That night spent on Yuri Karamov's bed had been punctuated with tossing and turning, and fretful sleep. I woke up several times, disoriented, and to the sensation that my skull was splitting open. I went through a reoccurring cycle of remembering the previous night, then realising I wasn't in my bed.
The first time I woke up was to the moonlight streaming in through the blinds. It was hard to tell what time it was, only that it was dark, and that the house was silent to where the howling winds outside were heard like ghosts in the hallway.
Realisation and pain pierced through the cobwebs of sleep, and I found myself staggering to the door. I never got to the point of opening it. I took a look around Yuri's room, cast in shadows, and realised the futileness, and more importantly, the fatigue and the headache weighing me down. I was burning hot with an oncoming fever. There was no way I would have made it home in one piece, and so I returned to bed, deciding to wake up early and leave before anyone else got up.
I wrapped myself in the quilt which had presumably been placed there by Yuri and entered a restless sleep.
The last and final time, I woke up to a sweet melodic voice, so faint that at first, it filtered through to my dreams. I dreamt that I was outside, in my backyard. It was snowing, and Yuri and I were building snowmen. My dream was a sample from a time when I had been happier. We were laughing, and bantering, and comparing the sizes of our spheres.
The scenery changed, we were now climbing up the Tree. The branches were white with a thin sprinkle of snow. I complained that my fingers were getting numb, but Yuri wanted to climb higher, till at last, we were both seated on the thinnest branch, hovering over the earth in that dreamlike state. We were the same size as the clouds, and at times, it felt like we drifted on them too. Everything was magical.
I told Yuri that I liked him, and then I moved in to kiss him. Yuri's face contorted in disgust and anger. He pushed me off the branch, and I fell, and fell, and fell. I opened my eyes to my room. I lay in bed. Mjinska was singing a song I had never heard before. And as she had done every morning when I was younger, she came into my room and pulled the velvet draperies apart, exposing the room to sunlight.
She was smiling at me. Then, all of a sudden, her smiled pulled back into a leer. Her face morphed into the ring-leader's. Mjinska disappeared and in her stead stood my assaulter, now only centimeters away from my face. The harsh yellow lighting in the train station exposed the acne that marred his skin. His cronies were holding me down, their arms like an anaconda coiling around my bodyâsmothering. The ring-leader had my hair in a tight fist. I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything but stare into the abyss that was his black eyes.
- So you're a filthy homosexual too? Why am I not surprised? He drawled in a raspy voice.
The images from my dreams obliterated behind my eyelids as an intrusive, red light pierced through them. I became aware of the singing as something taking place outside my head rather than inside. Within seconds, I was blinking away the sleep from my eyes, and adjusting to the uncharacteristically bright sun filtering in through the blinds.
Everything was white and unfamiliar; the walls, the sheets, the pillow, my own weight on the bed. I noticed a woman standing by the windows. The sun obscured her face and cast everything from her head down to her midriff in shadows. Mjinska? But that couldn't be, she was on maternity leave. I rubbed the grogginess from my eyes and squinted in concentration to make out who it was.
- I was starting to wonder if you'd ever wake up, Yuri's mother said. The sound of her voice registered in my mind the same second she shifted and the sunlight glided off her head.
I flew out of the bed with a startle.
- What time is it?
A mind-shattering pain shot through my head, forcing me helplessly back onto Yuri's pillow with a groan.
- No time for you to be hurrying anywhere, Yuri's mother said with cocksure authority. She walked over to the bed and stood over me until I dared squint up at her over the stabbing pain in my left eye socket. She held a glass of yellowish liquid in her hand.
- Asprin? I asked. My voice was groggy with remnants of sleep, and not even that could mask my desperation. Yuri's mother smiled.
- There's no such thing in our house. But you're welcome to try this. She extended me the glass. I propped myself up on my elbow and took it, putting my nose to the rim. It didn't smell much more than lemony at first, but a second whiff revealed the discrete undertones of wet grass and wildflowers.
I mustn't have looked convinced because Yuri's mother felt obligated to add, - I'll let you know it's my mother's recipe. It hasn't failed me yet. Plus, it isn't as harsh on the stomach as the pills.
I took the first gulp of the substance under her watchful gaze.
- What is this? I sputtered. I had to fight my gag reflexes as I held the glass away from my body.
Yuri's mother's laughter rung like bells in the space between us.
It couldn't have been anything less than poison. The bitterness clung to the back of my tongue and refused to leave however much I tried chasing it down.
- Don't ask, just drink it up, she said amused. I raised myself upright to give her some room beside my legs. She took a seat on the edge of the bed.
- Is your mother alive? I asked, bringing the glass closer to my lips. I stared suspiciously at it. Would I die if I drank this?
Yuri's mother caught on to my question and pinned me with a look as a reply.
- I'm surprised you're in the mood to be making jokes. You'd think a bus had run over you. Her eyes burned into the battered side of my face. If the way it had throbbed all night was any indication, I could only imagine how much darker my bruises had gotten.
- I try to look on the bright side, I murmured.
Five big gulps and the liquid was making its way down the lining of my stomach. I dried my mouth on the back of my hand and noticed my sleeveâI was in the same clothes as yesterday. I realised it was the first time in my life that I hadn't slept in my pyjamas. A bout of fatigue hit my system in one sweeping blow. I felt more dishevelled and disorganised than I had in years. I wanted a hot bath to wash off last night's grime, but what I really needed was a moment alone with my thoughts.
- I couldn't believe my ears, Yuri's mother was saying, - Krié came downstairs at the crack of dawn and told me, the count's son is sleeping in the Boy's bed, and I can't find the Boy. A smile spread across her features as she mimicked her husband's baritone voice.
- Turns out that Yuri was sleeping on the couch in front of the television.
I grew uneasy at her words. It was so unlike me to pass out on someone else's bed like that. I should have shown more self-restraint. It was impolite, not to mention a transgression of welcome. I looked down into my glass, at the few drops of liquid that still remained at the bottom.
I bit the healthy corner of my bottom lip, - I'm sorry to have caused so much confusion, it's...
Yuri's mother waved her hand at my apology. She shook her head. - The Boy already told us everything. It's a good thing you made it back here, safe.
My heart leapt up into my throat.
- What did he tell you?
- Don't worry, not the juicy bits. Yuri's mother smiled wryly. - He's sealed his lips, that one.
Her gaze stared fixedly at me, taking me in in my entirety. I saw that she wanted to ask what had happened. The gears behind her bright blue eyes ground in concentration. In the end, she must have decided that the risk outweighed the benefit because she turned the topic on its head.
- It's been such a long time since you were here. We've missed you, Ru. Or should I call you Rueh? No? Remember that? Rueh? Yuri's mother's expression turned melancholic, betraying her cheery facade. Her hand stroked my knee absentmindedly over the patchwork quilt.
- I suppose you're not our little Rueh anymore. You're a proper man now, and you'll keep growing more and more into your father's likeness.
Her words robbed the air out of my lungs. She must have noticed the shock in my expression because she quickly retracted her hand, - In the best way possible, of course.
I clenched my teeth and mustered a tight-lipped smile. My father owned no positive connotations to his person, and anyone who said otherwise had most likely never spent an hour in his presence. I knew she had only meant it as a compliment, but it had the exact opposite effect. It instantly soured my mood.
- Where is he? I asked, - Yuri.
- He woke up early and went with his father to the market, as he does on weekends...You remember, don't you?
I nodded, but I wasn't sure she believed me.
- Anja, of course, went with them. Yuri's mother exhaled a heavy sigh, - I know it's not exactly...becoming, Anja's not anything like Katka. I do my best with her and let her go with her father when she can, but...-, Yuri's mother's expression grew defeated. It told of the daily fight of trying to mould Anja's passion for the masculine to be more like her girly twin-sister.
- You'll understand when you have children of your own, she said. She cleaned the air of the lingering remnants of the heavy topic by flashing me a radiant smile, - but before that, how about some breakfast? I've made frugumnar, you like that don't you? She asked. I had no idea what that wasâmy best guess was Brommian breakfast. Bread and soup.
I shook my head, apologetic, - I'm sorry, I can't madameâ
- Oh, stop it, Yuri's mother cut off.
- I admire your parents for raising you with manners, but I'm not that old, am I? She rose an inquisitive eyebrow at me. She wasn't. Not with that youthful, small face and her curtain of black shiny hair that cascaded past her shoulders. She wore a shawl to cover her hair. Her fingers were long and slender. They rested on top of her traditional Brommian dress: a simple yellow cotton dress, with an ornate piece of fabric tied around her waist like an apron.
I fought the smile which threatened to crack open my face. - I only meant it in the best way possible...
- ...Breja, she finished for me.
- Breja, I worded back. It felt strange to be calling a married woman by her first name. The Brommian were less formal in that regard.
- Breja, I need to call home, our cook, Petra, she's probably worried sick. If she hasn't called the police, I'm sure she will in the next second.
- Already taken care of. Why don't you head to the bathroom and wash up? I'llâ
- What do you mean? I interrupted.
- Well Rueh, I already sent Katka to Ljerumlup to give your parents the news that you had slept here last night. Though I'm ashamed to say that I sent her empty-handed, seeing as urgent as it was I hope all is forgiven.
- Nothing to forgive, I assured her, - You really did that? I asked with a sliver of awe slipping into my voice.
Yuri's mother breathed a laugh, - We wake up early in this household, and seeing as you were sleeping like a log, I had to send Katka out with the word of your well-being. Now, go get washed up. I'll put one of Yuri's shirts out on the bed for you. Yuri's mother took the glass from my hand and rose from the bed. - Make sure to come downstairs before the food gets cold. There isn't much gas left this time a month.
I watched as the madame bent down and picked up Yuri's clothes that littered the floor on her way over to his armoire. I was struck by how nothing had changed in Yuri's mother's attitude towards me. She still cared for me, still welcomed me with the same hospitality I remembered.
I couldn't help but look back one last time before I exited the room. A part of me wanted to find something which contradicted her previous demeanour. Call it a need to nitpick my newfound hope, if you will. I found nothing there in her expression and felt stupid for needing to check in the first place. Breja wouldn't fabricate her emotions. She wasn't anything like Eline.
Once out in the hallway, I came face to face with a fair-haired girl, up to my chest in height, blowing iridescent soap bubbles through a straw.
- Ru, you're up! Lopija called. Her smile was the same voltage as the light bulb overhead.
- Look at this one. She dipped her straw in a teacup of soap-water and blew it with utmost concentration till she formed a large bubble which she released into the air.
Her smile was contagious.
Lopija stood out from the rest of her family. For one, her short light-brown hair was closer to that of her father than her mother; same with her eyes and tanned skin. The only likeness she shared with her siblings were their facial structure and prominent eyebrows.
- Did you see that? She asked. - I'm trying to figure out how to blow more than one bubble at a time. It's tough.
- I don't think that's possible. Why are you using a straw?
She was just about to answer when her eyes popped out of her skull in alarm. In her hurry to try to hide her cup of soap-water, she spilt some of it on the floor. I understood the reason for her haste when I heard her mother's voice from behind me.
- Lopi, baar vhinsi, what did I tell you? The rest of her mother's stern voice was bitten off by a spew of Brommin words.
Lopija flashed Breja a sheepish smile before she slunk passed her, dashing down the stairs. Breja cast me a weary look before she trudged after.
I went into the bathroom and bolted the door shut behind me. I unbuttoned my wrinkled button-up shirt and slipped out of it. For some time, however short it turned out to be, I avoided looking at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I rinsed my mouth and washed my face, being careful with the plaster. I was met with the inevitability of my situation when one adhesive end of the plaster refused to stick.
What stared back at me in the mirror wasn't any better than the previous night. The redness in my eye had grown more pronounced. The bruising around my left eye had gone from a light purple to an angry blue with patches of greenishness at the perimeters. The swelling of my lower lip had somewhat subsided around the injury, but the cut still ached and made smiling hurt.
I breathed through my mouthâtwo deep breathsâto steady the anxiety that flared up like a pain in my sternum. I gripped the sink and shut out the feelings of absolute hopelessness behind my eyelids.
I could handle this. I would just have to explain it calmly to my father. My father. Myfathermyfather. He would understand. He would understand. He would understand. I birthed the words into existence, hopedâno, wished them to fruition.
In my mind's eye, I saw the scene of frigid questioning play out in my father's office. An episode out of Good Cop-Bad Cop, only with my father there was only ever one cop, and he was a comic book caricature of a villain. I was scared of him. I had always been scared of him. That's how he had raised me. That's what he had me believe a father and son relationship was like, but then I met Kriéâkind and understanding Kriéâand my whole worldview of masculinity, of what it meant to be a father shattered.
I thought, hoped, my father's cold demeanour would thaw now that I was older. I waited and waited only to realise that he held me at arm's length out of his own volition.
I tried defying him in ways I knew were hopeless, childish even, to instill a sense of autonomy, but it did nothing to dent his sole rule. He knew that I was reliant on him for everything, and he was cruel enough to manipulate it to his advantage.
I envisioned Eline's cold shoulder, her disappointment, her hostile: - what is it you expect? This is what happens when you anger your father.
No one ever took my side at home. It was always two against one. What had happened to me didn't matter so much as the fact that they thought I let it happen. To them, it was as if everything I did was a vendetta against them, a scheme to humiliate them and drag our name through the mud.
- There's always a choice, my father used to say, - every choice you make leads to other choices. A bad choice leads back to a bad choice, which leads back to a bad choice, and so it goes on. If you're unable to tell where your choices lead you, what does that make you? My father loved rhetorical questions. It gave him the satisfaction of driving his point home.
- That's right, stupid.
With my father's words looping in my mind, I ran a shaky hand through my hair to smooth it back down. I towelled my face and tried to assemble some order to the constant chirping in my head. I put my shirt back on. I didn't bother button it up before I exited the bathroom.
I approached Yuri's bed and grabbed the long-sleeve cotton shirt his mother had placed out for me. It was in the most eye-grabbing orange colour I had ever seen. Even the repeated washes that had faded the logo hadn't managed to dilute its vibrancy. It would fit me, but it would also look horrible on me.
Before modelling, and hours spend pored over magazines, I had no interest in clothes. I would wear whatever came my way. I never used to shop for myself. But now, I took great care in what I put on my body. Yuri Karamov, on the other hand, seemed stuck in that phase of adolescence where clothes and appearance mattered very little. He was lucky to have good body portions. He was slender and tall, on the interface between man and child. Everything he wore, more or less, draped his body as if it was custom fit.
I put his faded shirt to my face and inhaled his scent. My eyes fluttered closed. Of all the moment in the world, Yuri Karamov chose that one to burst through the door like a police squad ready to raid his room.