We stop speaking after that. I’ve wanted to have him again since our ill-considered night, and now there are no barriers. He pulls me to him, and my body presses against his. I melt into him, and he melts into me. We kiss, my fingertips running along the short buzz of his hair. He wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me off the ground. I wrap my legs around him.
We fall into the sofa, tasting each other. After we came out of Ensi’s mind, my senses were confused, and Nazarin was the only thing that made sense. It’s the same again. His skin, warm and firm, giving beneath my touch. The feel of his breath on my neck. The flicker of a tongue along the pulse of my throat.
My fingers unbutton his shirt, sliding it off of him. I run my hands along the firm muscles of his back, over the fading bruises. He’s kept all his scars. His skin shows a life lived with danger—a shallow slash along the ribs, little nicks along his arms. I kiss each one.
I nip his skin with my teeth, and he pulls me up and crushes my mouth to his, holding my tongue between his teeth, just hard enough to hurt. I run my fingernails along his upper arms and he gasps against my mouth.
We shed the last of our clothes to mingle on the floor. I still feel weak, but Nazarin holds me. He moves into me, and I draw him closer, as if our flesh could blend. The only sounds are the soft gasps of our breathing, the sound of our skin sliding against the fabric of the sofa. We move together. I roll on top of him. I kiss him as we move, faster and faster. We are the closest two people can be without being conjoined.
I shudder against him, my eyes shut tight, focused on that point deep within. I keep my mouth against his as we finish, loving the sound of his moan of release thrumming through me.
I lie on top of him, our limbs entangled, his heartbeat racing against the skin of my chest. My limbs grow lax and tingling with the ebb of desire. All thought has left me, and for the first time since this all began, I feel at peace.
Later, when we are in bed, I breathe in, long and deep, resting my lips against the top of Nazarin’s skull. My fingers toy idly with the sheet. There’s something about someone asleep next to you, vulnerable and breathing softly, that’s so comforting.
It’s not long until dawn. In a few hours, I’ll see my sister again. I set out to free her, and I did.
I’m terrified. She’s the person I know better than anyone else possibly could. All these people I see every day, they couldn’t understand my relationship with Tila. How for so many years we were two people, yet we were the same. We couldn’t hide from each other. All our strengths, all our weaknesses. We knew it all.
She kept all this from me. If she hadn’t been caught, if Vuk hadn’t attacked her, would she ever have told me?
She would never have been able to keep those secrets from me if we were still connected. Perhaps we should have fought the doctors harder. Claimed religious reasons—they wouldn’t have been able to argue with that. But we didn’t know that then. We were so young. So very innocent, compared to how we are now.
I want to let go of the anger, but I can’t. Tila killed someone. She killed him to protect herself, and to protect me. I can’t blame her for that. I don’t think I ever did.
It’s easy to take a life. We’re such delicate creatures. Nazarin slumbers on, and my thoughts continue to circle. Thoughts of death, and blood, and wondering what will happen tomorrow, when I see my sister for the first time since they dragged her away from me.
Part of me wonders if I still want to see her.
THIRTY-TWO
TILA
I’ve been moved back from the prison in the Sierras (or wherever it was) to a holding cell in San Francisco. The guards told me I’m getting out in a few hours. So this will be the end of my testimony, which is good, I guess, because the notebook is almost full anyway. I still can’t believe it, though I should know better than to ever underestimate Taema.
I’ve tried to tidy myself up a bit, but the girl in the mirror still looks like shit. Circles under my eyes, and my hair frizzy thanks to the cheap prison shampoo. Now I’m sitting here on the uncomfortable bed, alternately writing in here and looking out through that tiny window at the blue sky.
I’m scared to see Taema, after all this. Will she blame me? Will she be hurt at all I kept from her, even if it was to try and protect her? I don’t know.
I’ve decided to spend my last moments in jail writing out what really happened. I’m taking this notebook out with me, and nobody else will read what I write in here now except my sister.
T:
I’ve made mistakes. I thought I’d be protecting you by not involving you, but now … I know that you were shot. You’re going to be OK, but still. You were shot because of me. I put you in danger because I didn’t want you to realize what I’d be willing to do to find out the truth. If I’d told you from the start, if we’d done this together, it would have worked out so differently.
How are we going to move on from this?