Intermix Nation

  Nazirah stares suspiciously at the pill in her outstretched hand, cautiously grabbing the bottle. “I’m not interested in going on some acid trip with you,” she says.

  Adamek snorts. “Do you even know anything about drugs, Nation? You don’t drop acid on a pill like this.”

  “What is it?”

  He rolls his eyes. “It’s just MEDIcine! Don’t take it if you don’t want to, but it will help with the pain and swelling. Not the bruising though … or the hangover.”

  “Great,” she says, popping the pill into her mouth. She grimaces, tipping the bottle back as well. Familiar, icy relief immediately spreads through her sore muscles. She touches her face, slightly dazed. The bump on her forehead is gone. Adamek laughs before taking back the bottle. He walks into his bathroom, leaving the door open.

  Nazirah stands there awkwardly. Her curiosity eventually wins out and she leans over, trying to see what he is doing. She jumps a little when Adamek appears at the door, barefoot and smirking. “You can come in, you know,” he says. “I promise to be a good boy.”

  Nazirah sheepishly follows Adamek inside, automatically shutting the door behind her. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. Metal lanterns bathe the ivory walls in soft candlelight. Adamek sits on the flat edge of the tub, inspecting his hand casually. His knuckles are bruised, but nothing appears broken. Nazirah quietly sits beside him, pulling a knee to her chest. Adamek takes another swig of vodka before pouring some over his bloody hand.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, confused.

  “Don’t have any rubbing alcohol,” he says, shrugging. “This is the next best sanitizer.”

  “How resourceful.”

  “Would you expect anything less?”

  Adamek winces slightly, letting the now-red vodka drip from his hand into the tub. Nazirah is reminded of the last time she saw a bathtub filled with blood. From the forlorn look on Adamek’s face, she knows he is thinking the same thing. She grabs the bottle from him, taking a big gulp.

  “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 qui
et 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.

  T
he door swings open with a crack and bang. “Morgen!” shouts Aldrik, barging into the room. “You’d better be decent! I don’t care what whore you have in –” He stops in his tracks. “Here.”

  In absolutely any other situation, Nazirah would revel in seeing Aldrik’s jiggling potbelly protruding from hastily thrown-on pajamas. She would rejoice in his eye patch, askew, in his remaining hair shocked straight to one side of his head. Any other time, she would bask in the look of total astonishment on his face.

  But not now.

  Open-mouthed he stands, face like a fish on land, foot hovering midair for several seconds. Solomon and Olag are right behind him, peeping nervously through the doorway. From the horrified look on Solomon’s face, Nazirah knows she must look pretty roughed up. Gathering his wits, Aldrik slams his foot down in fury. He storms across the room to Adamek, who rises to face him. Aldrik digs a hand into his injured arm.

  “You didn’t feel the need to tell me last night?” Aldrik snarls.

  “I did not.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, you traitorous fuck,” he screams, face purple, “I’m in charge here!” Nazirah can see the spit flying from his mouth.

  “You were … preoccupied,” Adamek says. “Nation needed rest.”

  “I can see that.”

  From the protruding vein in Adamek’s neck, Nazirah knows he wants to slam Aldrik’s head into the floor, much like he did to Ramses. His fists remain balled at his sides. “Get a life, Slome.”

  “Morgen,” Aldrik hisses, digging his hand in deeper, “if you ever pull something like this again, I don’t care who the fuck you are or how much money you have … no amount of amnesty will protect you. Understand?”

  Adamek nods tersely. Aldrik releases his shoulder, wheeling around menacingly. Nazirah quickly scrambles out of bed.

  “And you!” Aldrik points a fat, aggressive finger in her face. “The Commander said you could be a little reckless. But you, Nation, are an absolute dolt! You honestly thought it was smart to go on a little tryst with the late Khan’s eldest son? You seriously hate Morgen so much you would risk your own life and jeopardize the entire campaign, the entire rebellion, just to spite him?”