“What does that mean?” he asked, with aggression in his voice, which I realised signalled panic on his part more than anything. But when I didn’t reply, the combative note evaporated from his tone, leaving undiluted fear in its stead,
“Ren, answer me.”
The crooked bump high on the bridge of his broken nose was more pronounced in the shadows, giving it a hawk-like, predatory appearance. But his mouth had gone soft, his lips full and fragile like a young boy’s.
And then, when I still wouldn’t respond, a distinct note of pleading entered his voice: “Ren, I only meant you should guardyourself. Not that you should get ... any ideas. I won’t tolerate that.”
It was so easy for me to come up with excuses for his wrongdoing.He was drunk, and it was a very long time ago. He stopped. Many men do worse without ever admitting they have done anything wrong. He owned up to it when he didn’t have to tell you at all.
It was easy because I couldn’t find it in myself to care nearly as much as I knew I should have. Whether he was a good man or a bad one mattered about as much to me as air pollution would to someone gasping for breath while drowning.
For the first time in years, I didn’t loathe waking up and realising that, unfortunately, I hadn’t ceased breathing during the night. I was a walking corpse before meeting him. Ineededhim.
And that, more than anything, caused the bone-chilling horror that crept over my skin like a myriad of ants. Because I didn’t want to need anyone or anything. Having nothing to lose had been my one power for so long that, ironically, it had itself become a thing I was scared of losing. Especially to someone so unpredictable and full of contradictions, just as likely to make me regret my surrender as to rejoice in it.
“If you’re not lying about wanting to earn my trust, will you give me some time to think about all this?” I asked tentatively. “Just a bit of time, nothing more.”
Anger flashed through his face, briefly and darkly, and his lips hardened into a line. But when he replied, it was without malice or impatience.
“Fine, I will. I don’t like it, but if that’s what it takes, I will.”
PART III
17
NO NATURAL PREDATOR
The dim light of the dining hall accentuated the dark shadows under Monika’s eyes. We sat opposite each other at the end of a table, which granted us relative privacy, as Dave and Kevin next to us were engaged in a discussion with Amit and Josh on the subject of the efficacy of various antiseptic solutions.
“What exactly is he angry about, though?” I asked her quietly enough for the question to be inaudible to anyone but her in the companionable hum of the room. “You haven’t told me anything that would resemble a valid reason to be nasty with you.”
She looked over me into the lit fireplace, the flames reflected in her eyes. She was frowning a little, her fair eyebrows almost forming a single line in consequence, like the wings of a large bird.
“Vell ... I think he is vorrying about leaving tomorrow,” she said, fidgeting with her braid, her eyes darting around the room.
“Oh,” I said in reply. “That’s understandable. Though he still shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”
Monika shrugged and took a sip of her water.
“I’ll talk to him then. We’re starting with the mountain settlements. We expect most of these to be empty, or almost. With the mortality rate of the infected, I’d be surprised ifwe encounter more than fifty anywhere. I’m not saying it’s completely without danger, but ... I mean, if shove came to push,Icould probably manage on my own. He can think of it as extended training.”
“No.” Monika set down her glass. “He’s not vorried about this. He’s vorried about leaving me here, alone.”
Someone laughed loudly right behind me. Something in the sound was faintly reminiscent of a donkey’s braying.
“You’ll be well-guarded,” I told her tolerantly. “At least four archers will stay here at any given time. And we’ll come back here regularly, every four days or so to start with.”
“He’s vorried about me alone here vith other men.”
Monika said this so softly that I wouldn’t have been sure I heard her correctly had I not seen her mildly resentful expression.
“Oh,” I said again, not knowing how else to react.
I was spared from having to come up with a more suitable reply by the main door opening with its characteristic creak. As per usual, Einar marched in with his head bowed to avoid banging it on the lintel. He straightened up, tall, handsome and imposing, and marched to the head table. He was closely followed by Finn, Russell, Jean-Luc, and finally Albert, who cast a firm yet indecipherable look in Monika’s direction. She blushed instantly.
I secretly thought that I would never know what she saw in him. I hated the way he spoke to her, even when he wasn’t upset with her for no legitimate reason whatsoever. It was as if he aimed to mock and diminish her with every sentence. I had known men like that, men who showed their affection by snide remarks. Thinly veiled criticisms that seemingly implied that they were close enough with their partner to be allowed to say such things, but that ultimately belittled said partner. I loathed men like that.
I had said so to Einar in no uncertain terms the previous night, to his marked displeasure. In accordance with my wishes, we had not been intimate since his confession. I had even moved my things back to the dismal communal room. But he still insisted on our spending time together. And so the evening before, I finally relented and agreed to play chess with him in his apartment.
