by Sunniva Dee
“I’m it?” I ask, letting the thought sprout and inflate in my mind.
“Yeah. No one. No one is like you.”
A high-pitched sing-song screeches through the Queen. “Anybody ho-o-ome?”
My breath chokes on wrongness. Intense pleasure wants to numb me, but that’s Belen! She just shouted from the entrance, and she’s stomping our way. I need to pull away. Hide. It’s what people do when they’re in their most intimate act.
Luka doesn’t pull out of me. My heart jackhammers and speeds up. I can’t have Belen see me like this, but then he leans over my shoulder, covering my body with his. “Trust me. Okay?”
“No, we can’t!”
“She’s not your kind of people. Trust that I’m doing the right thing.”
I hyperventilate. No. I can’t. Just...
“I love you like a crazy person loves another, with every fiber in him, and for me, with you, that’s not even new. Please trust me.”
I do. I do trust him; in all these years, Luka has done nothing to hurt me, and now... now... “Okay.”
My acquiescence sounds like the wind, but he hears me and brushes his lips to the nape of my neck. I contract at the sensation.
“God.” Quietly, he exhales, feeling me around him.
The floorboards creak, but I keep my eyes closed, sensing when she stops and leans her body against the doorframe.
“Hey, Luka. What’s up? You busy or something?”
His frame sinks over me, hands tugging the front of my shorts up, hiding where his touch just was. He slopes his arms along the naked, naked sides of my thighs. “I am. You mind?”
“Hmm, sort of.” Belen chuckles like it’s no big deal to walk in on someone she’s obsessed with making love to another woman. “Isaias wants you at Lucid. Like now. He sent me. You know what that means? You haven’t met him yet, but it’s now or never. If you don’t react, he’ll cut you off.”
I’m dying. I want to sink my face into my hands. I don’t want anyone to mention Lucid again, and I don’t want Isaias, whoever he is, to want Luka anywhere.
I pull away slowly, enough for his body to lose contact with mine. I straighten and stare into her odious face. Flushed with heat and embarrassment, I’m still sure of what I want.
“Get the hell out of my house,” I grit out. “And leave my boyfriend the fuck alone.”
She arches a brow and sets her glare on Luka. “You let that bitch insult your bread and butter? You know I am that, right? Isaias digs me, and he’s making me Lucid’s new cover girl. Just so we’re clear: I’m trying to help you out.”
He doesn’t want me to pull away. He doesn’t want me to take off— Hell, I don’t want to either. Luka roars to Belen to get the fuck lost, but she doesn’t. Instead, she puckers her lips a little and sashays into the TV-room. There, she turns on a video of him and her. I’m not watching it. I just recognize her fake moans and Luka’s real ones. I’ve heard him sigh that way too many times to count. I despise his moans mixed with Belen’s.
“I hate her,” I stutter between breaths while I get dressed.
“Baby, she’s being a bitch. It’s different in our industry. She’s a cat. Please, don’t let her ruin us. You mean everything to me.”
He has me trapped against the countertop. My beautiful twin hovers between my legs, the sweetest man, so extra beautiful he is now, destroying me with his blast of despair and sincerity that has the power to obliterate common sense.
“But she’ll do that. She’ll push that button everywhere, and people will watch you eat her up and love her like crazy.”
“They’ll just watch me come in her,” he clips. “Anyone who knows the male psyche gets it. It’s just testosterone.”
“It doesn’t make sense.” I want to shout it, but I’m not going to let the she-devil in the TV-room crow over our fight. “How many guys does she want? She’s got every Fratter.” I hiccough, and he pulls my breath into his mouth, sucking like he wants to free me of pain.
“She’s using them.”
“To get to you.”
“Yeah.”
I let out a shuddering breath.
“I need to go see this Isaias dude, though. He’s bought Lucid Entertainment straight out, and I can’t finish shit up without him.”
Ice forms in my veins, right where he poured lava a minute ago.
“What did you say?” I look up to make sure he meets my gaze when he responds. Eyes do that: only the coldest people look straight at you and tell a lie.
He sighs. “I’ve got one seminar and a semester of studies left, and I’m good. Until then, I need Lucid. Not sure if you know, but they’re the mellowest of the studios I’ve worked with. They don’t push boundaries or exploit women who aren’t legal or mentally in a place where this is what they want. It’s why I stick with them as much as I can.”
“No. No-no.” I push air out between my lips. “You’re not serious. Right? You’re not actually going to fuck a bunch of women and—and—earn a living off that now that we’re together, are you? I mean, we are together, right?” I yelp the last part out.
“Yes, we are! You’re my life and my future. I just need to pay off the bills and get into residency. Once I’m there, never again. The only person I’ll ever make love to after that is you.”
I start to laugh. I can’t stop either. I don’t even care that Belen, watching some love scene she once got paid for with Luka, hears me. “That’s really funny,” I say.
Luka shakes his head. “Why?”
“Because that doesn’t work for me.”
I write twenty hours a day. Joy gets it, even as she makes my bed on her couch, thin sheet and non-existent comforter on top. I don’t care; I’m definitely not heading back to the Queen for supplies.
“Call Diego,” she says.
“Nope,” I say. “They’re all together in this. Who the hell knows what their plan was from the start? They’re jackasses. I had Luka figured out from the beginning. Remember what I said about him?”
I slide down on the couch with a vodka on the rocks. It’s big. It’s late at night, which is fine; I’m working one-on-one with Dr. Bergstein anyway with my article draft and outline for my future dissertation.
“Diego isn’t.” There’s a soft flash in Joy’s sky-blues. “He’ll tell you what’s going on at the Queen. You know I love you, Geneva, and I adore having you here—because slumber party nonstop—but I hate that you’re down. Also: Luka’s job is different. Right? And perhaps you, of everyone, should explore a little bit what that means. Maybe he’s tried his best to accommodate to your reality. Maybe it’s time for you to adapt to his for a minute. I bet this isn’t easy for him.”
“Wow, I can’t believe you just said that. You support them.”
“Geneva, baby. I’m a psychologist, remember?”
“Not yet, you aren’t.”
“In freaking months, so give me a break and believe me.”
I tighten my arms over my chest, eyes leaking unfairness. “I’m leaving.”
“Again you’re leaving?”
“Yes. I don’t have to take any of Luka’s crap, or even be close enough to know about it. This”—I smack the top of my laptop—“I can do from Portland.”
November sucked. December sucked. So did January and half of February. I started getting there toward the end of February, and by the time March rolled around, I could breathe. I’m still in contact with Joy, and I’m on a roll with my degree; Dr. Bergstein has proven efficient at working with me long-distance. We Skype, we email, and we talk on the phone. I’m just not in contact with the Fratters anymore.
For a while, it was so bad that Dad had to go down to L.A. for me. Joy helped him pack up my stuff at the Queen, and he got it back to Portland. Luka was there, supposedly. Helped lug my stuff to the car. Asked for my new phone number. Thankfully, Da
d and Joy are good at keeping secrets, so I’ve had no calls from him. He’s tried to email me, though, and he’s attempted social media, but it’s easy to block people you can’t have in your life.
A girl can only be stupid so many times in a row. I wasn’t going to watch Luka rip my heart out with his bare hands. See, death isn’t the only condition that can instigate destruction. I know firsthand that the same godforsaken feeling of grief can be triggered by your love getting paid to sleep with other women.
I have my own place now, downtown Portland, an apartment in a mustard-colored, two-story condo. It holds a small kitchen, one bedroom, and a living room. Best of all, it’s only mine.
When I moved in, I made sure to leave all Verenich-twin relics in my parents’ attic. I can’t seem to get rid of them yet, but at least I don’t have to watch them every day.
My place is small but provides me with a sensation of space. Wedged between beachy walls and pine floors, I keep an ultramodern style with sleek lines and a light interior palette. I’m not ashamed to admit that it’s an up-yours to the Queen era and how it ended. There will be no more strong colors and ornamental décor for me.
Early April brings iridescent green trees outside my kitchen window, and with them comes hope. The mailman seems to agree too, because today I have a piece of news I’m pinching myself over. The letter still lies open on the counter, and I’m blinking at it, phone in hand.
“Dad?” I burst out. “I got it.”
“What did you get, honey?”
“The job at the hospital! They’re not even waiting until after the dissertation.”
“I knew it. Of course they want my girl. You’re brilliant. They read your articles, didn’t they?”
I shake my head, laughing. “I guess? I attached the two first and the letter verifying the contract for five.”
“Perfect. You showed them, all right!”
I bring my hand to my face, covering my grin. “I got a job, Dad. I’m a real adult.”
“That you are.” A smile tinges his voice. It makes me think my tribulations haven’t been easy for him either.
I drop to a chair after we hang up, happiness making me lightheaded. It’s only noon, but I have this urge to rip open a bottle of wine. If I’d been at the Queen now, we’d all be celebrating. Lenny would have swung me in the air. James might have slapped my butt while Diego muttered something about him being inappropriate now that I’m with… while I was with Luka.
I miss them. I don’t miss the dysfunction I fled from though, Belen included.
I get up and pour myself a glass of wine anyway. Then I sink back down and lazily rifle through the rest of my mail.
I have a letter.
Oh. It’s from Joy. That’s right, she said she’d sent me something the other day. She wanted me to call her once I received it. I rip it open and expect her neat, curly handwriting. Instead I find what looks like Julian’s bold block letters. What in the world?
I turn the sheet of paper. Black writing goes all the way to the bottom of that page too, and the signature has two thick sloppy Xs, and then—
Luka.
I call Joy all right. I don’t even read what he’s written before I call.
“What the hell, Joy! Are you the messenger of Luka, now?”
“I told you to call me—”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Before you opened it, though, geez. Did you read it?”
“No, and I’m not planning to either. He’s gonna make something up about not having gone to Lucid after all, not having slept with Belen or a ton of other chicks. I’m not dealing with his lies anymore.”
“Ha, no. That’s not it at all. He went back to work again the day after you left. He didn’t even have a choice.”
“Whatever happened to taking up student loans?” I shout. It still gets me. I still love that piece of hopeless shit, and I hate, hate that I couldn’t reform him. Ha, change the bad-boy, right? Isn’t it what western culture has taught young women to crave? Everyone needs their bad-boy phase. It’s such bull. I never needed it.
“He couldn’t take up loans for the kind of money he needed for this. Believe me. The only reason I sent that letter for him is that he told me everything.”
“What ‘everything?’”
“Now you can hang up and read the letter. I knew you wouldn’t read it without a pep talk, so that’s why I asked you to call me. I’d hate it if you tossed it out and raged at me afterward. Wait, did you?”
“What?” I rub my eyes in frustration.
“You didn’t toss it out yet, right? Tell me it’s not covered in hot sauce at the bottom of your trash bin.”
Unease pricks up my spine and causes goosebumps to break out on my arms. I can’t do this again. The Verenich brothers have broken my spirit one time too many. “I’m throwing it out as we speak.”
“Actually, you owe it to Luka to read it. That’s all you need to do. Read it. I get that you’re trying to get over him, but you need to at least know he’s not a total kook.”
I hang up.
I don’t pick up when she calls me again.
I wait a day.
His letter glares at me from the top of the fridge, a bent edge watching my every move over the door to the freezer.
On the second day, I feel it behind me while I watch TV too. I mutter, “Fuck it,” get up, and swipe it into my hands, quickly, haphazardly like it won’t send me into an abyss.
I can go to Mom and Dad’s afterward. Hang with Aci and her new puppy.
People have read letters before, and I can too. I won’t burrow under my duvet and cry until the meaning of life liquefies.
The envelope is open. All I have to do is pull out the single sheet of paper filled with bold, square, black letters, oh Luka.
I swallow.
Sweet Geneva.
Nothing happened the way it should have after we came home from Brazil, and I’m sorry. I should have done so many things differently, banned Belen from the Queen for instance. Because she means nothing to me, I didn’t realize that beneath the surface, it tore you up to have her around.
You were my one and only, my perfect mix of objective and emotional. I had fun slaying dragons for you. I just wish I could have slayed more.
I blink away tears. They’re fat and few, and when they tip over the edge of my eyes, they warm my cheeks on their path down.
I’m sorry that our short, happy story ended with a fight. We had some good times, you and I, and here I am, now, hoping these words find you despite the odds. I just fucking want you to know that everything I did, I did to spare you.
You didn’t need to learn Julian’s darkest secrets. You know? But I have nothing to lose now that you’re gone, so here I am flinging it your way anyway. I admit it. I’m doing it for my own gratification, hoping you’ll understand I never wanted to disrespect you with what I did. If that makes me selfish, I’ll live with that.
I drop the letter. My heart is racing too hard. I don’t want to know what he’s going to tell me. I can’t not know what he wants to tell me.
What broke us, wasn’t Belen. It was the one thing you despised about me from the moment we met. That day when you accompanied me to Lucid, I felt like you understood the industry for what it was—a business. Our bodies are interchangeable. It could be mine, it could be Marcus’, it could be Anthony’s covering Ana or Belen or Irene. It doesn’t matter in any other way than who gets paid. But I guess you forgot once you left the studio.
You, little lady. You owned me from the day Julian brought you to the Queen.
I cover my mouth. I’m alone, and my sob would upset no one except me. I can’t hear my own misery.
You wanted me to never return to Lucid, to never again touch Belen. You wanted me to take up loans to cover my last semester of studies, and I wish I’
d explained why I couldn’t. People say it’s never too late to be honest. Guess I’m holding out hope that they’re right.
I’m stalling, writing my way through this piece of paper and postponing what I sat down to tell you. Shit, Geneva. I guess it’s time.
I take the letter with me. The door to my mini-balcony groans, but I push it open and slide outside in need of air. For a heartbeat, I stand there scouring the sky with my thumb marking the place where I stopped reading. I know; once I look down again, my world will tilt sideways. I have the option to stop reading. I could burn this letter, toss it in the trash, and move on with my life like nothing happened.
Lungfuls of cold air cleanse me. Slowly, I turn and step back inside. I shut the door behind me and push the latch back in place. Then, I lean my forehead against the glass pane, aware that I have no choice but to read on.
My brother took opiates for the pain after the fire. I’m not sure he was ever really weaned off them. And that wasn’t all he did. Do you recall how festive he could be? Julian was good at covering for himself, but it was years ago that I caught him at the Mezzano, crushing powder and mixing his own cocktail in the men’s room.
I didn’t want to alarm you. You didn’t need the anxiety of being afraid for the one you loved, and my brother would’ve pulled in the oars on this whole staying-alive thing if you left him.
Ever since, I tried to straighten him out. The so-called trips to hang out with our uncle were rehab stints, some in Utah, others in Malibu. I remember you saying once that the air in Russia became him. You made me feel like success.
Toward the end, Julian inhaled anything he could get his hands on. Happiness was as stressful as sadness to him, and he’d increase his doses and try new things. I should have anticipated that he’d get worse before the wedding, because that would have been OD’ing on bliss. He couldn’t handle it.
Rehabs are expensive, and so are drug dealers. I couldn’t pay for it all. Then came the funeral. I wanted the bills to be done, to bolt the door closed to the gloom of Julian’s last years before I opened a new one for you and me. I did what I did because if anyone deserved a clean slate and a bright future it was you.