21. Chapter 21
A ria
Aria woke suddenly, heart stuttering in her chest. She sat up as if electrocuted, the sheets twisted around her legs, skin damp with sweat. Her pretty dress from yesterday had ridden up.
The dream still clung to her.
She'd been on a carousel, alone. The painted horse beneath her moved in slow, endless circles while haunting music played from nowhere.
The first time she turned, she saw Mami and Babi standing at the edge, waving.
Their smiles were soft and faraway. On the next turn, Erjon and little Lule were there, just as they had been, children with bright eyes and wild hair.
Lule had a half-eaten plum in her hand, and Erjon's shirt was too big.
But the next time the carousel spun, they had vanished. Gone like a dream that never was.
In their place stood Crispin, looking as he had that first time she had seen him.
And his family stood behind him.
All of them elegant, polished, and smiling at her. Alice raised her hand to wave .
Until Helga appeared.
She stepped into the circle, her hand on Crispin's arm, and suddenly, the smiles shifted into frowns. Judgement and contempt stared back at her until, one by one, they turned and left, Crispin walking with them.
She called out to him.
He didn't look back.
And then Lule was there again, older, smiling at first. But then her brow furrowed and her smile disappeared like mist in the morning sun. And she, too, slowly turned and walked away.
Aria was still on the carousel. Still turning.
She couldn't move. Couldn't scream. Couldn't step off.
She was trapped, circling endlessly.
That's when she woke, her heart thundering, breath sharp in her lungs.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was. There was a vague grey light pressing in through the blinds, the silence too thick, her throat too tight.
Then the room came into focus. Her flat. Her bed .
She exhaled, slow and shaky. Then she lay back down and turned her head on the pillow. Her body felt hollow, like it had been emptied in the night-muscles lax, bones brittle. As though she were made of ash.
There was still time before work, at least three hours, but she couldn't go back to sleep.
The night before pressed into her consciousness like a straitjacket she couldn't escape.
She sat up carefully, joints protesting, and caught her reflection in the mirror across the room. Her mascara had bled beneath her eyes. Her lip gloss was gone, chewed off long before dessert. She looked older, like grief had etched itself into the corners of her face.
She rubbed her hands over her crusted eyes, pushed back the tangled waves of hair, and stood.
The flat was silent, the air still faintly perfumed with rosemary and the expensive cologne clinging to the scarf she had worn. The nausea hit her with a vengeance as the humiliation of last night refused to be ignored. She had never felt so insignificant.
She moved like an automaton-brush, toothpaste, clean underwear. A long shower. She needed to feel clean again .
When she stepped out, she wrapped herself in the fluffy purple robe. The colour had faded years ago, worn soft and patchy. It had once belonged to a neighbour who let her have her castaway clothes.
She checked her phone. One message from Lule.
You okay? I am panicking here. Call me. Please.
Aria stared at it for a moment, then typed:
He turned up with his fiancée. It's over. Will talk later. X
She set the phone aside, lay back on the couch, and closed her eyes.
Another message buzzed almost immediately, but not from Lule.
I'm in the car. I saw the light come on. Can I come up?
She froze with indecision.
Her thumb hovered.
She wasn't ready for this conversation; she didn't have the strength. But would she ever?
But she typed :
Yes.
The knock sounded not five minutes later.
She didn't move to meet him. Just sat there on the edge of the couch, robe tied tight around her, the faint steam from the bath still rising from her skin. The edges of the robe gaped slightly and her feet were bare, but she didn't care.
The key turned in the lock and the door creaked open.
Crispin stepped in hesitantly.
He looked like he hadn't slept. His hair was a mess, shirt half-untucked under his coat.
He closed the door gently behind him and stood in the entryway, as if unsure whether he had the right to move closer.
For the first time in whatever their relationship was, she was the one holding all the power while he was the one unsteady on his feet.
His eyes searched her face, lingered on the shadows under her haggard eyes, her chapped lips, the way her work-worn hands were clenched on her knees. She looked at him like he was a story that had already ended .
"I didn't know about the announcement," he said in a rush. "I didn't tell her to say that. I never proposed. I never would have. It was a trap...some ridiculous move by Helga, and my mother just went along-"
"Stop," Aria said quietly, raising her hand.
He did immediately.
"In all these years..." she began, eyes on the floor, "have you ever once thought we could have a life together? Not just moments. But a life? A house? Children?"
Crispin faltered. His mouth opened, then closed. "There are things you don't know, Aria. Things that-"
She cut him off with a quiet shake of her head. "Do you remember that night you asked me if I was a virgin?" she asked after a beat of silence. Her voice was too calm. Crispin stilled, confused. "And I said I wasn't?"
He nodded slowly, his eyes searching hers. "Yes."
She looked away. "That wasn't the first time I had sex," she said. "But you were my first...lover. "
His brows twitched, a faint ripple of movement as his confused mind tried to connect the dots. He had the look of a blind man stepping into a familiar room and realizing the furniture had been rearranged.
"Mami and Babi must be turning in their graves," she murmured, her voice almost detached. "I should've been married at sixteen. A mother by seventeen." She looked up at him, her eyes wet. Her face was wrecked from the memory.
He crossed the space between them in two strides, crouching before her. "Aria. Please. I need you to know...I didn't choose her. It was all a lie. I tried to protect us, but I didn't do it right. I should've stopped it before it got this far. I should've-"
"I think I need to tell you a few things," she interrupted softly, her voice not quite steady. "About why I am...like this."
Crispin blinked. "Like what?"
Her gaze didn't waver. "Foolish. Defeated." Her voice was barely above a whisper. Then she gave a soft, breathless laugh-one that held no humour. "That's what I am, isn't it?"
Crispin opened his mouth, but she stopped him with a small, tired shake of her head. "Don't," she said gently. "Let me get this out."
He stilled obediently. He knew instinctively that she had never spoken of this to anyone else .
She looked down at her hands, pale against the worn purple robe. The frayed sleeves brushed her knuckles and her fingers twisted the worn fabric.
Then she inhaled slowly, as if drawing breath for the plunge. "Do you remember the Kosovo War? Back in the nineties?"
Crispin's brows drew together, uncertain about the change in subject
"I was very young," she continued, her eyes seeing a faraway time. "Lule wasn't even born when the rumblings started."
And then she told him everything...