Intermix Nation (33 page)

“This is weird.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Right.”

“Right,” he replies, chuckling. Satisfied
with his hand, Adamek inspects the stab wound through his shirt.
The blood has dried, causing the material to stick. Nazirah takes
another swig, trying not to seem squeamish. “Never would have
pegged you for much of a drinker, Nation.”

“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.”

“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.