“Well, you don’t know me all that well,” she snaps.
“I’m beginning to learn that.”
Adamek grabs a nearby hand towel. He leans into Nazirah, reaching behind her to turn on the hot water. Steam fills the room as Adamek wets the cloth. He dabs the wound through his shirt, struggling to get a good angle.
“Can I help you?” she asks softly.
Adamek stops and looks at her strangely. He says, “That remains to be seen.”
Wordlessly, Nazirah sets the bottle on the floor. She takes the towel from him, folds it, placing it on her lap. Leaning over, Nazirah rinses her hands under the running water. She washes the blood off, scrubbing under her nails, removing the stain and shame Ramses has left behind, until she feels clean. Realizing how long she’s taking, Nazirah pulls back quickly, knocking the tap. She shakes her wrist, looking hesitantly at Adamek. But he’s just watching, waiting for her to finish. Nazirah picks up the towel, gingerly dabs his arm. Slowly, the shirt lifts from his wound. She’s so close, too close. Nazirah smells the sage and cardamom and spice, the scent that’s so uniquely him. She holds her breath, praying for a distraction.
“My shoes,” she says suddenly.
“Your shoes?”
“I forgot them downstairs.”
Adamek takes the small towel from her. He folds it into a square and places it behind him. “You really do say exactly what you’re thinking, don’t you?”
“Not all the time.”
Adamek slowly unbuttons the rest of his shirt. Using his good arm, he slips it off his shoulders. He tosses the shirt behind him. “So what are you thinking about right now?” he asks, smirking.
Nazirah’s face heats up, knowing he’s intentionally dragging it out. “My shoes,” she repeats.
“I stand corrected,” he says. Adamek grabs the bottle off the floor, takes a huge swig. He then pours some more vodka over his arm. Nazirah feels lightheaded from the alcohol, the blood, and his shirtless presence. He delves into his bag, pulling out a needle and some thread. Revolted yet fascinated, Nazirah watches Adamek thread the needle and skillfully begin stitching up his arm. Niko said he did this after getting shot, but hearing about it is one thing. Actually witnessing it happen is an entirely different beast. Queasy, Nazirah reaches between them. She snatches the bottle and takes another sip.
“Take it easy,” Adamek says, wincing slightly as he finishes suturing his arm. He breaks the thread with his teeth, setting the needle aside. “I can’t have you passing out on my bathroom floor.”
Nazirah smiles a little, placing the bottle behind her. “No, we can’t have that.”
She inspects his arm closely. The stitches are even and tight, like Adamek has done this countless times before. Nazirah also notices his long white scar from the Khan, healed bullet wound on his shoulder, and several other marks blemishing his inked skin. She wants a reason to touch them, these beautiful flaws of his.
“It’s an unlucky arm,” he says quietly.
Nazirah leans forward, blowing on the stitches lightly. Adamek doesn’t breathe. She looks up, biting her lower lip. “For luck,” she says.
“Thank you.”
Nazirah nods. She pulls back, adding space between them. Adamek removes a roll of gauze from the bag and bandages his arm. Nazirah doesn’t look him in the eyes anymore. Her thoughts are cloudy, muddled, and disturbing.
Finished, Adamek stuffs the remaining gauze back into the bag and sets it behind him on the floor. As he turns his body, Nazirah finally sees the dusza in person. Instinctively, she reaches a slender hand out, tracing the dark characters down his back and up again. Adamek inhales sharply when her hand makes contact, but she is too engrossed to notice. “It’s so beautiful,” she says.
“It’s anything but.”
Quick as a flash – or maybe her reflexes are just slow – Adamek turns around. Her palm is flush with his chest, gossamer touch. Nazirah tries to pull away. He traps her hand under his, holding it there.
“Let me go,” she says.
Adamek’s eyes drift over Nazirah’s small frame, taking in her ripped dress, bruised neck, and finally settling on their hands. “Right in the heart, Nation,” he says. Nazirah can feel it, steadily beating into her palm.
Water splashes her thigh. Nazirah pulls her hand away, turning her head towards the source. The bathtub has filled to the brim, spilling over the sides, flooding the room. “I must have accidentally slid the nozzle before,” she says, quickly turning off the tap. She laughs brightly. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the circumstances, maybe it’s neither … but she suddenly feels inexplicably light, borderline insane. She looks at Adamek, playful spark.
“What?”
Nazirah doesn’t answer him. Entirely clothed, she drags herself over the edge of the tub. She sinks down into the steaming water, sending even more waves crashing onto the floor. Lace flows and floats and pools, rivers of scarlet freedom. Nazirah tips her head back, immersing her hair, washing away the night. Stretching her arms, gasping, she holds her hands to her head. She laughs loudly, uncontrollably, convulsing, cracking up.
She is completely cracking up.
She can’t hold it in anymore, none of it.
Life will out.
“Congratulations Nation, you’ve officially lost it.”
Nazirah sees through the sarcasm. There’s that familiar, odd longing in his eyes again. She knows he understands. Giggling, Nazirah sends another wall of water his way. Adamek raises his leg, narrowly avoiding it. “Come on, Morgen,” she teases. “Don’t you ever want to just be a teenager?”
He is quiet then, pensive. Nazirah doesn’t realize she has been hoping for it until after he sinks down opposite her. Adamek completely submerges himself, a moment too long. He surfaces, shaking his hair out, eyes sparkling mischievously.
She cannot stop laughing.
It’s as though months and months of pent up laughter have finally bubbled over. Nazirah laughs so hard she cries. And it’s infectious. Because the two of them, here, is absolutely the weirdest, most incredible thing.
Transcendent.
Adamek rests against the tub, inhaling deeply. He asks, “Moment of temporary insanity?”
Nazirah shakes her head, water droplets flying. “Clarity!”
“Temporary clarity?”
“Most definitely.”
“You’re a strange one, Nation.”
“You like it.”
He snorts. “I am never letting you drink again, ever.”
Nazirah bursts into renewed laughter. Body shaking, she bites the inside of her arm. She kicks some water at him once, then twice. On the second time, Adamek lazily catches her foot with his hand.
She stops laughing.
Nazirah pulls her foot away slowly, letting it slide through his hand. “Stay on your side,” she warns.
“I will,” he says, “if I can ask you a question.”
“Ask away.”
“Why did Caal leave?”
She hesitates. “You know why.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
Nazirah sighs. “Cato thinks there’s something going on between us,” she says. “For real, not for show.”
“He’s not exactly wrong.”
“No, he’s not,” she murmurs. “Even though we hate each other.”
“I don’t hate you, Nation.”
The moment is strange, fragile. She whispers, “I don’t hate you either.” Nazirah places her head in her hands, overwhelmed. After everything he has done, she should hate him. But she doesn’t. Not anymore.
Adamek remains silent and Nazirah eventually looks up, meeting his eyes. “There are these unexpected moments about you,” he says slowly, “These bright, irreverent moments that I can’t quite explain. Right now … when you were on the swings … jumping off those cliffs.…” He looks at his hands. “That’s the real reason I wanted to replay that memory. You have these moments of complete innocence I am completely drawn to.”
“So you think I’m a child?”
Adamek pulls his hair, frustrated. “It’s not that,” he says, “although you can certainly act like one. Sometimes, it’s hard to look at you.”