27. Ariadne
27
ARIADNE
T hey say you never really get over your first love.
I say it’s possible to forget you ever had a first love if you find the right person who can make you forget your first within a matter of days. Caleph is that person for me. I don’t know how, but he’s managed to infect me, body and soul, and I don’t know what this is or where it’s going, but I can’t get enough of him.
He catches me staring at him and throws me a small wink, before turning back and conducting another phone call. At times, I’ll be sitting in the garden doing some writing and I find him standing in the window watching me. I’ve caught him staring too many times to count. And I can’t say that I don’t like it. These feelings are unexpected but welcome.
I prop a hand under my chin, my eyes following him around the room as I watch him work. I could sit here all day watching him, and even if we didn’t speak, a silent conversation plays out between our eyes. Until he gives in and carries me to the bedroom, where he ravishes my soul and leaves me begging for more.
When he hangs up, he walks toward me and tips my chin, pushing my gaze up toward him. The look he gives me speaks volumes.
“Attila’s coming out to visit,” he says. He tells me he’s arriving late this afternoon and suggests we pick him up from the airstrip. “We can drive through the city on our way so you can see more of the country.”
I wind my arms around his neck and move into him; I can’t get close enough to this mountain of a man that’s built like a tank. If we had enough time, we’d probably go at it again, but he tells me there’s no time if we’re to make it in time.
* * *
The car blitzes through the jungle, the metal of the four-wheel drive getting lashed by branches and foliage. There is a narrow winding strip of dirt for the car to move in and out of the jungle to get to the house. It’s not an actual road, so I doubt many people even know the house is here unless they chance upon it by accident. It’s in the remotest area of the rainforest, so far in by foot that not many people could make the hike without first dying of dehydration. Most people, he tells me, make it as far as the lagoon then turn back, and even then, that’s a massive trek from the mouth of the forest.
We drive through the jungle for almost forty minutes before we emerge into a clearing, then move onto a small road that leads to a main freeway. The house is so out of the way, the route so convoluted, I can understand why he likes being here; the privacy that’s afforded him is second to none. -
We drive along the freeway, comfortable in the silence that fills the space between us. Caleph has brought my hand across to him and placed it on his knee, telling me to leave it there. I almost swoon. This man. He makes me feel things I never thought possible.
When we leave the freeway, we take an off-ramp and do a little turn until we’re travelling down lively, vibrant streets and I’m struck by the culture of this architecturally beautiful city.
The car travels through the streets, Caleph promising to bring me back soon to do some sight-seeing. I’m in awe every which way I look. The sheer beauty of the city demands my attention, and I can’t believe that Guatemala was never on my bucket list.
When we’re stopped at a red light, Caleph looks over at me, smiling as he tells me about the first time he came to Guatemala. As the light turns green and he starts to move again, there is a loud screech followed by a deafening skid, like the road is chewing up rubber then spitting it out again. I see a black van appear out of nowhere, tilting dangerously to one side as it heads toward our car, a non-stop nuclear missile with a target in its sight. I don’t even have time to scream, my voice suspended somewhere between my mouth and the air around me. The van is travelling so fast, hurtling into our car at breakneck speed. It pushes us across the road with such force that the four-wheel drive starts to spin violently in the middle of the street, narrowly avoiding other vehicles which have fallen back. There is another loud bang, and the van pushes into us again, Caleph trying to regain control of the car, before we are pushed again and we go flying into a pole, hitting it with a thunderous clap that has the car bouncing from side to side before it hisses and groans in agony.
* * *
I’m in excruciating pain. I can’t feel anything beyond that. It’s as though I’ve detached from my body, and oh God, is that my soul leaving my aching bones? I try to move, my head heavy with distress, and I can feel something wet against my temple. I look over at Caleph – his side of the vehicle is the one that hit the pole and he’s sustained the most damage. There are cuts and abrasions on his face and his arms, and his face is plastered to the steering wheel, his limp and unmoving body stirring my anxiety.
“Cal… Caleph. Caleph.”
My voice is hoarse, my throat parched as I feel a spear pierce my heart. He’s not moving. I know I’m about to fall apart, because I can’t even move enough to release my seat belt and slide toward him.
“Caleph,” my voice comes louder, laced with desperation, but there’s still no movement from his side of the car. An overwhelming desire to scream consumes me. Where is everyone? I move shaking hands to my seat belt, fumbling with the clip, pushing at it until it releases, but I still can’t move my body.
The sound of voices reaches my ears, and I’m grateful that finally help has arrived. I sigh as I try to edge toward Caleph, but I still can’t move, my body helplessly immobile. It feels like something is stuck. I swallow back the pain as I try to take stock of my senses, all the places that hurt, and how to maneuver out of the car.
I’m suddenly being propelled out of the vehicle by strong arms reaching into the car and pulling me out, dragging me from it violently, even as I hear the shattering of glass and the spark of something crackling.
I’m still being dragged across the ground, my feet biting painfully into the pavement, but I’m moving so quickly and so far, something feels off to be handled this way. Until I come to a stop at the doors of a van, and someone starts to haul me in, the scenario not in keeping with a car accident. An ambulance would never transport a victim this way.
I fight with what little energy I have, but it’s no use. I’m smaller and I’m hurt. I hold on to the door with everything in me, trying to stop from being carried away by some stranger whose motives are dubious at best. But despite my efforts, I’m launched into the van, falling on my side with a bang. I quickly rise, casting my eyes toward the four-wheel drive, and even as the door closes on me, I can’t undo the trauma of watching the car spark and catch fire, the flames moving through the vehicle quickly.