by Caroline Day
We explode almost simultaneously. We merge into a single whole for a few long seconds, and then break up into particles and get them back together into separate bodies.
At that very moment, I get back to the reality, and realize what I have just done and why I behaved that way. However, I try to get these thoughts out of my head. Other things are running through my head.
Even my ex-boyfriend never made me feel this way, never brought me as much pleasure as the stranger. The man who will ask me to remove my blindfold and leave me alone with my thoughts in a few seconds… Alone with my feelings… And probably with those girls behind the thin wall of the stall.
I suddenly realize that...
‘I want to see you,’ I whisper into his face. I know that he is by my side and hears me. He doesn't release me from his strong embrace. I implored him as if it were my last hope, but I don't try to remove the blindfold without his permission. Why bother? He would grab my wrists, and my eyes would never meet his.
‘No,’ his reply sounds like a merciless sentence for a prisoner who has been dreaming of a ray of light after long-term incarceration.
“Please.’
‘What for?’
I have no idea. Why do I want to see the abyss in his eyes, look at the expression on his face, at the well-defined lips, at the furrowed brows? Why do I need his arms folding me? Now. I want to make sure that my stranger is Adrian Sullivan, or lose myself in conjectures again.
A silence falls. I keep silent, and he stands still. He could have removed the blindfold from my face. He could start trusting me. Why can't I remove it myself? I need his permission. I need to know that he shares my desire.
‘Red fits you,’ his finger is sliding across my red lips. Fortunately, the lipstick is waterproof, so he can’t smear it. His lips slightly touch mine, his tongue traces a wet path along the contour, merges with my tongue, and then he pulls himself away. ‘I want your lips to be red when we meet.’
‘What if I don't want it?’
‘I told you,’ he says firmly, tightening his grip on my body. ‘Take off the blindfold in five minutes, clean yourself up, and come out.’
He leaves a fleeting kiss on my lips and releases me into cruel reality. I already miss him, his body, his lips, his breath on my skin, his scent. I miss that man.
Barely keeping my body and soul together, I remove the blindfold from my eyes. I squint at the light, but quickly get used to it, as well as to the sense of personal insignificance that the stranger leaves behind.
I quickly clean myself up by the sink, since there is no one in the room, and get out into the hall, barely able to walk. I need to find Andrew, show up at his club even though I feel a strong desire to go back to the Dorm, and stay there until my thoughts get back to normal. No one should notice my condition.
No one should understand that I was about to fall in love with my professor who hid his face behind the black silk…
I grab my jacket from the locker and catch a glimpse of Mr. Sullivan coming out with his coat in his hand. I am about to run up to him, demand an explanation again, despite his strange game, but a particular detail catches my eye – a silk ribbon that sticks out of his pocket.
Chapter 21.
It snows again. This winter seems to be abnormal. It rains too often, and I often see snowflakes behind the window. It seems it will never stop snowing. I watch the snowflakes and keep thinking.
But today, unlike the previous days, I don't just sit on the windowsill, watching the snow fall. Today, everything goes awry. It's Christmas eve. On this day, for many years, I have been standing in the same place in warm Ugg boots, in two sweaters, impervious to gusts of strong wind.
Mary Angela Brown and Patrick Sean Brown. Rest In Peace.
I have known the names engraved on the marble slab since I was a child, and I still can't get used to seeing them here for the third Christmas eve. I read the letters and try to find some discrepancy every time, but it's impossible. They passed away, and their death was too sudden, unexpected for Adam and me.
I could see their pale, stone-dead faces during the funeral ceremony. I remember I was leaning against Adam's shoulder, and everything around me blurred like watercolors on a canvas.
A couple of hours before the tragic death, we seemed to be a happy family...
‘Dolly, bring me spices from the garage,’ my mother's soft voice comes from behind the refrigerator door as I finish whipping eggnog and lick my finger smudged with my favorite drink. I have to hide it from Adam, otherwise he'll drink it all before we sit down at the dinner table.
‘Sure!’ I fling the jacket over my shoulders and run to the garage.
My mother usually kept cooking stuff, including spices for the Christmas turkey on the farthest shelf. That's my mother’s signature dish. The cooked poultry is delicious. Yum! You'll lick your fingers!
Anyway, a delicious turkey is the last thing I love about Christmas. For me, this is a holiday of family unity, joy and endless snow, which gives us an opportunity to make a good deal of snow angels. I hope that Andrew and his parents will also come to us. He promised to introduce us to his girlfriend. Finally!
‘I can't talk right now, we're getting ready for Christmas eve,’ comes Dad's gruff voice from outside the gate. Even today, he can't table his work for later. ‘I don't care what demands he made. The article should be published on the official website of the magazine. Got it?’
Dad keeps silent for a while, and I can hear only the winter breeze blowing outside the garage. I am no longer listening to the conversation. Why should I? I still don't understand a damn thing about this stupid news making.
I take the jar from the top shelf and climb down the ladder. But a step under my right foot suddenly breaks and I fall backward into a secure trap – my Dad’s arms.
‘Dolly, what are you doing here? You can fall down!’ Dad immediately scoops me up. He is tall, strong, and courageous. Whenever I need help he is around, even now, when I have grown up and do not look like a five-year-old girl with funny ponytail.
‘I'm helping Mom,’ I show him the jar of spicy sauce. ‘Why are you working? That’s Christmas Eve! Mom won't be happy about this.’
‘Are you cooking a turkey?’ he's getting off the subject. ‘Yummy! I can't wait! Eggnog...’
‘You shouldn't drink it!’
‘Can I take a sip?’ He gives me a pleading look. His eyes are as blue as mine.
‘Okay,’ my dad and I are smiling together as he carries me into the kitchen. ‘Don't tell Adam, or it'll be just like last year.’
‘Deal. Promise me one thing.’
'What do you want?’
My father's face takes on a thoughtful expression. He puts me down on the floor, leans down to my ear, and whispers mysteriously:
‘Don't tell your mother about the phone call.’
‘Okay.’
If I knew that it was my last conversation with dad, I would have let him drink eggnog and eat ginger cookies on the sly from my mom. I would have done anything to prevent their death.
Now, looking at their grave, I can only shed tears and complain about the injustice of life. Here, I can talk endlessly about my studies, about Adam's condition, about my friends,
and about my life that has more questions than answers...
For many long days since the last encounter with the stranger, I had been tormented by conjectures. I tried to explain new facts. The ribbon in his pocket, the scent, the slight accent that I hadn't noticed since the first day... If it hadn't been for Andrew and Adam, I would have lost my mind. Why?
I see the stranger in every man if he is tall enough and smells of mint. He's tall, about a head taller than me, considering that the last time I wore high heels. Neither Mr. Sullivan nor Dr. Connor looks that tall. Probably.
Heck!
‘I don't know what to do, mom,’ I whisper, looking at her name.
Tears trickle down my cheeks, and everything is getting blurred. Everything inside of
me shrinks with pain of loss and life I have to lead. Uncertainty makes me feel terrible.
I can't allow myself to have forbidden feeling. What a weird, disgraceful feeling. The unknown, incomprehensible one. Anyway, is it real? Maybe it's just my imagination. I probably got stuck in the illusion of a relationship.
I realize again that Andrew was right. I have to put it all behind. Forget about him. Stop searching for him, even if I still can't get him out of my head. How many times have I told myself this? Many. Hundreds. I have tried to convince myself that I should do it a thousand times, but in vain. Back then, in the stall, I was ready to take off the blindfold as soon as the door closed behind him, rush after him and meet him face to face.
When will I go against myself next?
‘I miss you. I miss you so much...’
I can't hear myself – my lips barely move. I'm so wrapped up in myself that I don't hear the crunch of fresh snow behind my back.
The long-forgotten voice reaches my ears.
‘Lolita?’
It sounds like a sweet balm for my soul. What? Again? When will it end? Why do I see him in every adult man? Even in...
‘What are you doing here?’ I look at the long-forgotten face in surprise.
The guy furrows his dark brown brows for a moment, walks around me, puts a bunch of white lilies on a granite slab, and stands to my right. I hear him chewing gum, and pick up the smell of mint. Again. I feel like the scent is haunting me. My ex always smelled like this, but now I attribute the scent not to my first love, but to the last...
No, I am mistaken. The stranger is not my last love. Our relation has nothing to do with love!
‘I came to Granny's grave and saw you by chance,’ Sean says, looking at me curiously. I look back at him. He hasn't changed much – he is still handsome and attractive, but his features became masculine, and his honey-colored eyes look sharper.
‘I thought you'd moved to Budapest!’
‘I came home recently and decided to get here. You know, I didn't think I'd see you here.’
Well, darling, I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I did my best to get memories of our love, our relationship which lasted for a year out of my head. Passion. I didn't expect the memories to burst into my mind so suddenly, when I needed to distract myself from bad thoughts, and
I would compare the past and the present.
We look at the granite slab with my parents' names in silence. We don't talk, but I don't need to. I don't plunge into my thoughts, and he doesn't try to break the silence.
‘I know about Adam. How is he doing?’
Sean was the first to start talking.
‘He is getting better.’
‘What about you? How are you doing? Do you manage it?’
The last time we met, he asked the same question. His voice sounds friendly, a little uneasy, as if there were still those echoes of affection that had ended so abruptly. But I know the answer in advance and can tell him without any consideration.
‘I guess so,’ I say after a long pause.
‘Your eyes say otherwise.’
I've always wondered what so special that people see in eyes of others... Well, eyes may be red, swollen after crying, hard studies, exams and emotional emptiness, your voice may change its tone... Then what? These are just physical signs. No one in the right mind would ever understand what was really happening to me. No one can support me, put oneself in my place without treating me like a local whore.
No one...
‘It's all right, don't worry.’
Sean tries to reach out and wrap my hand in warmth to share my emotions, my sadness. I can’t take my eyes off his light brown eyes, and I see sadness in his gaze either.
At this point, when our fingers touch, something changes. I can feel it even through my knitted mittens. Is it attraction or a sort of nostalgia? Melancholy that shrouds his iris.
Or I'm just losing my mind and looking for a bit of dominance in my ex-boyfriend again. The one that I heard in the voice of the stranger.
‘I wouldn't forgive myself if I were your brother,’ the guy says suddenly with a bitter smile. The magic of the moment is fading away, and the cruel reality takes it place.
‘Why?’ I blurt out without thinking twice about the meaning of the question
‘He put you in the hot seat. You probably have to work hard to pay for treatment, and you have to do well at your studies.
‘I’d do anything for Adam.’
This conversation is a bit like the one I had with Andrew when I told him about making extra money and selling the house. It's like they're trying to talk me out of helping my brother. But it's bland nonsense. Adam is my twin brother. My flesh and blood. He is my only relative, and Sean knows how I feel about him. Why should I give up and let him die?
‘You know you can rely on me. I’ll help you whenever you ask.’
I know, but I am not going to ask for help. It's too late, I managed it myself.
‘Sure.’
Heck! Was it my imagination, or was his voice too hoarse? Hoarse, like a voice of the stranger... Will it ever stop? I start thinking about the man again, comparing him to everyone around. First Dr. Connor, then Mr. Sullivan, and now Sean... He certainly had nothing to do with it, he would never treat me like that! Never! He would tell me! Why? Why does my mind project the image of the stranger to all men within a three-meter radius? They have nothing in common.
Andrew was right. I have to end this. There is no sense in searching for him.
But it’s too late...
Chapter 22.
Today, the hospital is almost empty. There are no staff members walking along the walkways except a nurse on duty, and the number of patients has decreased, although usually there are queues. People probably have a rest after Christmas eve.
But to be honest, it makes me feel better. Adam is alone in the room, there are no nurses, and Dr. Connor probably has the day off. Well, at least I won't feel confused because of his presence today. I won't let my imagination play tricks on me! Well, today I didn't try the stranger's mask on passers-by – my mind was busy with other things all day. I thought about my brother.
Last night I cooked a chicken in my mother's signature sauce in the Dorm – the turkey is too big for the two of us. Dr. Connor told me recently that my brother was already allowed to eat poultry, and I wanted to celebrate Christmas with my only family member.
‘Merry Christmas!’ I burst into the room, screaming. Adam lies on the bed, looking out the window. He doesn't turn his head right away when I enter, but as soon as our eyes meet, his dull blue eyes light up.
‘Merry Christmas, baby.’
‘Stop calling me baby!’
Adam just smiles back at me, but doesn't say a word, just like before. For a moment, I get the feeling that we are back to the carefree days when we were fighting and making up like all brothers and sisters in the world, when we shared sweets.
We shared a grief that suddenly fell upon us three years ago...
“Oh, is that Mom’s signature turkey?’ My brother's eyes light up in anticipation.
‘Well, almost. It's a chicken.’
‘Give it to me,’ he reaches for the container, sniffs, his eyes closed, like an actor in an advertisement for some delicious food on TV, and takes a bite of the fragrant chicken.
For the first time in a long period, I see my brother eating eagerly. He used to get sick at the sight of any goodies, and he barely touched the food when I was not around. Now Adam is chewing a chicken leg with relish. The surgeries, as well as chemotherapy, made him feel better. All I have to do is to finish my last semester in the uni and get our house back. By the way, I should check how much it costs now, and take a loan if necessary.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Adam digs me in the ribs with his elbow, smiling contentedly.
‘It's nothing important.’ ‘Mrs. Thompson asked about your health condition.’
‘What does this cheap wretch want?’
Adam frowns, and his eyes are getting darker.
‘Adam! Stop it! By the way, she recently offered me money to pay for your treatment.’
However, at the moment I had already paid for the surgery and for rehabilitation, and she took the envelope back, but I’d better not mention this.
‘Nobody gives a shit how I feel! Even Andrew never comes to see me!’
Heck! Why did I bring this up?
‘If you both weren't stubborn as a mule, you'd meet and make up!’ I boldly utter, looking into my brother's sad eyes, his shoulders dropped with sorrow. He even lowered his head to avoid my gaze, his fingers fiddling with the blanket, as if he found it more exciting than our conversation.
‘As you may see, I can’t pay him a visit. As far as he is concerned...’
He falls silent again. He never gives me a hint on what happened between them. I used to ask Andrew for a while about the root of discord, but then I gave up trying. ‘That’s none of my business,’ I thought at the time, but now, looking at Adam's sad face, I come to conclusion that it would be better to interfere in their relationship.
‘I treated him like shit. I set him up,’ he says after a long pause. ‘I doubt he will ever forgive me.’
‘What have you done?’ I blurt out.
My brother hesitates again, crumpling the edge of the blanket in his hands, but in a second, he looks up at me, his eyes dark and sad. Filled with guilt.
‘They came to him to collect my debt before I was taken to the hospital.’
A lot of questions immediately arise in my head. What debt is he talking about? Why did they come to Andrew, not to me? I didn't know about any debts, and Andrew never told me a word.
‘Why didn't he tell me?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says in a sad voice, ‘But from that moment on, Andrew got offended.’
