27. Truth Detector
Truth Detector
You can call if you’re still awake.
But only if you promise not to psychoanalyze my insomnia.
It barely takes a minute before the screen flashes with an incoming call.
“Didn’t think you’d still be up.” he says, voice softer than the last time we spoke.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
He hesitates, like he’s listening for something under my voice. “Rough night?”
I lie, gently. “Just busy. Tired, the usual doctor-related insomnia.”
He doesn’t buy it. I can hear it in the small shift of his breath, but he lets it go.
“I thought you were going to a friend’s.” he says.
“I did. Now it’s home time. Responsibilities.”
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “Do those ever stop?”
It makes me laugh, just a little, the sound scraping out of me like it’s been buried all day. “Sadly it’s a permanent fixture of reality.”
A pause follows, the faint tighten of his breath through the line. “You know what doctor? I have a request. Will you humor me?”
He feels too close, like he’s speaking against my skin. I swallow. “Sure.”
“Whatever you’re not talking about,” he says, lower now, voice calm and certain, “Don’t think, just give it to me.
Breathe in deep and hand it over. Okay?” The request catches me off guard, it shouldn’t make sense but somehow I understand what he’s asking.
At first, I resist, but something in his voice makes it feel easy, like a weight has been lifted.
As the feeling passes over me, I let out a shaky exhale, and he catches it.
“That’s it. I knew you’d get it. It’s a whole Tibetan monk thing, they say you breathe in suffering and exhale relief.
Anytime I’m nervous or stressed before a show, it always helps. ”
Before I have a chance to say anything, still stuck in the feeling of whatever just happened between us, he breaks the silence.
“Better?” he murmurs. An image floods my mind before I can fight it, my head on his chest, his hand in my hair, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.
The thought steals my breath, and a small, involuntary sound escapes.
“Sounds like you’re asleep on my chest,” he says, a smile hidden in his voice.
I laugh, a little embarrassed. “I must be drifting, if you told me a story I bet I’d be snoring next.”
“That sounds like a challenge, a bedtime story?” He lets out a deep breath.
“I never really had them read to me, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m shit at this.
” There’s a rustle, the faint drag of sheets, and then his voice moves closer, intimate.
Like he’s leaning into the phone just to see what it does to me.
It does plenty. Heat blooms under my skin in places I don’t want to admit.
“I guess I kind of read them to myself. I used to hide in books and music whenever my parents weren’t around.
I made stories into places, inside. When the noise in my head got too loud, I painted with it.
Myths, songs, scraps of language. Maybe my only trick is turning noise into something that pretends at meaning?
When it’s really just a playground of the mind.
People take the pieces they need from it, a turn at the jungle gym or swings here and there. It’s nice in a way. To share it. ”
A pause. “Jesus, this is terrible. Pretentious as fuck, listen to me. I’m shocked you’re still on the other end. First monks, now a diatribe on art. Maybe I could sing you a bedtime story instead?” He laughs, suddenly a little shy.
I smile into the dark, my throat tightening. “It’s a beautiful concept,” I whisper through a sleepy haze. “I remember that first show. I definitely visited your playground. I was always more a seesaw kind of girl, though. Or the slide, even if it burnt my ass in the summer.”
He chuckles, but there’s something tender underneath. “That’s wild… that you were there.” A pause, gentler now. “Back then I just wanted to either feel something different or stop feeling altogether. Glad my mess was useful to someone. To you.”
The silence that follows is soft, shared.
“Rafe?” I whisper.
“Mm?”
“I should go to bed before I fall asleep on the phone.” I smile faintly, eyes already heavy. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he murmurs.
I close my eyes. “For being here.”
“Sleep, Kasia.” He says my name in that soft way that makes my stomach drop and I just nod in the dark. I keep the phone against my ear until I drift, dreaming to the sound of him breathing.
The pounding wakes me before the sun does, like a hammer, loud and unrelenting. I drag myself out of bed, hair sticking in every direction, stumbling down the hall, t-shirt wrinkled, footing clumsy.
“Alright already!” I call out to whoever it is.
When I swing the door open, Piotr’s standing there with Kacper in one arm, red-faced, wailing like a siren.
“Siostra,” he says, voice exasperated but amused at my disheveled state. “I have a ruined man at my house. Heartbroken. What the hell happened last night?”
I cross my arms, groggy and unimpressed. “Ask him.”
“I did,” he says, walking straight in. “He’s mumbling bullshit, throwing himself under a car, pretending to help fix it.
Zosia’s running around blowing bubbles, and he won’t say anything other than you finished with him.
Aga said I had to bring Kacper with me to keep you honest, that you can’t look into these eyes and lie. ”
He holds the baby up like a chubby little truth detector. I can’t help but smile. Kacper gurgles, drool on his chin, eyes wide and innocent.
I sigh. “Fine. He basically said if I go to Miami, we’re over. That he ‘can’t accept it as a man from his woman,’ or some dumb macho nonsense like that. That he'd have to 'consider it'. So I said don't bother and chose for him.”
Piotr sighs and sits down, rocking Kacper, who immediately lets out a scream that could shatter glass.
“Shh, little man. Stop. We have things to discuss.”
That somehow calms him, which makes both of us laugh.
“And?” Piotr prompts.
I feign ignorance. “And what?”
He just levels a look at me, big-brother mode, full power.
I groan. “He asked if I’m attracted to Rafe.”
Piotr frowns. “Who?”
“Obelus,” I correct quickly, throat tight. “Which, of course I said yes. I have been since I was a teenager.”
“There it is,” he mutters, throwing up a hand. “That’s it. Kasia, come on. What man would let that slide? Imagine he said he was spending a weekend with Lena. You’d be fine with it?”
That makes me glare. I drop onto the couch beside him with a huff.
“No, because he fucked her when she came back. Did he tell you that? Your saintly single dad of the year, using you as an excuse to come to our family dinner and beg forgiveness from your sister?”
Piotr’s mouth falls open. “No! That fucking idiot.” He groans, tipping his head back, careful to keep Kacper balanced. The baby giggles, thinking it’s a game.
He looks down at Kacper before groaning toward the ceiling, muttering a string of Polish curses that would make a priest blush. “He really did?”
I nod.
“Always thinking with his hard dick instead of his soft brain,” he says, rocking the baby again.
That breaks us both. We’re laughing before we can stop ourselves. Kacper giggles too, like he’s in on the joke.
“I told him he had no right to be jealous when he couldn’t even control himself around one ex. I’m not going to sleep with Obelus. I’m going because it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A dream since I was a teenager. You know that better than anyone.”
Piotr exhales slowly, nodding. “Kas… is there more?”
My shoulders sink. “Maybe? Honestly, I don’t know. Right now? We’re friends.” I finish softly. “We talk, I like him as a person. Very much.”
Piotr gives me that brotherly look, but lets it go.
“But no,” I add quickly. “We’ve never crossed a line, I promise. Which is more than I can say for Dominik and Lena. Guess I’m single now, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
He snorts. “Fucked himself, rookie. He hasn’t learned to let you rant, then just nod and say you’re right. Works every time.”
I smack his arm. He flinches dramatically, and Kacper squeals with laughter.
“Maybe you’ll be getting your own baby sister soon,” Piotr says to Kacper, tickling his belly. “Then your life can be this same hell.”
Kacper squeals louder, grabbing at his father’s nose.
I roll my eyes. “He’ll be lucky if his siostra’s half as patient as I was with my brat.”
Piotr grins. “Just speaking the truth.”
“When will you know?” I ask, smiling at the two of them.
“Soon,” he says. “She’s twelve weeks. Only a few more and baby will let us see, we hope.”
I nod, watching him sway Kacper gently, the baby’s fingers curled around his shirt.
He sobers a little, “Look… just don’t do anything stupid.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he raises a brow and I shut it again.
“I know you won’t,” he says. “But still. Don’t do things you can’t undo. See how you feel when you come back. Dominik's a decent guy, and I know he loves you, even if his brain and dick are both made of cinder block.”
That gets a laugh out of me, soft and genuine. I nod. He leans Kacper toward me and I press a kiss to his soft cheeks, then the top of his head, inhaling that warm, sweet smell only babies have.
“I know he loves me... in his way,” I say.
Piotr nods with understanding.
“I won’t do anything stupid, I promise,” I say. “Give Aga my love, okay?” I kiss Piotr’s cheek.
“I will.” He stands, rocking Kacper. “Just remember, if your lost puppy starts gets drunk and starts peeing on my carpet, singing old Polish love songs, I’m making you come get him.”
I burst out laughing. “Deal.”