I watch the darkening sky from the window of my new home. The fact that I am now a resident of the pink apartment never leaves my mind. The shimmer of the moment I called the landlord to rent the fourth floor, right after what happened on the rooftop a week ago, still glows in a corner of my memory. It has become a moment with a light I know I will remember clearly for the rest of my life.
And here I am. For a week now, I have given myself to this house. To the place where I will live. For a week, my mind has been clean, my soul no longer crouched in a corner under threat. My heart feels light. Freedom, the extraordinary feeling of being completely free, becomes real with every drop of blood flowing through my veins. Knowing that I would never have tasted this feeling if I had jumped from that roof binds me more tightly to every passing second.
The apartment is just big enough for me. Because my muscles tire quickly when I move too much, I hired someone to clean the place. I kept the pleasant part for myself: arranging the furniture. Only the curtains were left. I push the pouf chair toward the window and climb onto it. I take a curtain from the basket I placed on the nearby armchair and begin hanging it. Can a person be happy while hanging curtains? I can. Doing ordinary things makes me feel like the happiest person in the world. There's a foolish grin on my face. The sound of the television drifts into my ears.
"A girl who was abused at the age of fifteen was raped years later by the same person."
Dark clouds settle over my mind, forcing me to move. I jump off the pouf and rush to turn off the television. I take a deep breath. Bad news poisons my soul. As my breath tightens, I return to the curtains, trying to continue. I attempt to summon my earlier smile.
It doesn't come back.Something inside me hurts.
As my soul burns with pain, a sharp fragment tears loose from my mind and wounds it further. My heart cannot withstand the attack my mind launches against my soul.
My old self is very close.
The foul stench seeping from my mind into my soul makes me question my decision to live. Tears cling to my eyes, sworn not to fall. I am hurting, and I cannot extinguish it.
I throw the curtains to the floor. The curtain rod shatters and crashes down with them. I don't care. I find myself hitting my head against the wall.
"Please stop. Please stop. God, I'm begging you. Please… please…"
My voice is weak and pitiful. The words scrape my throat as they escape. Somehow, I don't know how, I end up on the floor. My body lands loudly. The hard ground burns my bones as I moan.
I hope I pass out.I hope I pass out.
As my thoughts begin to leave me, I hear a sound. I think it's the door.
Now I'm hearing things, I tell myself.
I'm losing my mind. Alone.
Just when I make the mistake of thinking I'm safe, I feel life laughing at me.
A groan reaches my ears. Seconds later, I realize it's my own. Warmth spreads across my back as a hand rests there, softening my body. Cold radiates from my fingertips through the rest of me, yet that warmth heats whatever it touches.
A voice reaches me. I struggle to understand it. I open my eyes. Is this real or imagined? A male silhouette stands before me. Even through my blurred vision, I can make out the concern in his eyes.
"Your head is bleeding," he says, touching my temple. I feel the gentleness with which he supports my head and waist. My eyes beg to close. I beg them instead, silently, to sharpen the silhouette before me.
I fail.
My lashes fall, and I surrender my body to the arms of a stranger, whispering thousands of prayers to God so that my soul will not follow. The last thing I do before losing consciousness is pray for the kindness of a stranger.
●
The scent of pine is the first thing I notice. My head rests on something soft. Though opening my eyes is difficult, I feel my awareness returning. The comfort in my body, paired with the calm wrapping around my soul, surprises me. I try to remember what happened last. As I force my memory, I open my eyes and realize I'm in a car. I move instinctively.
A hand touches my shoulder.
"Hey, you need to move slowly."
The silhouette from before is now clear before me. I shift to see better, and pain flares through my body. Gritting my teeth, I sit up.
"You're stubborn," the stranger says.
The realization that I'm in a car sharpens my anxiety. Where am I going with a stranger? Since he's not in the driver's seat, it must be a taxi.
"Who are you? Where are we going?" I ask, fixing my gaze on his brown eyes.
"I'm your downstairs neighbor. We're going to the hospital."
The word sends thorns piercing my mind, leaving my soul drenched in blood.
"What?"
Seeing my confusion, he repeats himself.
"Your downstairs neighbor."
"I understood that part. But I don't want to go anywhere. Take me home." The thought of the hospital threatens to drown my soul. My breath feels toxic in my lungs. Politeness is the last thing I feel capable of.
"Don't be ridiculous. Your head is bleeding, and your arms are bruised."
I realize he's as stubborn as I am. I avoid his gaze. His ease with me surprises me, but I don't have the strength to care.
"Are you a doctor? I hate doctors."
His voice softens."I'm not, but—"
"I don't care," I cut in.
"Look, I don't know why you're this resistant, but we're almost there. You need to be checked."
I sigh, irritation loosening my nerves.
"Please. Don't force me. I don't need a doctor."
I turn my head toward the window, realizing we don't even know each other's names.
Just a neighbor.Knowing his name is unnecessary.
I chose to live, not to crowd my life with everyone I see. No one should be harmed by me. Not even by my breath.
When I hear, "Sir, we're turning back," relief washes over me. Of course a stranger couldn't force me into something I didn't want. Isn't it always easier to resist those who are closest to you?
I stare at the greying sky. The morning had been beautiful. As if my inner season had changed with the weather.
The ride back passes in silence. Sometimes I feel his gaze on me, especially when I groan without meaning to.
As I step out of the car, pain flares in my ankle and slips from my lips. He appears beside me immediately. Without looking at him, I head toward the building entrance. Seconds later, he's next to me again.
"Why are you being so stubborn? This could be serious."
I ask again, hoping he'll stop."Are you a doctor?"
"You don't need to be one to know that." Then he adds, and the moment I hear his real profession, a gentle shiver passes through me."I'm a musician."
My mind floods with thoughts. I bite my tongue to keep them from spilling out.
He stops me just as I'm about to shut the apartment door in his face. We climb the stairs together. Every step hurts, and though he notices my clenched teeth, he says nothing. Silence covers many things between us. Beneath it lies his concern, and my curiosity. After hearing he's a musician, I can't help wondering what kind of man he is.
When we reach the third floor, I expect him to enter his apartment. Instead, he kneels in front of me, his back turned. Shock ripples through my mind.
"What are you doing?" I ask. My voice gives me away.
"I watched you push your body for three floors. I barely stopped myself from intervening. Every time I tried, your frown held me back. But this time, let's do it my way. What do you say?"
I swallow, trying to process his words. Don't be this considerate with strangers. Save it for people you love. How can I know you're not pretending?
"Don't be ridiculous. I can manage." He turns on one knee, lifts my pant leg, and touches my ankle lightly. I wince.
"I'm not calling you stubborn. It's not exactly a compliment anyway." He looks up at me. I realize I can read his eyes as clearly as his words.
"You're a strong woman. Even if you didn't want to show me, I saw it. But if you don't accept my help now, you'll stay stubborn in my mind."
His words strike exactly where I'm weakest. I always knew there was strength inside me until I climbed that rooftop… but stepping down from it made me doubt whether I could bring that strength out again. Was I wrong? Was I strong?
"Your ankle looks worse than it did in the car. Let me carry you upstairs. You can lock your door ten times afterward. You know where I live."
He smiles.And I laugh.
Me? Laughing?
I laugh from my heart. From my soul.
As his smile spreads, I catch myself counting the lines at the corners of his eyes. One. Two. The remnants of my laughter linger around my lips. When I shift, he frowns briefly, and I sit on the first stair. His smile returns, and I go back to counting. He sits beside me. I look more closely now. Three.
I turn my head away, toward the wall. I've avoided looking at his face since regaining consciousness. Remembering how I wanted that blurred face to become clear feels like being caught.
There are things I haven't confessed to my mind or my soul.
I notice him holding something out. I turn. He's holding a key. For the first time, I meet his gaze fully. His brown eyes verge on black. As my eyes drop to the key, my brows knit instinctively.
"What's this?" I ask.
"The key to your apartment. That's how I got inside."
Before I can respond, he continues.
"You're going to ask why I had it. We tried using your place as a studio for a few days."
The memory crashes into his words. Another wave of realization hits me.
Was it you who sent that music to me?Was it you who made me hear the birds?
My heart races, the sound spreading through my body. For the first time, my eyes dare to study him. Thick black lashes frame his dark eyes. There's a small mole near his right eyebrow.
Get a grip.
I take the key. When my fingers brush his skin, they tingle. I inhale deeply.
"Thank you," I whisper.
I'm not even sure what I'm thanking him for.
He nods. "I was going to leave it with the doorman. It's no big deal."
I shake my head. "Not for that."
His brows furrow as he searches for an answer. A breeze stirs in my chest. I don't understand how someone I've tried not to look at can affect me this deeply.
"For being there?" he asks.
I swallow. No one has been beside me since childhood. Would he ask that if he knew?
Before I can answer, his words echo through the stairwell.
"Even if you refused my help, that didn't matter. I couldn't just stand there after hearing those noises upstairs."
"I didn't refuse your help. If I had, we wouldn't be here talking."I know the courage in my gaze as I say it. I know I look straight into his eyes.
Since being with him, there are no thoughts, no darkness, no collisions in my mind. There is only breath in my soul, warmth in my palm, and the scent of spring spreading through my body.
He studies me. I fight the weight of my thoughts in silence. I feel him trying to understand me. I know he won't succeed.
As I press my lips together, I command my brown eyes not to fall to his lips. They obey. After seconds of silence, a single word slips from the lips I forbid myself to look at.
"Rowan."
I understand it's his name. My lips curve at the gift of it.
"Lena."
His smile grows wider than the one that held my lips captive.
I don't remember when our hands locked together. My fingers don't want to lose the warmth. I pull away, reluctantly.
Rowan kneels in front of me again, gesturing to his shoulder without turning to face me.
"Since we've met, hop on. I'll carry you upstairs."
Fear stirs. Old shadows threaten to close in. Rowan turns, and when my eyes meet the darkness in his gaze, the fear vanishes.
"Come on, before our retired neighbor Uncle Ryan chases us with his cane!"
I laugh, light and free. Rowan enjoys it as much as I do.
"We can't get caught by the bad guy!"
Then a voice booms from behind a closed door.
"Damn it, Rowan! You rascal! There it is again! As if we haven't been listening to that noise all day!"
Our laughter freezes. We stare at each other for a second before Rowan speaks.
"Hurry!"
He turns, and I jump onto his back. Excitement and joy fill me as he runs up the stairs. I find myself wishing that all villains in the world were like retired Uncle Ryan.