Authors: Mima Sabolic
Cool! There was steak. I filled my plate and, seeing Set sitting all by himself, I decided to join him, and break
that
ice as well.
“Hey, handsome.”
“Angel! You’re finally better.”
“So they say. May I join you?”
“Please do.” His eyes seemed joyful, but there was a flicker of something else too. Was this unpleasant for him, after all that?
“I liked the present. Thanks.”
“You said you didn’t like picked flowers, so I thought that one in a flowerpot would solve your ethical dilemma.”
I smiled. “It was nice of you.”
As he smiled, memories of his lips and his hand between my thighs and the look in his eyes, rushed right back to me. Had I said Belun’s name aloud after feeling that pain in my chest? I wasn’t sure; I only remembered my inner cry for him. Had I hurt Set that night?
“I had to somehow reward your heroic act,” he said, but I wasn’t exactly feeling heroic.
“Have you heard from Julia? When is she coming back?”
“In a few days.”
“I miss her.”
“I can see that,” he noted.
His look always seemed to hover between joyful and seductive, and when you added his honesty to the mix, he was really quite attractive. However, if it weren’t for the honesty, he’d probably be just another asshole. The image of his hand on my skin flashed before my eyes again. What did he remember of that night? Was that what I saw in his eyes a minute before? It was sexy, I couldn’t deny. I wondered how much of
me
was present in those moments, which reminded me of Tertius’s answer to a similar question—15%. Was that enough to deserve a guilty conscience? Probably.
“Story is that you’re eating your steaks bloodier and bloodier.”
“My best regards to the chief. So, Set, when is your birthday? Do you guys ever celebrate birthdays?” That made him laugh.
“Why, you want to tell me that you’ve already given me my present?” His sudden relaxation and grin surprised me. This was the Set I knew, and I assumed that that was the best way to smooth over the whole situation.
“Something like that,” I teased back.
“In that case, you’re way in advance; it’s in May.”
“So you do celebrate it. I have to memorize Doris’s then.” And I wondered when Belun’s was. “How long does a vamp year last?”
“It depends. In our first twenty years, after the eighteenth birthday that is, it lasts forty human years. Later, it’s measured by centuries, or even millennia.”
“Wow.”
“But, angel, we usually don’t like talking about our age.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed that.”
“It makes us feel old compared to you.”
“Which you are.”
He threw a bean at me.
Later, in my room, I looked for a book to read. My bookshelf only offered me things I’d already read or whiny love stories that I wasn’t in mood for. Julia had mentioned contemporary literature, so I went into her room hoping that she wouldn’t mind me snooping around.
From what I could see, she liked designer clothes and books, because both were everywhere in no specific order. There were many
New York Times
best sellers, and some authors whose names I couldn’t pronounce. She apparently had a respect for world literature. After skimming through shiny book covers, I spied
Galapagos
by Kurt Vonnegut on her nightstand. It was on the top of the pile, and I took it.
Reading it on the couch, I didn’t even feel the hours passing. The book had hooked me with its story and characters, and suddenly I felt that the time to visit Belun’s room had come. I decided to go, dressed as normal, bringing sports clothes with me.
Standing in front of his door, memories of the feeling I had the last time I stood here seemed rather funny now. I was no longer overwhelmed; there was only some trace of the jitters.
I knocked.
“Hi, come on in.” Belun opened the door, smiling. He wore a white tee with a drawing of the Brooklyn Bridge on it.
So, here I finally was. The first time in his room.
“This is much better than mine!” I gazed at the loft.
Closest to me was a huge TV faced by plush furniture that was much more stylish than Julia’s and mine. In the left corner of the room was a big metal bed with black sheets; I shifted my gaze immediately, fearing that he would notice me looking at it. In front of the bed, against the wall, stood a wooden closet with one wing open and covered with a long white bed sheet. As if he was hiding something. I wondered what it was.
To the right of the room’s door was a small kitchen with a dining table. Everything was nicely arranged in an original style. Also, I saw three electric guitars on a stand next to the TV. Interesting paintings and photographs covered the walls. Some of the photos were body parts in motion with shadows playing over them. You had to look for a while to figure out what they were. They were mostly black and white. Who would guess that a great Warrior had such a fine sense of art?
“I like the place.”
“Thanks, I tried to arrange it as comfortably as I could.” He smiled.
“It’s great,” I said, sitting in front of the TV, turning my back to his bed.
“Grape juice?”
“Sure.” I watched him walk to the kitchen.
“Three guitars?”
“They all have a different sound.”
“I wouldn’t know. I held a guitar once though, but I’m more into piano. I grew up with one.”
“Really? Your parents played?”
“My dad’s a jazzman in his soul.”
“Then you should have good taste in music.”
“I don’t know about that. I like it,” I answered, taking the juice.
There was something wrong with this whole arrangement—me being here, in his room, drinking grape juice, chatting about personal stuff. It was out of our ordinary context and it awoke a shyness in me, and also some heaviness.
“You play?” he asked.
“A little.”
“Then I have to find a digital piano!” he said, grinning.
“Or I should learn to play guitar.”
“No problem. Pick any, but the Gibson’s mine.” His grin widened.
Everything seemed joyful to him; he was smiling a lot, and me—well, I sat stiffly in one place sporadically sprouting smiles. Only then did I notice a frozen picture on TV, some black and white movie.
“I interrupted you,” I realized.
“Oh, no. I’ve seen it already.”
“What movie is it?” I asked, not crazy about old flicks.
“
Wings of Desire
, you seen it?”
“I don’t have enough patience for old movies.”
“Well, this one’s not as old as you think. It’s from ’87.”
Right, several more decades than I’d assumed. I smiled at him in the same way I had with Blake and Tibor when they told me about Dracula movies and that Bauhaus band.
“It’s a Wim Wenders film. You have to see it one day.”
“Sure. You know, I’ve been already criticized for my lack of cinematic knowledge.”
“For any specific reason?” A grin was already spreading across his face.
“It was about an actor, actually. Bela Lugosi,” I said, and he started laughing. It was pleasant and awkward to hear. It was so casual, and easy, and light. He leaned back, bent his knee, and put his foot on the sofa.
“Honestly, that
is
a big oversight.” He looked at me. “Okay, then, what is your favorite movie?”
I’ve always hated those kinds of questions. I have no favorite movie, favorite book, nor a place on Earth or anything else!
“What’s wrong?” he asked, probably seeing some change on my face.
“Nothing. I just don’t really like these type of questions.”
“Ah, you’re one of those people without favorite stuff.”
“Mmm hmm. One of
those
.”
“Meaning, you like them all or you hate most of them?”
Now I laughed. “The latter.”
“The cause for that is usually not knowing things well enough.”
“Maybe,” I said. Or maybe not.
“Okay, come and see the paintings.” He stood up. “By the way, Baldur approved your intensive training. So, Lee or Jacob will join us in the gym from now on.”
I was puzzled, but I followed him further into his loft. We passed the place covered by the sheets and I imagined pretending to slip and pulling the sheets off in an attempt to catch myself. Mystery wrapped in an enigma. But I suppressed the urge when I saw over a dozen unmounted canvases placed against another wall.
“If there’s anything you like, you can take it.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I change them out with the others when I get bored.”
I studied each one of them. Then I looked again. They were all interesting; there had been nothing like them on the Internet those couple of times I searched. There was a difference in style, but they all had something similar that I couldn’t put my finger on. It was probably Belun’s taste. I started to look at them again, this time more thoroughly. Mostly they were of objects, and occasionally some abstract stuff. Also there were some still-lifes, but painted in a totally unexpected way.
“It’s okay if you don’t like any of them.”
“Don’t like them?! I like all of them!” I said and when he smiled again, there was something different in it.
“Okay, show me the ones you want.”
I pulled out five of the paintings. He took them from me.
“How many do you need?”
“One to hang above the bed,” I said.
Belun stepped on his bed and leaned each of the paintings against the wall.
“This might help you to decide better,” he said.
In the end, I’d narrowed it down to two. One showed a view from a building, spreading out over the other roofs with old TV antennas and pigeons. Everything was in shades of gray with only one red detail, a pair of pants hanging from someone’s window.
“Where would a place like this be?” I asked.
“It’s a town in the European part of Russia.”
I assumed he knew that from its title, which I hadn’t seen.
The other painting had a very strange and abstract mix of weird shapes and objects. The dominant colors were red and green. Its gradation and size distribution woke something different in me, plus the way that Belun looked at it made my decision easier.
“I’ll take this one,” I said, indicating the latter. After a minute of studying it, it started to look like some kind of an organized chaos.
Before he put it down, he stared at it for a while. And then at me.
“It’s called ‘The Defeat.’ ”
“To me, it looks very thrilling. Like when you are speechless in the face of something.”
“Exactly! It’s a show of defeat before something completely unexpected,” he said.
“Oh, right.”
“Interesting choice.” His face was quizzical. “I’ll get someone to move it to your room later.”
Before we left for the gym, he told me to change my clothes unless I wanted even less privacy this time. Ha, ha. He stayed in his street clothes.
Lee was already there, waiting for us, and Belun explained that after he and Lee demonstrated something, Lee and I would train and Belun would correct my mistakes. And it worked fine. I was able to see what he asked of me, and I could easily repeat it. However, Belun kept repeating certain phrases—unlock your knees, think of your stance, think before you do something, loosen your wrists, and so on. But it all passed well, no one was kicked in the head or bitten. I didn’t know if that was thanks to the meds I was taking, but I hadn’t had anymore unexpectedly aggressive behavior.
“Why do you think Tertius told me not to take my meds?” I asked Belun, while leaving the gym.
“Why, are you thinking about taking his advice?”
“No. . . I don’t know. I was only thinking that there were no incidents during our training today, and I was wondering if it was because of Lee or my meds.”
He laughed with such a joyful tone that it threatened to become my favorite sound. There— then I would have a favorite something.
“So how do you feel now?”
“Well, I haven’t had any rage issues, if that’s what you mean. Nor have I bitten or hit anyone since then.” I smiled.
“Then you’d better stick to what the doc says,” he teased, grinning. “Wanna go for a drink?”
Um, what? Did I hear him right? His face was calm and relaxed.
“Can’t, I already have plans,” I said, and his grin faded a little. He shifted his gaze and looked straight ahead.
Chapter 15
Theories
I have something planned?! Yeah, right.
The painting was waiting for me in my room, leaned up against the couch. Awesome! I got a hammer and nails from the kitchenette and started measuring the best height for it above my bed. When I was finally done, I was overwhelmed. The painting was amazing and it looked perfect on my wall! Defeat before something indescribable, as he had said. Interesting. I couldn’t have found anything better, even with all the money I’d received.
So, what was this grand plan of mine that I’d blown Belun off for, except my sudden shock and fear when he had asked the question? How big was a lie when said in unexpected dread? Did it really count as a lie or was it just a semi-lie? To calm my nerves, I decided to spend the rest of the night reading a book until I fainted from exhaustion.
For a change, I didn’t dream of anything that night. Or at least I didn’t remember anything; it seemed that the painting served well as a dream catcher.
The next morning it was much colder; I would have to find an alternative to running soon, unless I wanted to get pneumonia.
Back at work, I put a tea bag in a big red cup. Before I entered the cell, Jacob told me to place it out of the Vocati’s reach. I nodded, closing the door.
“You look happier,” Tertius observed.
“I had a good night’s sleep. Plus, I got a new painting.”
“What kind of painting?”
“Oil on canvas. It’s unusual and perfect.” For a second I was lost in the memory of its colors and shapes.
“I see that you haven’t stopped your meds.”
“And you see that based on what?”
“Based on something that shouldn’t be present in you.” Another strange answer.