I twisted my thighs around his face. My body took over, tightening and releasing a deep muscle, trying to trap his tongue, to keep him there forever. I’m on fire, I thought. My bones are cooking to dust. All of me melting, breaking down. Faster, faster. The world changing with my every shuddering breath. I climbed the wall of pleasure and looked out from my flaming body, my eyes wet and low in my head. I was alone, riding my body. Purple, I thought, purple. I saw purple smoke and I came in his mouth.
Søren laid his head on my belly and hugged my hips. He looked up at me. I drew him up and pressed my tongue into his mouth, wanting to taste myself, but he pulled back and bussed me chastely.
“Skat,” he said, a soft sound.
“What does that mean?”
“Darling.” He looked at me with big eyes. “Darling.”
“Kiss me,” I said, but he had already wiped on the pillowcase. He pecked me on the side of the face and turned away. I drew my knees up to my chest, suddenly sad. Was it over?
Søren took a bright foil square from the drawer in his bedside table, and opened it with his teeth. He held the base of his penis in his left hand and rolled the condom on.
“I’ve never seen somebody do that before,” I told him. “You’re good at it.”
He shook his head, grinning. “Please, Roxana. You make me feel guilty.”
Søren climbed on top of me, his erection dangling between us, and pressed until it slipped below and into me. I tried to remember what it had felt like to have Hunter there, but I couldn’t. All I could think was his name. Søren. That black fullness, that no-space breath.
He was nimble and athletic, precisely maneuvering my body into shape after new shape. I closed my eyes, leaving myself in his power. Him on top, his pelvis pressing against my own. That sliding, burying feeling. Then I sat briefly astride him, and he was in me deeper than before, our bodies meeting and locking at a hidden intersection. He licked and bit at my breasts. He lifted my hips and slipped out, bouncing against my thigh. We laughed and I came down again, guiding him back in. Then he was on top once more, trapping me. Behind me, his hands sliding up and down my slick body. He groped and thrust.
“Skat,” he warned.
“What,” I panted.
His eyes bulged like a dog’s. “Skat.”
“Yes.” I reared back. “Now.” He looked at me helplessly, his mouth half open. “I’m ready. I’m ready!”
He made a guttural noise and convulsed against me. A little strangled yelp. His shuddering, shaking breaths. Power, I thought, power, power. My power.
Eventually Søren stood, put his underwear and T-shirt back on, and climbed back into bed. I buried my face in the cleft of his armpit. He smelled of clean linen.
He closed his hand in my hair, raised a lock to his lips, and kissed it.
“How beautiful you are,” he whispered.
Beauty, why Sylvie always got what she wanted. I had spent so much time studying her, trying to figure out why life looked so effortless for her, how everything seemed to come so easy. Now I was on the other side of the mirror. I felt different, but I didn’t understand any more than I did before.
He fell asleep with his hand still in my hair. I let my thoughts run all over his small, clean apartment until I lost consciousness.
I woke in a wash of white. White sheets, white comforter, white walls, white light streaming in from a white window. A steaming white cup of coffee appeared. Søren stood beside the bed, fully dressed in a green sweater and jeans, his head covered by his black cap.
“God morgen,” he said.
“Hi.” I drank the coffee gratefully. Now was the time to be careful. To not assume anything. After what we had done together, anything could happen.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah.” He reached toward my face. Despite myself I leaned into his hand. The movement exposed my whole right flank to the room’s chill.
I held up the two little quilts on his bed, like dolls slept there.
“Søren, what’s going on with your duvet?”
“What do you mean?” He blinked. “Those are normal dynes.”
“Doonas?” I tried out the word.
“Dynes,” he repeated. “Is it different in America?”
“Yes. We use one big blanket. It’s cozy.”
“I prefer two. That way, there is plenty of blanket for each person.”
“But what if it’s just one person?”
Søren kissed me on the forehead. “Then you have two blankets all to yourself.”
“What time is it?”
“Early. It was not so late when we fell asleep.”
Being with him was strangely ordinary, as if we had gone our separate ways after the bar and were now meeting again in the morning. I had no headache or Soreness, only a raw twinge between my legs that sparked when I shifted.
I pulled my dyne over my breasts. “I’m not hungover.”
“I am glad I was able to get you all of the water you required,” Søren said. It took me a moment to recognize this as a joke.
Dust motes slipped through a wide stripe of sunlight. The room was bare, with nothing on the walls. Even the kitchen seemed empty. The doors of the wardrobe in the far corner were open, revealing the empty interior. I noticed two suitcases stacked neatly beside the door.
“Are you going somewhere?”
He put his coffee cup down on the bedside table and took my hands, feeling the cut in my palm. He turned my hand over and examined it. “How did this happen?”
I took my hand away. “It’s not a big deal. Where are you going?”
“I thought it presumptuous to mention this last night, but now you must know. I am leaving Copenhagen today.”
“For how long?”
He gripped my hands, avoiding my eyes. “A few months, at least. I must complete my thesis, or else I will not receive my degree. My professors have already given me two extensions. I have had so much difficulty in writing. My uncle offered me the use of his apartment in Jutland, and I accepted.”
“Where is that? Your hometown?”
Søren shook his head. “I am from the island of Lolland, to the south, as I told you. Jutland is to the north. And it is not an island. My uncle lives in a place called Farsø. He is hiking in Norway until Christmas, so his home is empty.” Søren stared at his thigh. “You cannot imagine how ashamed I am to have failed in this way. It is my last chance to finish my thesis. I want you to know—”
We hardly knew each other, I reminded myself, and cut him off. “Where did the coffee come from?”
“What?”
“Everything’s all packed up. There’s no coffeemaker. So where did it come from?”
Søren let go of my hands. “I made it before you woke. Then I cleaned the French press, took it apart, and packed it. Now it is in that suitcase.” He pointed.
He was good at making things disappear. He could erase me. And then he would vanish, too. There was a way these things tended to go. Even if you had never done them before. Having sex with someone you had known for two days was rarely the start of a long relationship. If that was even what I wanted. I couldn’t think of what that would be, just now. But I was determined not to be a stereotypical girl and get my feelings all hurt. And if they did get hurt I wouldn’t show him. I wanted to act the right way, strong, as if I didn’t care.
“I won’t keep you. Let me get dressed. What’s going to happen to your furniture?”
“It came in the apartment. Roxana. You are angry.”
I spied my bra against the far wall. How had it ended up over there? My clothes were still in the neat pile Søren had made, but my underwear was nowhere to be found. I fetched the bra and leaned over to put it back on, trying not to think about how I must look, waddling around like that, my thighs tacking from the night before.
“Roxana, wait.”
I ignored him, getting down on my hands and knees to check under the bed for my underwear. It wasn’t there. I crawled toward
the bedside table.
Søren produced my underwear from the pocket of his jeans and waved them, a little flag. “If you are looking for this, I have it. Although I am happy to watch you continue looking.”
“Were you going to take them?”
“They smelled like you.”
I looked up at the ceiling, willing my tears back down into their ducts. “You know, I understand that we barely know each other, but you’re a lot older than me, and I don’t know anyone in this country—”
“I wanted something to remember you by if you said no.”
I sat down on the bed, the sheets crushing against my damp bottom. “What do you mean, if I said no?”
“This may sound crazy.” Søren pushed my underwear back into his pocket. He looked at me somberly. “It is a romantic idea.”
The foxwoman wasn’t home when we went to collect my things.
“This letter explains to Birthe that your plans have changed,” Søren said, showing me a sealed envelope. “I texted her this morning that you would be leaving.”
When had he written the letter? Before I woke up?
“As far as she knows, you are undertaking a special internship with the company, one that will take you further afield than the ordinary program stops,” he went on. “All is in order.”
How could he have known I would say yes?
“Forgive me for taking the liberty,” Søren said, reading my mind. “I would have not been upset if you had said no. I just so hoped that you would say yes. I wanted so badly for you to. I have been just miserable, terribly sad, for such a long time.” He raised his eyes. “I wanted you so badly.”
I had come from across the ocean, the antidote to his sadness. Søren was like no one I had ever met. I made him happy. I wasn’t the only one this time. He wanted me too. Wanted me more. Enough to do something about it.
Life had a shape and an order. Magic was real. Mine. I kissed his mouth.
Søren left the letter beside the bowl of green apples. Robert appeared and followed us to the door, moaning as we dragged my bags into the hallway. When I turned to pull the door shut, he was prostrate, resting his head on his crossed paws. He glared at me like I had hurt his feelings.
FARSØ
1
WE CREPT PAST THE CITY‘S TURNED BACK, INTO VERDANT HILLS. On the table that separated us, Søren held my right hand in his. Our palms were almost the same color. The lines and crevices made a map.
His way of looking at me reminded me of Mushi’s steady gaze. At home, in another time, another life. My body now electric, elastic. Reborn.
He smiled at me. “Are you excited to see Jutland?”
“So excited. Thank you for bringing me with you.”
He laughed. “Do not be. It is very boring. And you do not have to thank me.” His expression turned serious. “Roxana, it is very important to me that you tell me if you become uncomfortable or if you want to go back to Copenhagen at any time. I am happy that you are coming, but also concerned.”
“Why?”
“We are at different places in our lives. There is a big distance between eighteen and twenty-eight.”
“Not to me,” I said, sad that he felt a difference between us.
He looked into my eyes. “I do not want you to do anything you do not want. It is all right if you do not like Farsø when we get there. You can go back to Copenhagen and rejoin the program at any point. I will help you.”
“I don’t want to go back to Copenhagen. I want to go to Farsø. I want to be with you.”
I had said the same thing that morning in his apartment as we sat together on his bed, bathed in hot light from the window, my underwear still in his pocket.
He had closed his eyes in the sun. “Truly?” He asked, as if this were a miracle.
“Truly.” I took the last sip of my coffee.
He lifted my hand and kissed it. “To have you there will make me so happy.”
“Søren, I don’t have much money. I was counting on using the meal plan.”
He pulled me onto his lap, into the fierce belt of heat, and slipped a hand between my legs, tracing the rim of my ear with the tip of his tongue. “I want to tell you a secret.”
I couldn’t look at him. I turned my face to the blank wall. Moving day, I thought.
“I am done with International Abroad Experiences. Yesterday was my last day in Copenhagen. I am not leading an excursion this summer but will work remotely as the program’s bursar.” His hand undulated against my crotch. “Jennifer Lindsey owes me. I understand her secret now, how she works.”
Søren’s hand pushed into me. My thighs slipped against each other, abraded by his pants.
“Oh,” I said, more a sound than a word.
“I want to treat you,” he murmured against my neck. “Let me treat you.”
I thought about telling him that I had money too, but decided against it. I wanted this gift. “Thank you,” I whispered into his mouth.
He groaned deliciously. “As if I have a choice. Everything is different, now. If I had not met you, Roxana. Oh, I can’t bear the thought.” He gave a little cry, which I stopped with my mouth.
“Say you’ll come with me,” he pleaded, his eyes as dark as deep water.
Søren, his voice, his hands, his body, or the empty bedroom at the foxwoman’s. Boat picnics with people I didn’t know or the chance to go to a place where no one would be able to find me.
I laughed. “I already said I want to go. Let’s go.”
He filled my mouth with his tongue.
Now that we were on the train away from Copenhagen, the enormity of what I had done filled me in a slow, steady drip. What was scary was also exciting. Right? Seeking reassurance, I lifted his right hand, unfolded the fingers away from the palm, and held it against my lips.
Søren took his hand away and wiped it on his thigh. “Please, we’re in public.”
“Sorry.” I hadn’t even opened my mouth. What was there to wipe? I took his hand again, held it next to mine. He gave me a small smile.
I fell asleep against the cold window and when I woke the train was running over water. A distant rim of tall white windmills revolved in slow motion, their stems sprouting straight from the surface of the ocean. The liquid light reflected in Søren’s eyes.
I made an exaggerated gesture of waking, stretching my arms and yawning theatrically. I wanted to ask how it was possible, a train on the sea. “Søren?”
“Skat.” He turned to me, calm focus gathered in a knowing half smile. I could cross water, bridge or no bridge, to a place I knew nothing about, where no one knew I was going and no one knew me. With him anything could happen.
I looked down at the table, my question gone.
Søren checked his watch constantly for the last half hour of the train ride, swearing under his breath.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He threw up his hands. “We are terribly late. Our tickets promised we would arrive at eighteen-oh-five.”
“What time is it now?”
“Twelve after the hour. Seven minutes late already.”
“You’re impatient, aren’t you?” I laughed.
Søren turned a blue glare on me. “When I purchase a train ticket I enter into an agreement with the company. A guarantee that I will receive a smooth travel experience in exchange for my money. The arrival time is part of this agreement. When the train is late, the company breaks its agreement with its customer.”
“Oh. I guess I never thought of it that way. The one time I took a long-distance train, it was six hours late.” I reached for him, but Søren’s hands were out of sight, in his lap. He did not produce them for me. Had I said something wrong? “Is everything okay?”
He scowled and checked his watch again. “How does anyone plan his day where you come from, if trains run as they like?”
The train entered the station, passing a gray sign with FARSø in white font, and came to a complete stop. “Eighteen eighteen. Unbelievable
. I will carry the bags.”
“I can carry mine.”
“You cannot lift that.” He dismissed me, shouldering my duffel.
Outside, the sky and everyone and everything under it was white and low to the ground: the curving cobblestone roads, the narrow buildings that lined them, and the Danes themselves, whose shapes somehow receded rather than grew as we approached. I followed Søren down a sloped sidewalk and around a corner. Signs I couldn’t read and one-story houses with small square yards. Farsø.
When I was eight and first allowed to start walking home from school alone, Mama sat me down for a lecture about the importance of maintaining a good internal map. Always know where you are. Don’t lose your way. Watch, learn, and remember the way back to where you came from. Don’t get dreamy.
I walked in Søren’s footsteps, trying to track the turns. Down to the big street, take a left, walk two blocks, turn right, cross the pedestrian mall, cut down an alley. I soon gave up. It was impossible to pick out a landmark among all the unfamiliar shapes on this new street. I would have to reverse all the directions to get back to the station, anyway.
But I wouldn’t be going back on my own, I reminded myself. Wherever I needed to go, Søren would take me.
He spoke over his shoulder. “Roxana, could you not do that, please?”
“What?”
“Walk behind me.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “Please just do as I ask.” It was a different voice, formal and distant, the one he had used when we first met. Two days ago. I reminded myself that I knew nothing about him, that I had chosen to come here with a stranger. It was frightening but also somehow comforting, a reminder that this was an adventure.
“Sorry.”
I rushed to walk beside him. He interlaced his fingers with mine and absently pecked the top of my head. “Are you excited to see the apartment?”
I nodded.
“It is much nicer than my flat in Copenhagen.”
His bedroom in Copenhagen, the walls and bed and cheap blond wood armoire all washed in the thrill of our bodies together. Would I ever see it again?
There was no one else on the street. We passed the tallest building I had seen yet, three stories high. A white tower adorned with a steel flourish marked its front corner. Three of the buildings on the street were banks with ATM terminals lodged in their front windows. There were housewares stores like the ones I had seen in Roskilde and shops with racks of clothing on the sidewalk.
Open Me Page 8
