by Ana Calin
“Jesus, you look like you might break into ice shards,” Damian said.
“I’m afraid my brain’s already splintered. I should’ve been the first to think of the liquor,” George replied with a stiff grin that meant to be friendly but rather gave the impression of a frozen fossil.
Damian opened the backpack and took out three small bottles like the ones Russians keep in the inside pockets of their sheepskin coats. He handed one to Svetlana and one to George.
“Pass that around,” he told them, then took a seat by my side with the third bottle.
I blinked and barely refrained from rubbing my eyes. I couldn’t believe he was so close to me, by his own choosing this time.
“Drink this,” he said softly, holding the open bottle to my mouth. A sharp smell made me crease my nose and push his hand away.
“Vodka. It’ll help warm you up,” he insisted.
I sniffed at it a couple of times and finally took a sip that went like a flash of fire to the pit of my stomach. I grimaced, but Damian only chuckled and looked at me as if I were a playing puppy. Again, he had that strange expression on his face, like a predator cornering its prey. I tried a shaky smile back, my heart drumming.
Then my eyes fell on the open mouthed Svetlana, and I realized why he must’ve switched to my side, I was the only one without a pair of arms around me. Damian was just looking after the less fortunate.
“Thanks, I’m good now,” I grumbled and drew away, pulling my knees up.
Suddenly, the train began to wobble like a ship on a stormy sea. Girls shrieked, guys glanced around with wide eyes and, as the lights flickered and finally went out, I burst into a fit of screaming too. A hand wrapped around my arm and pulled me to a broad chest, my nose sinking in a fluffy pullover.
“Earthquake,” Damian’s voice sounded above my head. At the next jerk, he dropped back in the seat with me on his lap.
“Maybe someone is just...just digging us out of the snow,” Svetlana babbled.
“That’s not a shovel moving the train,” the guy with the guitar croaked.
The train came to a brusque halt in its swaying, and Damian jumped to his feet, sheltering me with the sides of his open coat. I pushed my face deeper into his pullover as he slid the compartment door open with his elbow.
“What are you doing?” George squealed.
“We need to get out of here,” Damian replied. His tone was even, but not devoid of stress.
“What if it starts again?” His bearded guitarist friend said. “We’re deep in the mountains. We could get killed in an avalanche or something!”
“And you think we stand a better chance if an avalanche traps us in this rust box, Hector?” Damian retorted, and rushed with me down the aisle. He only put me down as we reached a fast-growing clutch of shrieking people by the exit. Fear gripped me, and my heart punched hard against my ribcage as I stretched my arm to keep him close. To no avail, I lost him as he made his way through.
In the chaos of screams and bodies squashing me between them I freaked out, but I was unable to make a sound. The door snapped open and a winter gush wheezed through, lashing my face numb as people poured out of the train and drifted me forward with them. I sank to my knees in the glistening snow and waved my arms to keep from falling into the forested abyss that loomed before my eyes.
A huge, warm hand clasped mine, steadying me, and the instant I looked into Damian’s focused face I understood he’d only left my side to break down the door. I forgave him on the spot.
He turned to help the others out of the train but missed one, who bumped hard against me and sent me like a ball down the slope. I rolled and rolled, my mind and skin frozen as snow infiltrated under my scarf and sleeves. A front clash with a tree trunk knocked the air from my lungs, and the last thing I saw was a shower of white that filled my mouth and nostrils. I choked under the mountain of cold that gagged me, desperate to breathe in.
My head began to cloud with lack of air, and I felt my pulse give up. That moment I knew the sense of safety was a mirage, as if some tiny fairy at the back of my mind urged me to keep fighting.
I saw a bright sphere, but I knew it wasn’t the moon. It was the light at the end of a black tunnel—a light that sucked me toward it like a vacuum cleaner would a fly. I fought against the pull, and by some miracle it actually stopped. I came close to the bright sphere. Weight started to press rhythmically on what I now identified as my chest, and I started to spin backwards, as if something drew me with the same force farther and farther from it. As it became smaller, it warped into the shape of a child-like face with eyes bright like lasers, piercing me through the darkness. A crystalline voice like tinkling icicles filled my head. “You need me . . .”
Chapter Two
Every breath hurt as if my sternum had been smashed with a rock. The blur cleared to Leona’s face, her chocolate eyes wide and worried above mine.
“She’s awake!” she called. More faces popped into the picture, looming above her head.
I tried to get up on my elbows, but the pain punched full force into my chest. With a groan that hurt too, I fell back on something soft that smelled of piss.
“Don’t strain yourself.”
“It hurts,” I whispered.
“It’s the CPR. Damian might’ve pressed too hard on your chest.”
“Damian?”
Leona smiled. “He launched after you when you fell. He carried you here, too.”
I looked down at myself, and saw I was wrapped in two coats – my own and a new fat one, my scalp itching under what could’ve been a busby, yet none of it helped much. I still shivered as she tucked me under a blanket, leaving my arms out.
Muttered voices and flitting shadows twirled about the room, only Leona’s olive-skinned face constant in the picture. I registered a friendly, “Water by the bed,” and George’s, “Bug off, here’s the vodka.” Someone placed a candle on a nightstand by my head, as if I were dying. Still, candles were the only source of light in the room as far as I could tell – causing the eerie shadow play.
Now that I was out of danger and required no more of their attention, one by one the voices cleared the room and left me to my best friend’s care. It was then that I tried to speak.
“Damian ... CPR?”
Leona threw me a glance, her hands rubbing mine.
“Med school, remember?”
“Playing hero,” I whispered.
Her head turned in the opposite direction – maybe the door. My socks got hitched off, and something hot pressed to the naked soles of my feet. The feeling was beyond unpleasant, like needles stinging my flesh.
“Leona, wha – ?” I managed to lift my head. Damian held a bottle of warm water at my feet, his hand covering both of them. He didn’t wear his coat, only the gray pullover that complimented his athletic body and those dark jeans that hinted at his strong legs. While I look a mess. I scrunched my eyes shut as he began kneading my toes. I’m not seeing this! I’m not seeing this!
“A train off track and frozen mountains are no playground,” he scolded in that deep voice of his. I wanted to crawl back into my snow grave.
“Will you take over from here?” Leona addressed him – agile on the first opportunity to give us some time alone, I figured. “I’m afraid George will drown in all that vodka he saved, if I leave him for too long.”
I kept my eyes shut as they probably exchanged nods or rather headshakes. I didn’t want to see Damian’s face as he refused. It was only when I heard the door creak shut that I opened one eye, as if peeking at an incoming blow.
Damian flipped the blanket aside and sat on the bed, diving into the mattress.
“May I lay with you? You’ll warm up faster,” he said softly.
Lay with me? Speechless, I nodded.
He stretched along my side, lifting my head with a huge hand and slipping an arm under the nape of my neck. Our gazes locked, and my mind focused on the rare color of his eyes. It was special, weirdly so. Every morn
ing I saw a dull, washed-out nuance of my own blue eyes in the mirror, I saw brown, green and every combination thereof often around, but I’d never seen that crystal green, creating an irresistible contrast to . . . I couldn’t quite identify what. I imagined his eyes flashing with some kind of madness, like a demon’s. Maybe they did so when he was angry. And I could make him angry right now. I could jolt up and press my lips on his, taking him by surprise.
But I made it only as far as resting my head on his arm that felt like concrete under his pullover, and putting a hand on his chest – broad and a bit too bulky. My neck soon hurt. He had the physique of a bodybuilder, but I doubted as a med student who worked for a living that he had the time to hit the gym, so perhaps he boxed or played hardcore sports. I shook away the thought. It didn’t matter, all that really mattered was that he was here next to me and he smelled of wood and warmth and Christmas fairy tales coming true.
“Where are we?” My sternum hurt with every word.
“A cottage in restoration. The train fell off track too far from Predeal, and this is the first lodging we found. There’s no phone signal this deep in the mountains to call for help, so we’re making do.”
“No earthquake?”
“That was my first thought, but I was wrong. Earthquakes aren’t common in these parts of the Carpathians. They tried to pull the train forward through the snow and it slipped off.” There was a pensive touch in his words. It suited that deep, velvety voice of his.
I looked down at the shape of our legs under the blanket, thinking of what to say next to keep the conversation going. Damian began stroking the side of my torso over the coat, his hand close to my breast. It made the blood race through my veins.
“So, did you only punch me or . . . did you give me mouth to mouth, too?” I couldn’t believe the pain in my ribcage.
“Didn’t come to that, don’t worry. You spat out the snow and water during the chest compressions.”
“Oh . . . Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Spitting.”
He laughed.
“Try to get some rest,” he said. “Talking might be difficult for some hours, maybe even days.”
Now that was bad news. Leona would surely hunger for every detail of what happened in this room, and I wouldn’t be able to deliver, which counted as high treason regardless of excuse.
Guitar tones filled the silence. They were just as out of tune as the hoarse male voice that accompanied them, but it made the silence bearable, and I thought it relaxed Damian, too. I closed my eyes and attempted to fall asleep, but his body so close to mine made it impossible. His chest rose and fell as he breathed, and I wondered relentlessly what he felt, what he thought. What he thought of me.
He still stroked me, so maybe he’d give in to easy sex. In the end, he’d saved my life, and maybe he even expected such as a sign of gratitude. Maybe he was waiting for me to make the first move.
Faking sporadic sighs from the world of dreams, I let my body snake on Damian’s. Since I was supposed to be asleep, I couldn’t be held accountable for it, but the feel of his muscles under the pullover made my breath intensify, which may have exposed me. His rhythm quickened a little too, but, as I risked a glance through my lashes, his jaw rippled. He looked angry.
I stopped moving, but it seemed he’d already made a decision. Though he withdrew his arm carefully from under my head, as soon as that was done he jumped off the bed like a gazelle and closed the door behind him. I opened my eyes, tears of shame dripping on the pillow.
With only the drunken version of “Dust in the Wind” to keep me company, more dark thoughts crept into my head. What if he was into Svetlana after all? Or maybe into another? He surely had options. And what if he only wanted to be friends with me? Greedy for the shaft in his pants I’d probably lost that now too. I have to make this right.
I threw the blanket aside, groped for my socks and boots and followed the music down a narrow corridor. It led to what looked like the main chamber of an old rustic lodge with wooden furniture, carpets on the walls and a terracotta stove.
With the power out, candles were the only sources of light, making the snow that clung to the windows glitter, the way it did in fairy tales. More drunken voices now joined the bearded singer’s, and people chained together with hands on each other’s shoulders swayed left and right.
I spotted Damian across the room. He sat on a windowsill, his booted feet on the back of a wooden bench. With elbows on his knees, he scowled from under knitted eyebrows. I stopped in my tracks.
My severely bruised ego screamed, “Hide!” and I hurried to mingle in, trying to find Leona. She danced in a lush embrace with George, who hurried to get rid of me by properly introducing me to Svetlana the “Beauty-Queen”. My lips sucked lemon as I saw Damian’s coat hanging on her bony shoulders – so I wasn’t the only lady whom he aided in distress.
I gave in under the weight of George’s hand pushing down my shoulder, and dropped onto a chipped wooden stool right by Svetlana’s side. She returned to a conversation with her friends, and made a show of how she ignored me. Every time I opened my mouth to say something, she’d go ahead and ask one of the others about the parties at the dorms that she’d missed – probably ‘cause of her sugar daddy. Sometimes she’d introduce some cheap gossip with, “Oh yeah, did you hear that . . .”
I tried talking to an older guy with wiry curls and a dirty coat, but he soon switched to the other side of the human circle. After about an hour everybody else sprang to their feet and cheered at the first tantalizing tunes of a bouncing round dance. Only Svetlana and I stayed put, eying each other awkwardly.
“How come you don’t join?” I said to fill in the uncomfortable silence.
“I hate this peasant dance,” she sneered, looking me up and down as if I were a worm. “Maybe you should give it a try. I bet you’d look good doing it.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to repress the urge to slap her. “I’m afraid I’m not as talented as you,” I grunted. “There isn’t a guy on campus who’s been to the Marquette and doesn’t know of your skill.”
She puffed and looked away. There was a pang of guilt in my gut.
“So, are you originally from Constanța or only studying there?” I said in a pacifying tone.
“My dad’s from Croatia. I was born in Biograd, but I grew up here,” she replied with her nose turned up.
“I’m a half-breed, too. My mom’s American.”
“You’re American?” The older guy with wiry curls bounced in, his voice too loud. His drunken eyes sparked at me as if I’d suddenly turned into an exotic dancer – a remarkable shift.
Heads turned, Hector’s fingers tangled in the guitar chords, and I immediately regretted having touched on the subject.
“That would be an overstatement,” I muttered.
“How can you overstate origin?” Svetlana sneered. She looked daggers at me, so it wasn’t hard to tell she hated my stealing the spotlight, especially for one of her own reasons to be special.
“My dad studied in the States. Met my mom. She followed him back to Romania.” I glared at her and then at Mr. Nosy.
“So your mom’s the American maiden and your dad the knight from Draculean lands?” He gave me a deep-lined, unshaven grin that failed to be charming.
I nodded.
“The States, huh? In those times?” Svetlana tried harder to splash me with mud. “How did he pass Ceaușescu’s dogs?”
Shoot. But forging lies would’ve eventually put me in even worse light – it had before.
“It was Ceaușescu’s dogs who sent him there,” I muttered.
Complete silence. My eyes flew over to Damian. He watched with arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrow. For a moment there I hoped he’d jump to my rescue again, but he remained quiet.
“Tiberius Preda? He is your father?” the older guy whispered.
Crap.
I nodded, and the guy’s mouth popped open. My dad’s name
was notorious enough to mean heavy moneybags to everyone there.
“So, you’re a rich bitch daddy’s girl, huh?” Svetlana sniped. Her laugh reminded me of the villain in a children’s film. This time my palm actually itched to slap her, but she was taller and stronger.
“Listen, little miss hot to trot.” Leona placed herself before Svetlana, her tone cutting, all signs of fun and liquor-conditioned euphoria gone from her face. “Alice is not some social mutant you can dump on. She’s made more sacrifices in her life then you’ll ever know.”
Svetlana glowered back at Leona, more pissed off by the intervention than taken aback. Seeing them face each other was quite something – they couldn’t be more different and yet more alike. Both what society would doubtlessly label Hollywood-worthy.
I didn’t wait for the outcome of their confrontation. I dragged myself out the door with my face in my palms, fighting to keep back tears, and unable to fathom how I could’ve been so stupid to mention my roots so easily, especially to someone who so obviously resented me. The cool air on the porch dried my eyes. It numbed my feelings a bit, too.
The lodge stood somewhere high and close to the woods, countless fir branches warped with snow marking the contours of endless hills, a full moon hanging low in the sky. It reminded me of the tale of Beauty and the Beast that Mom used to read to me before she put me to bed. I’d fall asleep in my pink pajamas, clutching Judy the Monkey to my chest and dreaming of a prince in a fairy tale of my own. My story had turned out to be a little different, though.
I sank my hands in the snow on the porch and splashed it like water on my face, hoping the sting would cast both Damian’s rejection and Svetlana’s laughter to the back of my mind. It did for but a second.
“So, daddy issues?” Damian’s voice made me jump to my feet.
He’d popped out of nowhere, and now stood really close by my side. “A whole bunch of them.”
