Bozena and Sveta (Neuripra) Page 8

  She gives me a bleak smile and hides her gaze by looking into her drink.

  Insistent, I grip her chin and force her face back to mine, impaling her with compulsion so she reveals her naked emotions to me.

  It hurts me to look into her unguarded expression, staring deeply into a galaxy of pain. It literally segments her irises into desperate shades of blue.

  Hiding the fraying on my soul from what I'm witnessing, I release her mind and return free will to her.

  “That's so fucking rude,” she hisses softly, so low the music almost overrides it.

  Giving me the anvil glare, she looks back into her drink with her body language mirroring her distress.

  Leaning my arm behind her, boxing her in with my body, I dip my mouth next to her ear and lean in, touching her head temple to temple. “Božena, you need to understand something about the neuri. We cannot go back on a promise. And for the record, we make them in our hearts, deep in our chests. The only way to break a neuri promise is to stop our hearts from beating.”

  Moving so I can look her in the eye, I keep my arms either side of her so she can't escape. “You are mine, I am yours, and whoever did this to you answers to me now. You're never going to be alone again. I know it hurt, but the hurt ends with me. Got it?”

  Her pupils expand, bleeding into the midnight indigo of her irises, and her throat works with a dry swallow. The gloss on her eyes betray how emotional my words make her.

  “Let's lose this place. It's time you and I got real with each other.”

  I don't wait for consent, removing the glass from her trembling fingers and leaving it on the bar behind us. With a firm grip on her arm, I propel her off her chair and aim for the doors, maneuvering my arm around her waist and holding tight.

  This time you aren't escaping. It's time for a heart transplant.

  Chapter 11

  Božena:

  “Stop it!” I complain, desperately trying to tug out of his grip.

  He rounds on me in the dark passage, shoving me up against the carpeted wall, giving me a dreadful feeling of

  déjà vu.

  “What are you so fucking afraid of Božena?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? My fucking ass. If you're going to lie, don't attempt it with a neuri who can see into your mind like a crystal ball under a spotlight.”

  Foreboding starts pounding in my head, rupturing my mind.

  It steals my breath more than he does and the tears start to gather in my eyes, ready for the storm... for the pain.

  Snatching my hand in the death grip of his fingers, he pulls me off the wall to line his chest, closing his body around me in a muscular cage which smells of leather and soap.

  I'm taking you home. I mean it Zena, no more bullshit, no more secrets, no more hiding. We need a heart to heart. Please don't fight me on this.

  I offer a nod of agreement. The bars snap shut in my mind and a familiar helplessness drowns out the music, isolating me with the heartbeat in my ears.

  I can't be strong any more. I've had enough of being the victim. Sick of running, of pretending I'm okay; I am so close to sobbing right now I'm barely keeping it together.

  The only answer is to retreat inward, hiding behind the buttresses I've built up in my heart. It's better to feel nothing at all than it is to be in this endless turmoil and friction.

  Shhh, just hold onto me and let me take you somewhere safe. Just hold onto me, okay?

  I nod again, desperation clawing me to shreds on the inside. My emotions are bleeding beneath my shirt and my heart is suffocating in a lagoon of mercury.

  It's too heavy to breathe.

  Watching his feet, I hide the tears as he leads me to the doors and down the steps. I get a moment free from his grip and flee, running back up the steps, to the safety of Arsay. Flinging both arms around his waist, I bury my face in his midriff. The tears bubble, boiling up.

  Keep me safe, take me back to the happy place, I beg.

  “See?” I hear Akae boom in a low voice.

  “Zena!” Sveta calls after me, his boots grinding back up the steps.

  While I cling to Arsay, I can literally feel the tension in the air increase with Sveta and Akae behind me.

  “Božena,” Arsay says softly. “Sweetheart, I can't take you back. You can't run from life.”

  But I want to, so badly!

  “What the hell is going on?” says Sveta.

  “Arsay, uh, he aaah...” mumbles Akae.

  “I showed her the beyond. I let her feel it. Fucking sue me for having a heart,” says Arsay.

  Božena, please come home with me.

  It's a kind voice, speaking softly inside my head. Polite, sensitive, thoughtful, drenched in love. Forcing myself to turn and face my telepathy speaker and lover, now I feel bad for doing this to Sveta,

  He offers me his hand and I grasp it reluctantly, allowing him to tug me away from Arsay and back down the steps. Emptiness excavates me out with every step away from the bouncers.

  Releasing my hand, he puts an arm around my shoulders, walking me to his motorcycle near the edge of the building.

  Just once, he looks back at Arsay, and I feel like an entire encyclopedia of information and words is exchanged between them. I wish I could speak telepathy too.

  He straddles the new bike, pulling me onto the handmade leather seat behind him, not once releasing his touch from my person, pulling me tight up against his leathered back and folding my arms around his waist.

  Hold tight, and I promise to do the same. We don't need a safety net Zena. We have each other.

  His words scatter my defenses and I'm grateful for the throaty roar of the scarlet metallic hardtail Honda Fury motorbike when he revs it and guides us out of the parking lot.

  It successfully hides my involuntary sob.

  This new steed is a sloped bike; like his old Ghost in many ways. I wonder where he got it? Maybe he has a collection?

  He's wasting no time, accelerating the bike into an angry buzz, shooting us into the night using all 1300cc of the twin V turbos, slowing for nothing and no one as he directs us back over the bridge, onto Kneza Milosa, into Takoska, and then right onto E-70, zooming us away from Stari Grad.

  Where are we going? This isn't the route to my place.

  You're going home, Zena, he purrs into my mind, in tune to the thrum of the bike.

  When he turns left onto Cvijićev, directing us inland, curiosity dulls my defenses as I watch the road ahead leading up into the loping slopes and vales of the urban community on higher ground.

  Looking behind us, the lights of Belgrade shine their beacons into the night like fallen Christmas lights. It's so pretty it entices hope and happiness back into my thoughts.

  It's magical, tempting me to close my eyes and make a wish.

  This is precious, holding to the one man who seems to understand me, silently reassuring me with his strength and capable muscles, shielding me from the onslaught of cold air, leaving me to soak in his warmth and safety while staring at a night so clear the sky filled with stars looks like someone spilled sugar crystals all over a black suede scroll.

  Relaxing, I lay my head on his back, resting against him, absorbing his reassuring heat while the wind frolics through my hair. The night air is fresh, clean, liberating. It's stolen moments like this when I am truly happy.

  It's hypnotic leaning with him into corners, rocked by the bike in an exhilarating lullaby which both thrills and sedates. The sensation is a zen calm which thrusts out chaos from a panicked mind, zoning me into a quietude where the only thing that exists right now is him, me, and a wide open empty world presented in dark gift-wrap.

  After about half an hour of drowsy isolation on the bike, he maneuvers us away from Slanci, directing the bike up a private road through farmland, heading up the mountain.

  Where the hell are we going?

  There's nothing out here.

  Nothing.

  Aiming for the woods, he ambles the
wheels onto a narrow track, taking us right into the heart of forest, where the only thing for company are animals and silence, owls and sky.

  It's peaceful and insular.

  Wrapped into the tall comfort of trees, we slow down to gradually traverse over thick mulch, fallen pine needles and aspen, to a drive so camouflaged you could easily miss it.

  It's a shock to be plummeting downhill fast, and I grip tight, holding to him for fear of falling off. Looking forward, the high vantage takes my breath away. The view is spectacular.

  He moves, slowing us to a gradual crawl, pulling a remote from his pocket. If it wasn't for the light from the bike I'd have no clue what lays ahead, but out of the dark a boulder rises; a faux rock wall.

  It's a garage door!

  The Honda growls and purrs intermittently. Every time he touches the throttle it speaks back, obeying its master.

  Driven onto flat concrete, the mechanism of the door closing sounds alien inside this secret hidden by forest and farmland, mountain and rock.

  Kicking the stand down, he unfolds my arms, helping me dismount. Solid ground feels wrong. My legs still have the lingering vibration from the bike running through them.

  As he stands off the bike, he hits the light on it, plunging us into complete darkness. A gloved hand grips mine, making me follow him into the black veil.

  “Welcome home,” he says, into the thick blanket of silence.

  His voice is deep and rich, resonant with pride and love.

  It works too, because instead of trepidation I have excitement mounting through me, bloating my heart so my chest feels too small to hold it.

  Biting his gloves off with a tug from his teeth, he shrugs out of his padded biker's jacket when we step into an antechamber which switches a light on automatically. Hanging it up on a peg, tossing the grazed gloves onto a slatted cedar bench, he reclaims my hand, pulling me against his side and wrapping his arm possessively around my waist, “This is my pad. It's my hideaway from the insane world.”

  Tucking me closer, enfolding me in his manly cologne, he whispers into my head, You're the only crazy allowed in here.

  That statement makes me smile, and I'm lost, melting into his passionate gaze. It's affectionate and lustful, brimming with admiration even though we keep hiccuping over speed-bumps on our journey together.

  He should have 'lick me' tattooed on both arms with an arrow pointing to his torso.

  Self-conscious, I swerve my focus off him to examine the open plan kitchen with its recessed lighting, which was already on when we stepped into the room.

  It's not what I expected. This place has finesse, warmth, a touch of elitism about it with the geometric angles meeting each other, hewn from natural stone, wood, and metals, instead of cold monochrome, having the same effect just healthier, more organic and welcoming.

  Walking with him deeper into the kitchen, a viking dining table stands waiting beyond the stone countertop.

  He hears my thoughts because he says in my head, There's a reason you will find King inside the word Viking.

  The cupboards are flat, no decoration or craftsmanship wrought on it, but cosy and homely in their pale maple perfection.

  “Can I get you a drink, gorgeous?” he says, releasing me and striding to a tall door recessed into the wall.

  “No thanks. I've had enough I think.”

  His smirk plays a tune into my blood, “Too busy drinking with your ex's huh? Didn't leave any room for me?”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  He comes closer, regal in his posture, sleek and predatory. I'm drinking him in, excited we're here in his home instead of mine. We've been dating for ages and he's never ever brought me here.

  This is delicious, enthralling, feeling oddly forbidden.

  “It means I wish I was your first priority.”

  “You are,” I say, finally looking back up at him instead of staring around with my curiosity feelers out.

  I flinch automatically when his hand comes up suddenly to move the hair off my face. The expression when he pauses, glaring through me because of my instinctive reaction, solidifies my insides with fear.

  “Don't look at me like that,” he says, in a voice deepened with emotion.

  “Like what?”

  I'm definitely jumpy. I can't help it.

  “What did you think? That I was going to hit you?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, you did.” Narrowing his eyelids, he looks at me with challenge. “Is that what you expect from me? Do you expect me to hurt you like that?

  “No! Fuck it, Sveta, I'm just tense. I didn't do it deliberately.”

  “You would put me in that camp? Do you want me to sink to that level with you? Shall we have this out now or later? I vote for now.”

  His tone is so cold it terrifies me, and I step away, nervously looking for an escape. I've never been here before, and we're miles from anywhere. I do not need this shit in my life.

  “Oh I see it, Zena. I can read you without GPS. You don't need to wear a mood ring around me... because... and I will keep on repeating this until you finally grasp it... I. AM. NEURI. I know what you're thinking girl.”

  “Yeah? Well if you know what I'm thinking you'd know you're fucking upsetting me, so just stop it!”

  He flicks his arm up so fast I duck, cringing, shielding my face out of instinct.

  “I knew it! You honestly think I'd hit you?”

  “No!” My voice is coming out all shaky and that old feeling of helpless dread is rising in me.

  He keeps advancing, and every footstep knots my insides so tight I'm immediately nauseous.

  “Back off Sveta.”

  “Or what?” he reaches out and punts his fingers into my upper chest, shoving the shoulder back with what seems like zero effort.

  “Stop it!” I yell, tearful, smacking his arm away.

  “Fight me. Go on, let it out.” He pushes me again, harder.

  I bump his arm off me, but he's quicker, pushing at me in the other shoulder, alternating again and again, and I'm forced to step back in retreat, returning the hitting, until I'm up against the wall and the tears are free-falling.

  “Stop IT!” I shout up, staring through eyes blurring with simmering tears.

  How did this happen? One second we're embarking on a new phase in our relationship and the next we're fighting.

  His eyes are dark, misting pollen sparks off them, exposing his ire. And that makes me angry.

  Why are you picking on me?

  Using all of my strength I shove hard into his chest, using the wall to boost myself forward to really push. “Back off!”

  “Why are you angry, Zena? Why are you crying Zena?”

  As he speaks he keeps prodding fingers into my chest, and it's beginning to really hurt.

  “I'm crying because I hate this. And you're hurting me.”

  “Liar,” shove.

  I shove back, both hands to his chest, leaning in, head down, ramming into him. “I'm not lying!”

  “Fight me Zena.”

  We're raining blows, but I'm ineffectual. It's like punching at a steam engine.

  I can't take it, crammed up against the wall again with him looming over me, ready to prod me again. Cracking, I slip down the wall, sobbing something fierce.

  He follows me down, catching his weight on either side of my head so he can leer his face into mine, coiling muscles and immobility at me, “I want you to lay into me. Fight me.”

  “I don't want to fight! You're supposed to be my safe place,” I stutter, blubbering, breaking down, ashamed at how he's reduced me to tears.

  “Pull my hair, claw into me, come on Zena, fight me.”

  “No!”

  “Coward.”

  “I'm not. Just leave me alone!”

  He plants his ass down in front of me, splaying his legs out either side of mine, forcefully yanking me away from the wall to curl up against him on the cold pale tiles.

  Arms fold me in and it
thunders my heart. I'm afraid. Really afraid. The unpredictability of this situation has me borderline hysterical and expecting the worst. I'm scared that if I relax he's going to do something dreadful and cruel.

  Why did he bring me here? Even if I screamed no one would hear me. This isn't fair!

  Trembling, rigid in his hold, I wait it out, ready to react, to defend, afraid to close my eyes in case I miss something. Every time his hand comes up I'm expecting it to deliver pain, but it smoothes my hair, and it's beginning to hurt resisting the pressure of his arms forcing me to rest against him.

  “Zena, cry. For all our sakes get angry and cry. Let it out. Please?”

  “Why are you doing this to me? I've done nothing to you,” I mumble against his chest, muffled by the leather and his skin.

  A heavy sigh washes over me and he pulls away, his onyx eyes fracturing the light into a million specks of tangerine and gold. They're like black opals that segment light into fire hues.

  They're beautiful and passionate, and they don't belong on a monster.

  “I'm not a bully. Baby, can't you see it? You never let anything out and it begins to fester inside you. If you just released it and let it out, you wouldn't be the walking wounded. You'd let enough go to begin the heal. You can't hurt me, so punch, bite, kick, claw, scream, go ballistic, fuck me up. Release the damage, unleash it. I am your safe place which is why I won't hit you, and I'll never fucking hit back.”

  “But I love you. I don't want to hurt you. Don't you get that?”

  Those incredible eyes swirl with an orange gloss, flaming his irises with sunset magnificence while he stares at me; a faint haze seeping out the edges next to his eyelashes.

  “Zena, baby, angel... what you fail to understand is you hurt me anyway, every single time you hurt yourself. I know the pain inside you is eating you alive, and I'll do anything–”

  Strong hands clamp my face and apply pressure, his nose inching closer to pour that fiery halo into my own eyes.

  “– Anything, to ease your suffering. I'd much rather you attack me than the woman I love.”

  La-freaq!

  It shakes my core, deepening the fissure, widening the abyss, and shame gases out of the black despair inside me and I dissolve into sobs again.