Me, Cinderella?

by Rose, Aubrey

  Fists flew, and I saw the hunter reach back with one large hairy fist. Before I could scream, Eliot had butted his head into the man’s chin with a sharp crack that might have been tooth or bone or both. I felt dizzy at the sound, faint. It was as though my entire body had been drained of blood.

  A large stone, a bit bigger than my fist, lay near me on the stream bank. I reached for it as a weapon. My hand pulled on the stone, loosening it from the frozen earth. When I tried to grab hold of it, though, my fingers were too slick with blood to grab on. The cold was too much. My fingers tensed, hard and clumsy, unable to lock around the stone, and my teeth chattered like machine gun rapid fire. My hand slipped on the surface and I tried again to get purchase, but it fell from my grip once more.

  Come on, Brynn. I reached again for the stone and grasped it in both of my hands, lifting it up carefully. A shadow fell on me from behind and I twisted around, holding the stone up in defense. My eyes blurred with snow and tears, and for a second I did not know who stood before me. Then I blinked away the fog and saw that it was Eliot.

  “My god, Brynn, you’re soaked,” he said, kneeling down. I clutched the stone to my chest and sobbed as he balanced me with his arms.

  “It’s alright,” I heard him say as though from a distance. “It’s going to be alright.” The hunter lay a few meters away, not moving. I let the stone tumble from my hand and back into the icy water. A ringing in my ears made his words unintelligible. As his hands moved over me to check for injuries, I let myself lean into his strong body, looking down at the ground to keep my balance steady. I saw something strange, and my addled mind seized onto it as my body began to shut itself down.

  “Eliot,” I said. “You’re not wearing any shoes.”

  Those were the last words I said before passing into darkness.

  I saw the world going back to the house in slow, distinct flashes. The white of the snow on the branches above me, the scarlet drops on the snow—blood? From the deer?—and the tightness of Eliot’s arms around me, carrying me as though I were the most precious thing in the world. My dress was hard, frozen to my skin, and I heard the ice crack in the seams as Eliot clutched me closer. I lay my head against his chest. A terrible thunder made my eyes rise to the sky to look for clouds, but it was Eliot’s heart I heard, the heavy beating as he stumbled through the trail toward the house.

  “Brynn,” I heard him say. “Brynn, my Brynn.”

  Dark again, and I woke to blankets surrounding me. My body felt heavy, numbed. Eliot stood not far from the couch where I lay, his ear pressed to his phone.

  “Yes,” he said in Hungarian, and then his words lost themselves, floating upward in the air and out of my hearing.

  Dark again. Complete darkness and complete peace. I heard singing, the soft notes of Satie’s Gymnopedies, and then Eliot’s voice in my ear.

  “Brynn, wake up,” he said. “Wake up.” My eyes opened to his worried face. He pulled off my blankets and picked me up as though I weighed nothing, walking down the hall to a stairway I had never seen. It led downward, lit dimly by a soft orange glow that reminded me of candles.

  “Where are we going?” I murmured. My head lolled against his arm.

  “We have to get you in warm water,” he said, stepping down carefully to avoid knocking my head against the wall. “We have to get you into the baths.”

  “I’m not cold,” I said, and I wasn’t.

  “You’re nearly frozen,” he said. “Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”

  As he said the word, we stepped out of the stairwell and down onto a platform. My breath caught in my throat, and the air, hot and wet, burned my lungs. I gasped at the sensation, and at the sight before me.

  The room was huge, five times as large as the bedroom I had stayed in on my first night here. The walls shimmered gold, and at first I thought they were made out of gold itself. The dimmed lanterns hanging over the room reflected golden light, and marble columns and statues lined the walls, leading the way down to the center of the room, where the floor seemed to be made entirely out of mirrors.

  Eliot walked down the stairs, still holding me. When he stepped down I realized that what I had thought were mirrors was actually water, and his steps sent ripples across the entire golden floor. He stepped down the submerged stairs until his pants were soaked, and then lowered his arms slowly until my body touched the water. I cried out in pain and clutched at Eliot’s arms. My feet and arms felt as though they were being stabbed with sharp needles, the pain wrenching my body. Eliot let me grip him but stepped down further so that my whole body was under water, and only my head above.

  The pain sent tears to my eyes even as I began to shiver in Eliot’s arms. My dress loosened and flowed in the hot water, and steam rose from the glassy surface. My lungs struggled to breathe in the humid air and everything hurt all at once. My toes and fingers burned with the heat. Molten, I thought, with the golden light bouncing off of shined surfaces all around me. Molten like the sun. Too close to the sun. My head spun.

  “Brynn,” Eliot said. His hand held my neck above the surface, his other arm encircling my waist. My hand reached out as if of its own accord and touched his cheek, traced his scar.

  “I love you.” I heard myself say, the words mere whispers floating over the steam of the water. My eyes were closing, the fuzziness in my mind threatening to take over.

  “I love you too,” Eliot said. His fingers slid through my hair, but I could barely feel their touch. He loved me.

  “Brynn?” He loved me. He loved me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and let myself fall back into darkness.

  I remember the way my mother washed my hair in the tub when I was little, rinsing the soap out with tepid water as I wrapped my arms around my knees and tried not to shiver. She sat behind me, and I remember most of all the large rust crack that ran down the side of the tub from the top, marring the old white porcelain with an ugly streak of red. Sometimes I scraped at the rust with my thumbnail to try to get it off, but it always came back worse. Some cracks can’t be fixed easily, I guess.

  Evil things happen, and good things happen, and in neither physics nor religion is there an explanation that makes any kind of sense. When the world decides to hurt, there’s no way around it, no magical words that will save the day or turn back time and bring the dead to life. There’s no such thing as fate, or wickedness, or girls who can be princesses and girls who can’t. There’s only people, and we all do the best we can.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay. She has to be okay.

  Eliot fielded questions from the policemen while his private doctor examined Brynn in the other room. Her breathing had returned to normal, but she slipped in and out of consciousness, whispering words that he could not understand. Once she cried out for her mother, and then fell into a sleep. He trusted the family doctor with his own life, but he couldn’t help but glance over nervously through the doorway as the police asked him for the hundredth time to explain the order of events. The hunter he had knocked out was not dead but close to it; Eliot frowned upon hearing the news. The policemen were suspicious, but Eliot’s surname and his family’s reputation were enough to grant him some amount of protection from overly enthusiastic officials. Once the police left Eliot hurried back to Brynn’s bedside. Her lips were a pale, pale pink and she was breathing shallowly.

  “How is she?”

  Dr. Toth took off the warm cloth from her forehead. His old hands still were steadier than Eliot’s, and Eliot waited in rapt attention for his verdict.

  “She’ll be fine with proper rest. We’ll pay close attention to her extremities to make sure nothing is permanently damaged. It looks like you got her into a warm bath in time.”

  “But she’s unconscious.” Eliot bent down to Brynn, watching her chest rise and fall under the covers.

  “Not unconscious, just sleeping. She’s had a hard time and when she wakes up she’ll probably need to speak with another doc
tor.”

  “What doctor?”

  “A therapist, Dr. Herceg.” The old physician looked up at him over his spectacles. “The girl’s been through a hard time. She should talk to someone about it.”

  “Of course.” Eliot hadn’t even thought about it, so worried was he about her physical health. Brynn would get everything she needed to recover. He would see to it.

  “I have a friend who specializes in trauma recovery. I’ll leave you her card.”

  “Thank you.”

  The old doctor rose and snapped the buckles of his bag shut.

  “Wait,” Eliot said. “Are you leaving?”

  “She’s stable and sleeping,” Doctor Toth said, a kind smile on his face. “She’ll be fine without me.”

  “When will you come back to check on her?”

  “It really isn’t necessary,” the doctor said, but he saw the worry in Eliot’s eyes. “I’ll check in tomorrow morning just to be safe.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Make sure she gets plenty of rest. That’s all she needs now. Rest and care.”

  “Thank you, doctor, I will.” You’ve no idea how much I care. Eliot walked the doctor to the door, then returned to Brynn’s side. The kitten, Lucky, found them and jumped up on Brynn’s bed, nestling down into the covers between her ankles. No harm in that, Eliot thought, and let the little gray ball of fur remain purring at her feet.

  She woke in the middle of the night, twisting in the bed under the sheets as though she was fighting someone off. She woke Eliot with her thrashing. Lucky had already abandoned the warm covers in favor of a bed that didn’t move.

  Eliot pulled the sheets back over her body, averting his eyes in the dim light. After the hot bath, he’d had to undress her, stripping off her wet clothes. Remembering the way her body looked, naked and beautiful, made him ache with desire as well as shame. He should not have seen her, but he had. The curved lines of her hips, the pinkness of her skin… Eliot shifted his weight on his feet, uncomfortable with the longing, entirely too familiar, that strafed his heart whenever he saw Brynn. It was some time before he could fall back asleep at her side.

  Brynn woke up the next morning after the family doctor had already left. Eliot was dozing in the chair beside her bed, a book in his lap. He heard her stirring and leaned forward to see her eyelids flutter and open slightly.

  “Eliot?” She coughed slightly.

  “Brynn.” Eliot placed his book on the end table.

  “Where is he?” She looked around, as though expecting someone to jump out of the shadows. “The hunter. What happened?”

  “He’s gone. The police took him away. How do you feel?”

  Brynn coughed. “Awful.” She coughed again, clearing her throat, and looked down, then quickly pulled the covers up to her neck.

  “Eliot, I don’t have any clothes on!” Her voice sounded shocked with indignation.

  “I’m sorry, I had to… you were entirely soaked…” Eliot stammered. He hadn’t expected her to react like this.

  “Well, get me something to put on!” Brynn had the covers up to her chin, and was flushing bright red.

  Eliot brought her the underwear that had already been through the dryer, and a robe.

  “I don’t have anything too suitable for you,” he said. “But I’ll call the apartments.” He kicked himself mentally for not already having done so.

  “Have you told them? The other students?” Brynn seemed mortified.

  “No. Well, I told them that you had fallen on my property and were being looked after by my doctor,” Eliot said. “Not quite the truth.”

  “Not quite a lie,” Brynn said. Her fingers clutched the robe above the blankets. “Can you look away?”

  Eliot averted his face. When Brynn gave the okay, he turned to find her bundled in the robe, standing at the bedside.

  “The doctor said you should rest,” Eliot said.

  “I’m fine,” Brynn said, but her stance was unsteady.

  “For my sake, please, stay lying down.”

  “You have to go, don’t you?” Brynn asked. “You’re leaving.”

  “Brynn—”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks and she hugged her arms to her chest tightly.

  “You said you loved me,” she said. Eliot stepped over. At first he thought she would shy away from his embrace, but she leaned into his chest. Her shoulders moved only slightly as she sobbed. In his arms she felt so fragile, like a beautiful, ornate vase already broken and repaired once, ready to shatter. He could not be the one to shatter her.

  “Oh, Brynn,” Eliot said. He pressed his cheek down onto her hair, caressing her shoulders, her back. Her sobs grew quiet, slow, and then stopped altogether. When she pulled away, he dug into his pocket for a handkerchief to offer her.

  “I’m ruining all of your handkerchiefs,” Brynn said, a noise between a laugh and a sob escaping her throat as she pressed the fabric to her face. He waited until she had wiped her nose dry. She stood before him so sorrowful and proud that if he had not fallen headlong for her already he would have done so again in an instant. Her eyes shone brightly underneath a glaze of tears, her hair damp and wavy, stuck to her cheeks in places. Eliot felt the last of his resolve melt away as he looked at her.

  “I’m not leaving, Brynn,” he said. Inside his mind he heard the gates drop, letting himself open up. He took her hand in his. “Please. The doctor said that you need rest.”

  Brynn sat down on the edge of the bed, her hand trembling under his.

  “You won’t leave?”

  “No.” Eliot sighed in relief as Brynn tucked her legs up back under the blankets. She spent a few seconds arranging the pillows behind her, then leaned back.

  “Okay, see? I’m resting.”

  “I don’t see your eyes closed.”

  “Are you really staying here?”

  “Yes. I’ll be right here.”

  “Eliot?” The way she said his name sent shivers through his arms, his hands. He longed to take her up passionately and kiss every piece of her, every last beautiful part, every crease and curve. Instead he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her and clasped his hands on his lap.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry.” As Eliot looked up toward her another flood of tears brimmed her eyes and spilled over. She had the handkerchief to her face. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have gone off, you said it was dangerous and I didn’t listen, I—” She choked on the last word and wiped her nose again between sobs.

  “No,” Eliot said, over and over as she talked. “No, no, no. Brynn, no. This isn’t your fault, not ever.”

  “But I—”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. Listen. You did nothing wrong.”

  “If something had happened…” Brynn’s voice trailed off into an awful silence during which Eliot felt the adrenaline of anger rush through him.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Eliot said. “That’s all that matters.”

  “Yes. Okay.” Brynn closed her eyes, her brows furrowed, and Eliot couldn’t bring himself to imagine what nightmares must be going through her mind.

  Silence filled the bedroom, and Eliot thought Brynn might have dozed off. But when he rose from the bed, her eyes snapped open.

  “Eliot? Can you bring me my math stuff? So I can do the problem?”

  “You really want to work on math?” Eliot raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes,” she said firmly. “It will take my mind off of everything.”

  “Then we can work together,” he said. “I’ll bring your notebook.”

  “Eliot?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why are you staying?”

  He leaned over and caressed her forehead, his hand pressing back her hair.

  “So that I can keep working with such a brilliant mathematician.”

  “No. Really.”

  Eliot considered the question. He hadn’t thought about it, but the second he knew Brynn was in danger, it was like
a switch had flipped in his mind. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but her. Any obstacle between them was only an illusion, something put there by the world to make him lose sight of what he cared about. In the middle of the night, he had known that he would not be able to leave her side until he was sure she would be okay without him. And even then…

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Really.”

  The gate was down, his past worries forgotten. All that mattered was Brynn, right now. She looked up at him expectantly.

  “I’m staying because I love you.”

  Brynn’s mouth dropped open slightly, her pink lips parted in disbelief.

  “I’ll get you that notebook,” Eliot said. He stood and left before she could say a word.

  He loved me.

  It wasn’t a dream anymore, not another fantasy I had imagined in my head. He said that he loved me, and meant it. Air stopped moving through my chest; I had forgotten how to breathe.

  He came back with a notebook I took carefully in my hand. His eyes were kind, and despite the horror of the past day I trusted him to keep me safe. He looked at me as though he expected me to say something, but I turned my head down to the mathematics. I did not want to break the delicate bond that had stretched out between us by talking about it too much. In any case, I did not know what to say.

  We worked for an hour, and then he fixed me breakfast. As I waited for him to return, my chest tightened with fright and did not relax until he came back into the room. I could not eat very much, only a bit of bread and honey. The honey tasted sickeningly sweet in my mouth, and I gulped down water to relieve the stickiness of it.

  Tucked under Eliot’s arm was a record; he placed it on the old-fashioned player in the corner of the room.

  “I thought we could use some inspiration,” Eliot said. I closed my eyes and heard the familiar strains of the Gymnopedie amplified in the air.

  “Do you want to take a break?” Eliot sat next to me, moving my half-eaten plate to the nightstand.

  “No,” I said. “I mean, maybe just for a minute.” I put my hand over his, praying that I was not too presumptuous. My heart soared when his fingers twined themselves into mine. We rested, listening to the dissonant chords, the elongated coda, the resolution in the last few phrases.