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My phone rings and vibrates from the top of my black nightstand. I roll over and blindly reach for it, half awake and probably still snoring. I pry my eyes open, blinking aggressively to get them to focus. After a moment, my eyes open enough for me to see who texted. It’s work.
I reply to the text, asking if she is alright. The next string of messages concerns me. I can’t get a straight answer other than that Nova is having a breakdown and keeps whispering my name. I don’t want to admit that I care for her well-being, but it’s worth it, if it gets me closer to finishing the job. I manage to sit on the edge of the bed, planting my feet on the cold hardwood floor. I rest my elbows on my thighs while I rub my face up and down, attempting to quickly wake myself up.
When I feel awake enough, I grab a fresh pair of boxer briefs, a pair of grey sweatpants, and my black hoodie. I have to hobble on one leg to get into my pants and almost fall down the weird step that leading out of the bedroom area. My studio is quaint. It’s big enough to house me and one other person comfortably if need be, but no bigger. The walls are brick with a white-wash finish, and the kitchen is realtively modern. Nothing to write home about.
I slip my feet into some slides, grab my car keys, and head for the door. I also grab a hair tie from the little end table and throw my hair up into a bun, but I don’t get too far before thinking about those texts. Jutting my chin out to bite my upper lip, I walk back to my nightstand and pull out my knife. I have no idea what the situation is, and one can’t be too careful in today’s times.
As I get into my ‘bikkja’, I place my knife in the center console. Turning the key in the ignition, I grab the gear shift and haul ass out of the gutter next to the sidewalk.
Getting there is easy. The road I take to work is engraved in my mind. Traveling the same path over and over again is like watching your favorite movie; nothing ever changes. The parking area is almost empty, save a couple of vehicles.
I pull into the space closest to the door and walk up. As soon as I lay eyes on her, I note how nervous she looks and how much she’s shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her face looks darker than usual, but I assume it’s just the early morning light and the shadow from the hood of her sweatshirt. Upon closer inspection, I try to suppress my gasp. Her face is bruised in multiple spots, her eyes are bloodshot, and her cheeks are stained pink from her tears. She keeps chewing on her lip and hugging her midsection.
“What happened to you? Who the fuck did this?” I growl. She doesn’t reply but turns away from me, shielding her face beneath her hood. I soften my voice but not my expression. “I already saw your face, Min Stjärna. Don’t hide it from me now.”
Nova shakes her head and walks away, beckoning me to follow her. She stops at the little garden that fills the space between the two great oak trees that shade the courtyard and sits down. Kicking off her flip-flops, she finally relaxes as she digs her toes into the earth. I join in, taking off my slides and getting comfortable next to her. I want to murder whoever did this. I don’t know what to say or do to console her. I want to shove the asshole responsible into an industrial-sized washer and clean them of their wrongdoings. With acid instead of detergent. Clean them– drown them– same difference.
Why do I even care, though? This is a job, nothing else. I shouldn’t want to murder people for her. What is wrong with me?
She pulls me out of my head when she lays her temple against my shoulder and wraps her hand softly around my bicep. I know her tears are dripping onto my sweatshirt, but I don’t care. I just hope that I can figure out what happened to her before the intrusive thoughts come back. I cautiously place a gentle hand on her thigh.
“Nova, what can I do? Do you need me to get you something? Do I need to commit a felony? Or do you just need a friend? Tell me how I can help you,” I inquire quietly. I can feel her crying intensify by the way her shoulders move against my arm.
“What am I doing wrong, Alek?” Her voice is broken and raspy. “How did I let this happen to me again?”
I can’t stand to see her in this much physical and mental anguish, still knowing full well it isn’t my place or a part of my job to care. I don’t mean to overstep those invisible boundaries, but I can’t help it. I pull my arm out of her grip and gently wrap it around her waist. I reach over with my other hand to pick her up by her thigh and drag her onto my lap, careful so as not to damage her any more than whatever piece of shit already has.
She wraps her arms about my neck, squeezing tightly and sobbing into the crook of her elbow. Her legs tremble on either side of mine as I rub her back, attempting to comfort her.
“Min Stjärna, talk to me. Please.” I nearly beg.
“It was him. The whole time. All of it. It’s been him.” she cries into her sleeve.
“All of what? How many times has he fuckin' done this to you, Nova?”
Silence is her answer. I gently take her arms from around my neck, leaning her back so she’s facing me clearly. She keeps her hands on my arms and looks at me with interest. I grab the hem of her sweatshirt and pull it up slowly, giving her the option to pull it down if she needs to. She doesn’t fight me but instead helps me shuck it off her body, exposing all the bruising and welts that this ‘he’ has left all over her face and body. As soon as I see them, I pull my sweatshirt off and put it on her. I want her to feel more protected within my belongings than she does in her own. She cowers into it, shaking with fear and sobs.
“For the love of fuck, Nova.” I’m flabbergasted. I mean, I sacrifice people. And eat them. But I don’t fucking beat them to a pulp just for fun! I take in our surroundings, making sure he didn’t follow her here. “Nova, does he know you’re here?”
“I don’t think so. Why?” Realizing that she’s on my lap, she scoots off me backward and stands up. “Sorry.”
“I told you once, and I’ll only tell you one more time. Never fucking apologize for somebody else’s actions. I pulled you into my lap.” The way she blushes at my words makes me want to take her right now. It isn’t the time nor the place for that. And yet, no matter what she looks like or how she acts, I still want her. I crave the way her cheeks turn pink, giving her a little color. I want to hear the way she pants my name in ecstasy. I need to feel her dainty fingers wrap around my cock, soft and innocent.
"Okay. Why do you want to know if he followed me or if he knows where I am?" She asks in a panicked sort of way and starts looking around nervously. I ignore her, not wanting to freak her out even more.
"I want to give you something before I leave. Remind me, alright?"
"Sure." She fiddles with the drawstring of my hoodie, seemingly calming down while lost within her own mind.
"Nova. Please? Will you tell me what happened? I won't do anything you don't want me to. Just talk to me, dammit."
Nova paces back and forth in front of me for a long time without answering. I don’t know what she seems to be contemplating, but it takes all of her energy.
“Nova?”
She stops, almost midstep, again without answering. Disconnecting the chain on her neck, she wraps it around her hand, holding a pendant of some sort in her palm. It’s the key I’ve seen her wearing the entire time I’ve known her. Granted, that isn’t very long.
Before I can blink, she kisses the necklace and tosses it into the water. I’m shocked, but she seems relieved. She smiles knowingly before walking over to me and sitting down.
