“It’s hard to look at me?”
He nods. “It hurts to look at you.”
“You’re looking at me now.”
Adamek exhales, gripping the sides of the tub. “You don’t get it, Nation,” he says, voice raw and honest. “You’re not getting it. You make me feel even more tainted, even more fucked up than I already am. Because you’re the complete opposite of me. I am corrupting you, just being around you. And it hurts.”
“So why bother talking to me at all?”
“Because if I’m anything,” he says quietly, “It’s masochistic.”
The water ripples. He is closer now, only inches away. “You promised to be good,” she mumbles.
“I lied.”
He lightly grazes the bruise forming on Nazirah’s forehead with his fingertips. Her eyelids flutter, breath hitching at his butterfly touch. The feeling is electric, catatonic. His fingers trace the whorl of her ear, drag lazily along her jaw. He maps her face to memory, afraid to blink, like she might disappear.
Fingers trail down her neck, fingertips aligning with the bruises where Ramses choked her. Adamek gently cups the column of her throat with one hand. His eyebrows knit together in intense concentration. Nazirah can see flecks of gold in his green eyes, perplexing minute suns, mirror images of her own. Alarms sound in her mind, begging her to leave while she still can. But Nazirah thinks she is way past leaving, and probably has been for a while.
His hand journeys lower, past her collarbone. Nazirah watches Adamek’s face transform from captivation to recognition to knowing. Slowly, he slides a finger under the chain around her neck, holding it there. She immediately locks her hand around his wrist.
“Do you trust me?” he asks. He looks at her carefully, revealing nothing. She thinks about it, nods her head. He pulls out the chain, letting his amnesty pendant hang in plain sight. It dawns on Nazirah that she has wanted him to find it all along. They stare at each other for a long time.
Nazirah is first to break the silence. “Why did you visit them?”
“Because it was the right thing to do,” he replies. “Why did you save me?”
“What?”
“When I turned my back on Ramses,” he says. “You warned me. Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“So we would be even,” she says finally.
“So you wouldn’t have to owe me, you mean.”
“Call it whatever you want.”
“Don’t do it again.”
“Do what?”
“Save me,” he says. Adamek rises. He steps out of the tub, extending a hand to her. Lightheaded, Nazirah takes it and he pulls her up. She struggles against the soggy gravity of her dress, and leans on him for support. “Come on,” he says, handing her a towel. “We could both use some rest about now.”
They walk into his bedroom, dripping disasters or miracles. Adamek heads for the door, intent on taking her back. “Can I stay here tonight?” she asks.
He stops, doesn’t respond. Nazirah considers forgetting the idea entirely, but Adamek suddenly walks to his dresser. He pulls out a pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt and hands them to her. Turning his back, he begins unbuckling his belt.
Nazirah unzips her dress, stepping gingerly out of the torn, wet fabric. She stares at it sadly before picking it up and folding it over a nearby armchair. Nazirah pulls on the pants. They’re way too big for her, and she rolls them several times around the waist and ankles. She slips the shirt over her head, turning around. Adamek has changed into a dry pair of sweatpants by now, but his back is still to her. It doesn’t surprise Nazirah at all.
“You can turn around now,” she says.
Nazirah walks over to Adamek’s bed and awkwardly rests on the mattress. She feels the gentle, concave shift in the mattress as he lies beside her. Their backs face each other, the negative space between them telling a wordless story. Nazirah falls asleep to the sound of his steady breathing.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eyes closed, Nazirah desperately clutches elusive, sweet sleep. She lies in bed, letting birds chirp and bright light drench her face. Last night’s events barge into her mind, greeting good morning. But it all seems so distant, like a fading dream. It’s unsettling how safe she feels here, with him.
Something brushes her outstretched arm. She opens her eyes. Her body shifted position during the night, turning towards Adamek like a sunflower bending towards the sun. She watches him, already awake, keeping her breathing relaxed, feeling like she is intruding on something sacred and private. Diligent pupil, he studies her, lightly skimming his fingers down her arm, tracing the purpling bruises. He lays his palm flat against her much smaller hand, completely lost in thought. He sizes it up, weaving his fingers through hers, in and out and in again.
She laces her hand with his, interlocking their fingers. He looks up. Their eyes meet for the first time in cold daylight. The feeling is too intense and Nazirah pulls her hand away. He doesn’t resist.
Banging at the door jolts them both fully awake, back to reality. Nazirah knows they have mere moments before this card house of theirs collapses. There’s muffled shouting. Adamek casually inspects his bandaged arm. Nazirah sits up, groaning, holding her throbbing head. A key jangles in the lock. Nazirah becomes aware that she is wearing Adamek’s clothes. She smells like him, is in his bed, beside him. It’s too much.
The door swings open with a crack and bang. “Morgen!” shouts Aldrik, barging into the room. “You’d better be decent! I don’t care what whore you have in –” He stops in his tracks. “Here.”
In absolutely any other situation, Nazirah would revel in seeing Aldrik’s jiggling potbelly protruding from hastily thrown-on pajamas. She would rejoice in his eye patch, askew, in his remaining hair shocked straight to one side of his head. Any other time, she would bask in the look of total astonishment on his face.
But not now.
Open-mouthed he stands, face like a fish on land, foot hovering midair for several seconds. Solomon and Olag are right behind him, peeping nervously through the doorway. From the horrified look on Solomon’s face, Nazirah knows she must look pretty roughed up. Gathering his wits, Aldrik slams his foot down in fury. He storms across the room to Adamek, who rises to face him. Aldrik digs a hand into his injured arm.
“You didn’t feel the need to tell me last night?” Aldrik snarls.
“I did not.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, you traitorous fuck,” he screams, face purple, “I’m in charge here!” Nazirah can see the spit flying from his mouth.
“You were … preoccupied,” Adamek says. “Nation needed rest.”
“I can see that.”
From the protruding vein in Adamek’s neck, Nazirah knows he wants to slam Aldrik’s head into the floor, much like he did to Ramses. His fists remain balled at his sides. “Get a life, Slome.”
“Morgen,” Aldrik hisses, digging his hand in deeper, “if you ever pull something like this again, I don’t care who the fuck you are or how much money you have … no amount of amnesty will protect you. Understand?”
Adamek nods tersely. Aldrik releases his shoulder, wheeling around menacingly. Nazirah quickly scrambles out of bed.
“And you!” Aldrik points a fat, aggressive finger in her face. “The Commander said you could be a little reckless. But you, Nation, are an absolute dolt! You honestly thought it was smart to go on a little tryst with the late Khan’s eldest son? You seriously hate Morgen so much you would risk your own life and jeopardize the entire campaign, the entire rebellion, just to spite him?”
“That’s not what happened!”
“Shut up!” he yells. “I don’t know what game you two are playing with each other, and I honestly don’t care! Do you understand what may have happened if Morgen killed Ramses, destroying three generations of overlord bloodline? The Deathlands could have revolted against us! As it is, Solomon’s healers couldn’t help him! They had to smuggle him into Mediah last night in order to save him! Do you understand how many strings Solomon had to pull, how many people had to be bribed, had to die, to make that happen? And even then, there’s only so much the Medi healers can do … only so much they will do for a Deathlander.”