decked out in traditional Middle Eastern garb, a look she has had since the day she came to live with us from India, never caring in the least how much she stood out in our forced Americanized family. Long, gold earrings dangle delicately from each of her ears, their small diamonds winking hello to me as they dance in the morning sunlight.
“You look beautiful Grams,” I say giving her a big bear hug. She’s so shriveled with age that I am able to lift her off the floor easily with my embrace. After I've set her down, she gestures to the sitting area that overlooks her gorgeous view of the mountains. Even though it's early October, the trees are still positively bursting with color, making it look like the tips of the trees have been kissed with fire.
We sit in silence, as we have done for years, just soaking in each other’s energies. She’s having a good day; I can feel it. I’m trying to work out how to bring up Naya, when she beats me to it.
“You find her, yes?” She looks at me, takes my hand, waiting for the answer she’s already figured out.
Although I try to stop it, a smile creeps across my lips.
“I knew you would!” She pats my hand and beams at me, and my face crumples.
“Grams, she has a boyfriend,” I say, confessing my deepest pain. She squeezes my hand and closes her eyes. She is silent so long that I think she may have fallen asleep. But then she takes a deep breath.
“He no right for her.” Her eyes open and her smile returns. “She will see. You will help her see.”
Shaken by what she clearly thinks was one of her 'visions,' I stand and walk to the window, looking up at the clouds for answers.
“I know he’s not right for her and I’ve only met him a few times.” I pause, scared of what I’m about to say. “Grams, I hate this guy. Like, I want to rip-his-head-off hate. Why do I feel like this?”
Grams just smiles at me. “This girl, she is your twin flame. Not his. Of course there is hate.”
“Grams,” I sigh, “I’m not sure I believe in any of this…I mean, it’s just too out there, you know?” I rest my head on the window frame.
She surprises me by laughing. “Does not matter if you believe, Etash. Your soul found hers. No matter you believe or no.”
“What does that even mean?” I’m taken off guard by how angry I sound.
She doesn’t seem offended by my outburst in the least. In fact, she almost seems to expect it.
“Etash, come sit.”
Reluctantly, I go back and sit next to her.
“Twin Flames are rare things,” she says. “Many claim to have found their twin, but it is not so. Only small handful exist,” she says cupping her hand for emphasis. “Twins are bound together for all of eternity. Even after death.”
I snort. “That's impossible, Grams. They're dead,” I sigh. Poor Grams, I think, collapsing into the chair beside her again.
But she continues on, wagging her finger at me. “Not impossible! When Twin souls are ripped apart by death, they will spend their days searching for the other.”
“But they're dead, Grams.”
“No matter. Their souls enter new bodies!” She says as though that were the most obvious thing in the world.
After a minute, she takes my hand. “You can no control this, Etash. It will control you. You will obtain her. No matter boyfriend.” She pats my hand once as if that should be the end of the discussion.
“Grams,” I sigh.
“No matter boyfriend!” she repeats with an anger I've never heard before.
She looks at me. Her eyes are tired, and even though she’s only been awake for a few hours, I know how life takes a toll on her aged body and I have certainly not helped things by arguing with her.
“I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.”
“She is your destiny, Etash. You can no hide from her.” She smiles. “She will only find you if you try.”
Naya
I fiddle nervously with my napkin as we wait for our wine to arrive. For as long as I have known Seth, he has never been much of a drinker. At least he wasn’t before he started college; now he seems to be turning it into a nightly ritual. I'm not worried really, just a little…what? Disappointed?
“Don’t freak out, Naya; I won’t order you anything gross,” he grins at me from across the table.
Forcing a smile, I pick up the menu again.
“I don’t suppose they have mac and cheese?” I ask.
He
frowns at me. “No, probably not.”
The waiter appears with our bottle of wine and hands Seth the cork. Taking it, he inhales the bottom of it swiftly and nods. The waiter then pours a small amount of the wine in Seth’s glass only. He cradles the glass gently in his hand and swirls it around in his glass a few times, looking at it in the light. Then he places his nose so far into the glass I think for a moment he's trying to drink it through his nostrils, but he stops just short of that and inhales deeply. He closes his eyes before finally taking one small sip, gently swishing the wine in his mouth before he actually swallows it.
I watch his elaborate performance with absolute wonder. After a moment of seemingly deep thought, Seth nods again to the waiter, who promptly fills both of our glasses, deposits the bottle on the table, and leaves.
Seth raises his glass for a toast, but I just stare at him.
“What?” he asks, clearly impressed with himself.
“Do you mind telling me how you know how to do that?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “My dad. They do that at the Country Club all the time.”
Oh, yes, the Country Club. I often forget that Seth comes from money, since he so rarely flaunts it, unlike tonight.
His dad and I have only met a handful of times, and I have to admit, the times we did, he scared the hell out of me. He's a large man with a voice like sandpaper. He's also a retired Drill Sergeant who still loved to give orders, particularly to his wife and son. Orders, as far as I had observed, were always followed.
I still remember the first time I met his father last Thanksgiving. Nervous beyond belief, I sat in his father’s den waiting for him and Seth to come back from hunting while carrying on 'small talk' with his painfully thin and frail looking mother. She told me that hunting on Thanksgiving morning was a family tradition. The two of them would wake at the crack of dawn and wouldn’t return until they had 'made a kill.'
His mother seemed slightly upset by her husband's stubbornness, but it was clear from her demeanor that she had never once spoken up for herself. She rattled on that some years they only brought home a rabbit, or worse, a squirrel, but most years they were able to boast taking down a deer. She confessed quietly that she was in charge of gutting and cleaning whatever kill they brought home.
I can still recall the vacant look in her eyes when she described slicing open a deer that turned out to be pregnant.
“A toast to us, two years together and still going strong,” Seth says, pulling me back from his mother's frozen eyes.
He takes a large gulp of his wine. “I got you a little something,” he smiles. He reaches into the inside of his coat pocket and pulls out a small black box.
“Seth, you didn’t need to get me anything,” I gasp, relieved that the size of the box is too long and narrow to hold a ring.
“But I did. That dress is seriously lacking something.” He opens the box for me and I hold my breath. Inside is a delicate string of pearls.
“Wow. Are those real?”
Seth laughs at me. “Of course they’re real. Here, let me put them on you.”
Getting up from the table he comes behind me and slinks his hands across my shoulders. He lowers his face to the nape of my neck as he fastens the clasp and inhales deeply, just as purposefully as he had with the wine.
“God, you smell good.” He brushes his lips on my ear and licks his tongue inside it. I blush crimson at his overt public display of affection.
Mercifully, our waiter arrives forcing Seth to take his seat. A sly grin is stuck on his face and it makes me shiver.
Two bottles of wine and a brandy later, he pays the bill then ushers me clumsily out to the car. I don't want him behind the wheel, but I know better than to volunteer to drive.
Once in the car, I fasten my seatbelt, close my eyes tight and pray, hoping that God wouldn't be cruel enough to kill me the same way as He killed my parents.
After several nerve-wracking minutes, I know we are safe. I can feel the car heaving against the campus’ speed bumps, but I'm still too nervous to open my eyes. A few more bumps and we’d be safely back at my dorm. I'm surprised when the car stops sooner than it should have.
Opening my eyes, I take a quick look out the window, which confirmed we were on campus, but not in my dorm's parking lot. From the looks of it, we're in the upper lot used mostly by commuters, just behind the theatre. It's all but abandoned this late at night.
“Why are we parked here?”
Seth pulls the keys out of the ignition and loosens his tie. A huge grin spreads across his face.
“We’re parked here because your stupid dorm won’t let me into your room this late. But mostly we’re parked here because it’s dark and quiet so I can do this.” He slides himself over to me, crashing his lips awkwardly onto mine.
His hands move frantically around my neck and down the side of my dress, tugging at the seams hungrily. He pushes my body down further into the seat, crushing me with his weight. I can taste the brandy on his breath as his tongue traces the inside of my mouth. I try to sit up to catch my breath, but his arms worm around me, pinning me in place. He moans quietly between kisses, which are growing more and more urgent.
Pulling his lips off mine, he starts to run his tongue along my neck.
“Seth…,” I begin, trying to push him off. Misconstruing my protest as a sigh of passion, he smothers me again with his mouth and pulls his full weight on top of me. Gasping for air, I struggle to break free of his grip against my arms, but he is too strong. I try to speak, but his mouth refuses to leave mine so all that comes out is a garbled moan.
Using every last ounce of strength I have, I push against his chest just enough to roll out from under him, only to fall off the seat.
“Ugh!” I shout, as I feel something sharp and metallic scrape painfully against my arm.
“What are you doing down there? Get up here,” he slurs.
“Seth, I think we need to slow down. You’ve had a lot to drink,” I blurt out.
He just laughs, pulling me up to the seat again. “Naya, we can’t go any slower than you already make me go. You owe me this. Now get up here.”
His hand snakes around my waist again yanking me back onto the seat where he immediately starts tugging at the straps around my neck again. The seams burst under the pressure, causing the top of the dress to fall down, exposing my bare chest.
Etash
On the drive back from the nursing home, all I can think about is Naya. I'm desperate for Monday to come so I can see her again.
Not wanting to face the emptiness of my apartment, I decide to head to the theatre instead. The dance studios will be empty at this time of night and there is still a lot of choreography left to work out.
Stopping at the corner store, I pick up some provisions for dinner, planning on spending as much time at the theatre as the campus police will allow.
As expected, the studios are empty. I kick off my shoes, pull my t-shirt off and get out my binder. Each movement will be crucial without any dialog, so the way Elizabeth and I will have them move will need to speak volumes.
I take pages of notes, pleased by the inspiration that the music we've selected is providing me. It's only when my stomach growls that I stop. Turning the music off I check the time. It’s already 10:00 pm. Wow. Time flies when you're dancing.
I’m just about to bite into my sub when I hear a banging on the door downstairs. I jog down to open the door and see a figure outside standing in profile, pressed up against the window. At first I think it must be campus police coming to kick me out, but then my heart stops. It’s Naya. She's looking at something outside that's making her positively terrified.
Chapter 10
Naya
Please, please let the door be open!
I can hear Seth slamming the car door and cursing my name from a few yards away. Never once have I dared to make him this angry, and I am petrified about what he'll do to me when he gets here.
My fingers lace around t
he door to the theatre, and I try and heave it open with all my might, but it doesn't budge. Shit!
“Naya!” Seth growls from somewhere deep in the shadows. His voice is literally dripping with fury and he's getting closer. I'm about to run again, when I notice a light coming from an upstairs window. I start beating on the door frantically, hoping against hope that whoever is up there will come and let me in before Seth finds me.
“Open the door!” I shout over and over again, my voice growing weaker with each plea. Fear creeps in with each passing second, quickly paralyzing me.
It's too late. I've run out of time. Defeated, I lie back against the door and wait for his wrath. My heart hammers in my chest when I make out Seth's silhouette emerging from the darkness. He stops under a street lamp and the resulting shadow that's cast down upon his face, makes him look absolutely terrifying.
“Come here, now,” Seth commands. I start to shake. I'll be punished either way, but maybe if I go to him willingly, he'll show me some mercy. Maybe.
Just as my feet start to inch forward, I feel my body falling backwards. A pair of hands surrounds my arms from behind, pulling me inside the building. The way my skin burns against those hands means it can only be Etash.
He looks at me and I can tell he's confused, but there is not time to explain.
“Lock the door!” I scream. He hesitates for half a second before he shuts the door. The lock clicks into place, and I breathe a sigh of relief. But even that is stolen away when I see Seth outside marching up to the door. Etash sees him too, and his entire body tenses.
“What’s going on?” Etash hisses. He turns to look at me and my disheveled appearance: my shaking hands holding up my ripped dress, my hair falling wildly around my face, and mascara running down my red, tear-streaked cheeks. I know what I must look like, and I can’t help but feel ashamed.
“Did he…?” Etash's voice is trembling.
“Let me in!” Seth shouts, banging his fist against the glass of the window so hard that I scream.
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