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“Down here is the recreation room. It’s a bit bigger, and there’s a chess table if you like that sort of thing,” Danya explains, leading me into another room where several crew members are sitting in their grey jumpsuits, reading books and studying charts.
“I don’t know the first thing about chess,” I admit.
None of my previous boyfriends were ever smart enough to play it. They preferred wrecking their cars in late-night street races, and smoking pot until they smelled so bad, I’d have to kick them out of my bedroom before my father came home.
Danya takes me to the table and motions for me to sit down. “I’ll teach you. It’s not that difficult to learn, but it’s tough to master. That’s what makes it so much fun.”
I sit across from him, but I find myself distracted by the sound of his voice and the serious way he’s explaining the way the pieces move. I don’t even know what he’s saying, and he’s going to be pissed when he realizes I can’t play even after he’s explained it to me.
Maybe if he wasn’t so goddamn handsome, I’d be able to concentrate.
“And the bishop can only move on its own color, like this. Just diagonal,” he says.
I nod, pretending I know what the fuck is going on. I mean, I get the moving part, but I’m going to have trouble understanding how it all fits together. I just keep looking at his cold grey eyes, admiring the way they flicker across the board, studying it like it’s a real conflict and not just a bunch of magnetized pieces on a checkered table.
How can such a dangerous man be so cute?
“Hey, are you paying attention?” he asks, snapping me out of my daze.
“Oh, um, maybe it’s not my type of game,” I say.
“If you’d listen, it would be. It’s really quite compelling.”
I laugh. “I’m not smart like you.”
“Sure, you are,” he says, his voice innocent and encouraging.
It makes my heart melt, and then I’m even more distracted.
“Anyway, we don’t have to play it now, but you’re probably going to get bored after a day or two of pacing these halls, and since you didn’t pack anything to entertain yourself with, I thought I’d show you what we had down here,” he says, getting up.
I would’ve packed if I thought we were actually getting on a submarine, but I really wasn’t expecting this. Even with all the money my father had, he never once had a reason to put me on a submarine and take me to Antarctica.
I suppose there’s some thrill to it. I’ve never been this deep in the ocean, and the idea of going somewhere that so few people have been is intriguing.
Danya tells me that he has a settlement and a mine there, but I did some reading on Antarctica and I discovered there was a treaty in the 70s that prohibited mining. Maybe I read it wrong, but it seemed like something Danya would know about.
When I brought it up to him, he said it didn’t apply to him. I wondered why until I remembered that he was a criminal, and he probably feels like no law applies to him.
There’s something a bit exciting about it, despite my reluctance to be involved in something that would probably put me on a wanted list back in the US. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to go back after this.
But there’s a unique kind of freedom in culling your options. I’m no longer burdened by choices. I’m on a path and I can’t turn back, no matter how badly I want to in the future.
My entire fate was sealed with a kiss.
Danya takes me to the dining hall, which is little more than a few crates of dried rations and a few blue plastic barrels of water. “The macaroni is not that bad, but I’d avoid the meatloaf. It tastes like dirt,” he says.
“Maybe fasting would be a better option,” I reply turning my nose up at the idea of eating dehydrated gerbil food.
“Maybe you’d be happier drinking my cum for dinner every night.”
I thought I taught him a lesson last night, but he hasn’t learned a goddamn thing. He probably likes being tortured, the fucking masochist. Maybe we were meant to be together after all.
“Honestly, it’d probably taste better than this garbage,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “Why don’t we go play chess, and I’ll actually try to learn this time.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
18
