A breeze blows in from the balcony. How does it get so cold here when it’s hot down below the slopes of the mountain? I could get up and close the glass doors but I pull the blankets tighter instead, shivering to banish the cold.
I keep looking back at the door, expecting him to barge through any moment. I keep swinging back and forth, thinking about his lips and touch and his accent and the things he does. I can’t separate the handsome man who gave me sweet wine from the iron giant who struck off a man’s head in front of me…and Melissa.
Oh God, what are they doing to her?
I haven’t even been here a full day and my phone call isn’t for another week. After that, people back home will realize I’m gone and start asking after me. I have this sinking feeling, almost a certainty, that the church hasn’t reported my absence, or they’ve made up some excuse to keep everyone quiet.
Brad pops back into my head and I wonder how tied up the church was with whatever he’s doing, whether it’s all just a sham or he just uses it as a cover and they’re genuine. To me they all seemed fake-y and saccharine, but there’s an obvious reason for that.
I know why I came here. I can still see it in my mind’s eye. I see myself sitting on the couch in my home, holding a telephone in my hands, sobbing and staring, wondering why neither my brother nor my lover will answer me. I scrolled through the list of calls to make sure I wasn’t dreaming it. I called them both over thirty times.
When the knock came from the door at 5:46 in the morning, I knew. By then my parents were sitting in the room, waiting with me. They both reacted differently. Mom was staring and shaking, Dad sitting there like a statue, eyes fixed on nothing, like if he remained just still enough, it would all slide past him and go away.
It was he who did the talking when the police came. He opened the door and walked out onto the porch with them and talked, and after ten minutes he came in and they didn’t.
“Honey,” he said.
“They’re dead,” I said softly.
I don’t remember much more than that. He never said it out loud, he never said his son is dead. He just left it hanging in the air, confirmation by omission.
I felt so cold, like I’d been thrown into a pool of water on a hot day, but the water was oily, black, and thick and pulled me under with a savage icy grip, and invaded my lungs. I drowned in my own sobs. Somehow I ended up on the floor. I wept into my mother’s lap for hours, maybe days.
The funerals came two days later for David, my fiancé, and Perry, my brother.
My parents named him Perseus.
I was the only member of my family to attend David’s funeral. It was horrible. I was an outsider, like I wandered up to the wrong funeral and was too uncouth to leave. Everyone glared at me, his mother most of all. I’ve never seen someone look so devastated, and the hate that burned in her eyes seared my skin like a hot poker. I wanted to talk to her, to say something, but I couldn’t. I ran away before they finished, and cursed myself for making a spectacle. I couldn’t watch them put the casket in the ground, I couldn’t.
I never really stopped running. I googled ways to get out of the country on my phone, steeled myself, and talked to a representative from the church in a cold, flat voice. My mother begged me not to go, and my father said nothing but that it was my choice and to make sure I call them. I left the following week.
Laughter bubbles out of my throat as I suddenly realize that this is exactly what I was looking for.
I’m too cowardly to do the job myself, so I’ve been looking for someone to do it for me. Fleeing to a war-torn country, following Melissa out of the tent, it was all for one purpose. I was looking for an end I’m too weak to give myself.
The knock I’ve been waiting for finally comes.
“Go away,” I croak out, clutching my blankets.
When the door opens and he walks in, I can’t say I’m surprised.
He’s dressed in pajamas, I think. Loose black silk and a robe, and slippers.
Fuzzy slippers. Very worn.
“What do you want?”
“I could not sleep.”
“Why?”
“I should apologize for startling and upsetting you. I…acted out of turn. A strange fancy gripped me.”
I snort. “So you’re here to say sorry.”
“No.”
“You just said you came to apologize.”
He sighs as he sits on the edge of the bed. I scoot away from him, drawing my legs up as I curl into a ball.
“I did, and I offer my apology, but, ‘I am sorry I kissed you,’ is not a thing I can say. It would be a lie. I am not sorry. I liked it. I would do it again if you let me.”
“And if I don’t?”
He glances at me but doesn’t answer.
“Your accusation has some weight,” he sighs, scrubbing his fingers through his dark hair, all shaggy now. “I took an interest in you when we first met.”
“You mean at that camp?”
“Yes. I saw you naked and filthy and hurt, clutching thin blankets to cover your shame…”