Bozena and Sveta (Neuripra) (10 page)

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.