Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
JADEN
Nyla’s gaze rests on me—downcast, angry, painful. She wraps her arms around her torso as if she were afraid she might shatter if she didn’t hold her pieces together.
Seeing her like this cuts off my air, and there is only one thing I want to think about: that she shouldn’t break over what is hurting her.
Relentlessly, raindrops pound down on my head, the water soaks the bandage over my gash, creeps down the back of my neck and farther under my uniform. Inside me is this melody that hasn’t let me go all day.
Once more I signal for her to come to me. To step out of what is tormenting her right now. To allow the rain to wash away her tears. To feel better, even if only for a moment.
It will do her good, but she shakes her head.
‘Why not?’ I call over to her.
‘I could catch a cold.’ Hesitantly, she shifts from one foot to the other. ‘Why should I risk that?’
I spread my arms, feel the rain on my palms, hear the music inside me. My heart is pounding with all its strength, as alive as this moment. If Nyla could feel and hear what I feel and hear, she wouldn’t hesitate for a second. But she doesn’t even seem willing to allow herself the thought of it.
Why? Why does she choose a moment full of pain rather than letting go of what is dragging her down?
‘Why are you so afraid?’ I ask her.
Her expression immediately turns pained. Seeing her like this hits me, out of the blue, in a place that can’t take any more blows. Quickly, I start humming the melody in my head out loud. So that at least she can hear what I hear, if she can’t feel what I feel.
Not yet.
Her expression grows more and more confused the louder I hum, until I finally move on to singing the chorus.
‘You’re crazy.’ Her words are barely audible over the patter of the raindrops. But something in her expression I perceive all the more clearly: fascination.
She wishes she were a little crazy too. At least a part of her wants to sing in the rain with me. Forget what’s weighing on her mind. Be free.
For whatever reason, she thinks she can’t. But she can, and I’m going to help her. I give her a knowing smile and take a step toward her.
She doesn’t back away.
Still singing, I raise my hand again. A glimmer appears in her eyes, yet she shakes her head once more. I move closer; just a few more steps and I’ll be touching her. I don’t let her out of my sight for a single second, singing and grinning for all I’m worth.
Then it happens.
The corners of her mouth lift.
‘So crazy,’ she says, and this time her tone is soft, her expression radiates a longing that suddenly even I can feel.
With every centimeter I move closer to her, with every breath, with every blink of an eye, a little more.
I reach out my hand to her, touch her fingertips. She flinches briefly, but she allows the touch, and I sense that she can do it.
Maybe she doesn’t know it yet, but she can forget whatever is holding her back.
Carefully I take her hand and pull on it.
For a fraction of a second her body tenses, her eyes tell me of her fear, and with mine I assure her that she doesn’t need to be afraid.
That out there in the rain something is waiting for her that she must not miss.
That I will look after her. And that I will hold her, no matter what happens.
I don’t even know myself why I’m doing this, and I don’t care. I know that it feels right, and that’s enough.
She doesn’t move a millimeter, so I step under the roof with her, wrap my arms around her and begin to rock us both back and forth in time with the melody I keep on singing unchanged.
She yields. Slowly she relaxes, and when I belt out the chorus as loudly and off-key as I possibly can, a bright laugh bursts out of her. It is more intense than the music in my head, warmer than any ray of sunshine, more emotional than any rush of adrenaline.
My God, how stunning this woman is when she shines. Absolutely everything about her captivates me, the big eyes, the delicate cheekbones, the perfectly curved lips.
Together we turn in circles, our eyes fixed on each other, bit by bit closer to the edge of the porch roof.
And then beyond that.
Raindrops hit her skin, gather on her brows, trace the path of her laugh lines.
In her gaze, nothing but freedom.
In my chest, pure euphoria.
I don’t care where she comes from, and I don’t ask when she’ll leave again. I don’t want to know what she means, or think about whether she’s good for me or bad for me.
She simply is there.
And that is enough to keep dancing out into the rain with Nyla, singing at the top of our lungs.