Endangered Hearts, page 8
“Thanks, baby.”
“Sure, Mom.”
Susan stumbled in an attempt to get back up but managed to do so on her own. At least, Emilia thought, she isn’t in such bad shape. Nevertheless, Emilia wanted to make sure that she would be all right on her own for the remainder of the night.
“Are you okay?” Emilia wrung out the towel in the sink and watched while Susan searched for something on the counter.
“Any tissues?”
“Nope.” Emilia sighed. “There should be napkins in the hallway closet.”
Susan swore, wiping her nose on her arm instead. Saying nothing, Emilia tossed the soiled towel in the laundry basket and looked at her mother. Emilia felt sorry for her, knowing full well that while her looks may have once been her greatest commodity, Susan’s best days were well behind her, leaving only gray ones ahead.
Without being particularly talented, and her one remaining skill causing her physical pain, Susan had struggled to run and maintain a household. And in regards to mothering, Susan had never really taken care of herself, let alone anyone else. Still, Emilia couldn’t walk away. Even now as her mother struggled to unzip her boot, Emilia knew she probably never could.
“Here, Mom.” Emilia sat across from her, taking her dirty boot when Susan lifted her leg. She helped her mother with one boot, then the other, before setting them aside by the welcome mat.
“You don’t need him, Mom,” Emilia said. As she looked back up, Emilia could see the redness around her mom’s earlobes, the irritation only fake gold could cause. She stood up and reached to take them out, but instead, Susan put her head against Emilia’s torso and rested her weight against her.
“That’s easy for you to say, sweetie. You have all the options in the world… you’re so pretty. You know, I used to be pretty, too.”
Emilia sighed. How many times had she heard this song? As a child, she had been happy to indulge her mother, eager even, but maybe that was because she hadn’t known how desperate the situation was. “You’re still pretty, Mom.”
“You’re too nice, baby. Too nice and pretty…” Susan reached up and wiped her mouth, slobbering on the blue veins that bulged from her hand. “Someday, you’ll need a man, though.”
“No, Mom.” Emilia gritted her teeth together. “I won’t.”
Emilia considered the classes she had taken, the volunteer work she had done. For her own sake, her mom didn’t know about the money she saved. If Emilia learned all she could while she could, made a name for herself now, then her looks wouldn’t matter in the future. Then no one would care about how ugly she would surely become.
“Yeah.” Susan laughed. “Just wait.”
“Come on, Mom, let’s get you to bed.” Slumped against her shoulder, Emilia helped her mother towards her bedroom, wincing at the slight smell of cheap perfume and cigarettes that seemed fused to her scalp.
“Goodnight, Mom.” Emilia found a clean blanket and folded it over Susan, shutting off the light as she left the room.
“…just so pretty.”
Chapter 7
Entangled
Iram Manor was deserted when Emilia arrived the next day. Not even Mrs. Levkin greeted her, and Emilia found herself hating it when she realized that it wasn’t because of the solidity of the routine but because she enjoyed the job, loved the house, and looked forward to the possibility of seeing Kasper.
Yet only sighs of him remained throughout the house, and Emilia became awed that someone could be a ghost in their own home, that they could haunt the very place they lived. Vaguely, Emilia wondered if she did the same. The house she lived in had not been her home for a long time; though that was where she slept, occasionally ate, and stored her clothes and books, there seemed to be less and less of her there every day.
***
Emilia cleaned the second floor bedrooms, trying to decide if Kasper had ever been a part of these rooms. Mr. Shiraz had said they were intended for guests, though it seemed absurd to her that such a beautiful space should go unloved. Maybe if she thought of him enough, while she worked in the rooms, it would make him as much a part of the second floor as she felt she had become. Then, that way, that hall and those rooms would always remind her of him. And whenever she saw something similar to the accessories inside of them—the ceramic water basin, the brass candlesticks—it would trigger thoughts of him.
Aside from the library, Emilia’s favorite room was the bedroom with the loft ceilings. She liked it for many reasons, though mostly because of its solid oak floors and the small balcony that opened up to the fir trees outside. Emilia spent more time than she had to cleaning the last bedroom, wishing she could enjoy the lavish sitting chairs or even the antique rocking chair. In truth, however, she regularly wished she could take a nap in the room’s king-sized bed. Though she dismissed those thoughts just as quickly as they came, feeling the rush of heat flaming her cheeks at the thought of her employer’s bed—even if it was only a bed intended for a guest.
She heard music in the mists of these thoughts, a soft song that trailed into the room behind her, following her like a hunter after its prey. Within a moment, it lured her in, entrancing her so that she knew she had to follow it, her body taking over until the choice was no longer her own.
Kasper had no intention of losing himself in the music in such a way. Instead, there was only supposed to be an interval of play for his mind and body to stretch similarly. When night came he could take out a horse without being seen, but that was still hours away, and Kasper could not ignore the need for release that was more spiritual than physical. So he played, strumming the violin strings until they were grinding on the pads of his fingers. The pain came with the breaking of calluses, yet it didn’t slow his playing and the sounds continued, each note following the one that came before it into a rhythm that was only his own.
Kasper closed his eyes, letting the melody overwhelm, and making it impossible for him to hear the soft footsteps of the girl who thoughtlessly followed the sound. And when Emilia saw him from the hall of the music room, she stopped and stared at the man, wonder overcoming her instincts, and admiration quickly following that.
His speed increased still, reminding Emilia of a madman trying to do something as absurd as bending a flame. Every note was so unblemished that Emilia leaned her head against the doorway so that as she became overwhelmed she would not fall over. She enjoyed classical music but had scarcely heard it in person, and never anything even remotely close to this; nothing so lovely, nothing so beautiful.
Yet every spell breaks eventually, and as Kasper’s fluency increased, he became reckless. The tension in his deformed fingers increased far more than he would acknowledge, and the vibration of the music was sending his pulse pounding to his head. And in trying to bend a flame, he broke a string instead.
“Oh!”
“Pedarsag!”
Their reactions were simultaneous, and when the other realized that they were present, a wide range of embarrassment came over the both of them.
“You,” he breathed. Perhaps he would have yelled, shouted even, yet he was out of breath and the flush that had taken over her lovely face had also put him considerably ill at ease.
“I-I—”
The condition flamed within him again, out of instinct; he reached for the book that held his medication but knew it would be unwise to consume the narcotics in front of her, and so stopped himself.
Kasper shut his eyes and heaved into the air. Without his medication it would be difficult to calm down, especially since she had not stopped gawking at him. He could feel her stare on him even through his eyelids, even with his back turned. Did the little peach feel so much when he watched her from far away? Did she feel so anxious? His stomach recoiled at the thought of causing her discomfort, a feeling he realized was more painful than the state that plagued him.
“What are you doing up here?”
“Y-you—”
He tossed the instrument at the floor, though it must have been much harder than he intended, as it made Emilia flinch where she stood. Seconds later, her blue eyes were still wide with that horror he despised the most, that horror that, somehow, he had let himself hope, he would never see directed at him.
“You should not be up here! You were told—”
“B-but you’re bleeding,” she informed him softly.
Without thinking, Kasper’s hand reached to the sting on his face. While there were a few functioning nerve endings beneath the unformed tissue, he couldn’t feel that much pain. Sure enough, when he pulled away, there was some blood, and even more dropped to his shoe, trickling to the ground below.
Emilia stepped towards him slowly, not unlike Kasper would a startled horse. And although he was only distracted briefly, it was enough for Emilia’s initial move to go unnoticed for the moment.
“W-what are you doing?”
Kasper could not hide the panic in his voice, and he was much too stunned to back away—his flight or fight defense failing completely. Regardless, Emilia had him boxed in, and with the grand piano taking up a quarter of the wall space and antique instruments lining the other half of the room for decoration, there were few places for him to retreat. Though, frankly, he was not sure if he wanted to.
“You’re bleeding,” she said again, this time reaching out for him. Once again, he inhaled sharply, fearing and hoping she would try to touch him, horrified she would try to remove the mask he had lived behind and thrived in for so long. He recoiled just as her fingertips shadowed his cheek, but he felt no relief, seeing the hurt on her face as she backed away.
“Are you all right?” he heard her ask.
“A mere scrape.” Kasper swallowed hard, feeling a new sweat rise on his brow, though he was more cold than hot. His idiotic body could not even perform the most basic of functions properly, betraying him at this most desperate time!
“Let me see.” This time, she waited until he offered the side of his neck to her, both of them knowing full well that his injury was more than “a mere scrape.” And though his injury was Emilia’s only concern, Kasper had reached the realization that he was completely incapable of denying her any request she saw fit to make.
Slowly, Emilia removed the handkerchief tied beneath her ponytail that she used to keep her hair tame. Little did she know, the action enticed him considerably, enchanting him with the vanilla scent of her shampoo.
As he began to demand, ask, plead, “Don’t—” she didn’t listen and he couldn’t pull away, allowing her to dab gently at the spots of red emerging from the deep-set cut on his neck. Emilia was not distressed by the slight of blood but rather by how powerful the strings of the violin had been to cut through the fine material of his shirt and damage his russet-shaded skin. Though she did not fail to notice how thin his mask was and how easily it had been damaged.
“You’re lucky.” She smiled. “You could have lost your eye.”
“Lucky.” Kasper scoffed, though more to distract himself than her. “That is not a word I usually associate myself with.”
“Really?” Emilia smiled even wider, her expression completely eradicating the hurt along his face and neck. He wondered again, then, if she was not some sort of sorceress, fixing to steal his soul away—whatever remained of it, anyway.
“How would you describe yourself?”
The ranging color of her blue eyes was too much for him. Kasper violently pulled the handkerchief from her, enjoying far too much the feel of her fingers against his.
“Myself? Well, let’s see. ‘Stricken,’ ‘unfortunate,’ ‘jinxed’ to have the most disobedient employees that anyone has ever had!”
Emilia laughed. Seeing him struggle to insult her was unquestionably enjoyable; no matter how awkward Kasper Zafar was one minute, he could be wonderfully articulate the very next.
“That may be so.” She laughed. “But you forgot to say ‘talented.’”
“I did not forget, Ms. Ward, it simply did not need saying.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes simultaneously. “Is there a Persian equivalent for ‘unable to take a compliment’?”
“Zahra,” he mumbled.
Emilia smiled, taking his response as an opportunity to tease him further. “And arrogant?”
He grumbled at her, “Mmrs.”
She nodded at his hands. “If you don’t stop that, it’ll scar.” Emilia was, of course referring to the fierce way in which Kasper plucked at the scratch, as if, it seemed he could use self-inflicted violence to cancel out the current injury.
“As if it matters.”
“I mean it—stop that.” Emilia tapped his hand away gently, both surprising and prompting him to submit to her will. They remained in silence while Emilia applied pressure with her handkerchief, their eyes never leaving one another’s, save for Emilia to reassure him the wound had stopped bleeding. She was still unsure about the half of the cut that had managed to get through his mask. Though she wanted to see the damage done there, she knew better than to ask him to take off the mask or, worse still, remove it without his permission.
“It’s not so deep,” she heard herself say. Suddenly, every word was difficult to pronounce. On top of that, the large room was too small for her to breathe. Even so, Emilia couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. “It might not leave a mark.”
Kasper shuddered. “How do you know anything about it, anyway?”
She glared at him. “I don’t spend all of my time cleaning, you know.”
Of course, he already knew that—knew much more about her than he could say without admitting he had researched her. Yet, he longed to hear her speak to him, was desperate to know how much she would reveal when prompted.
“Mrs. Levkin mentioned you were a student.”
She hesitated to nod. Was he asking her a question or making a statement? With him, she could never entirely be sure.
“I’m graduating this year, the pre-veterinary pathway.”
Without realizing it, she had given him the perfect opportunity to quench a curiosity about her, and fear or no fear, he would be damned if he didn’t rise to the occasion.
“Where will you go?” His words were quick, rushed together by his anxiety, but Emilia didn’t seem to notice.
“Nowhere.” She smiled sadly. “I’ll probably just get a shelter job.”
Kasper nodded, suspecting but not willing to say so much. “I take it, then, you have a propensity for helping broken and beastly things.”
Emilia smiled. “Some—” She stopped, correcting herself. “Most other creatures hold my attention better than human beings.”
Kasper nodded, inhaling her sweet breath—a fine mint and cherry. It only made it that much easier to imagine the taste of her lips, and Kasper found himself closing his mouth to prevent him from doing something he could not take back.
“Strangely enough, Ms. Ward, I know precisely what you mean.”
“What was that you were playing? I promised myself I wouldn’t ask, but I have to.”
“It’s nothing.” Disliking the turn of the conversation, Kasper sighed. “A piece I composed years ago.”
Her eyes became lit with this new knowledge. “You compose your own work?”
“Did I misspeak, Ms. Ward, or did you not hear me? I believe—”
“There isn’t any need to be so rude. It’s just that I’ve never known any musicians before.”
“Rude? Were you not the one who once reprimanded me for interrupting?”
Emilia’s expression became downcast, but she smiled anyway. “Fair enough.”
Once again, she looked at the wound. The bleeding had stopped, but now the flesh around it was red, angry, and threatened infection. “Come on,” she beckoned. “Let’s clean that up before it really does turn into something nasty.”
Wordlessly, he followed her into the vintage-styled bathroom complete with a large, claw-foot tub and rustic-style wallpaper. Once there, he watched while she tended to his injuries as gently and as gingerly as he could have ever imagined. Had he known that this would have been in store for him, he would have hurt himself long ago.
“How do you not know any musicians?”
“What?” Startled by the question, she laughed.
“I was under the impression that Western men often became ‘rock stars’ in order to woo young ladies.”
She laughed even harder. “Woo?”
“Whatever the proper terminology is.”
Emilia shook her head. “I really wouldn’t know.”
“Oh?”
She smiled, thinking for a split second she heard hope in his voice, but looking up at him now, she realized it was only polite interest. Her own smile fell as she finished cleaning the wound.
“Music isn’t just for guys, you know.”
“Excuse me?”
“Girls can be rock stars, too.”
Again, she thought she heard his interest. “Did you want to be a rock star, Ms. Ward?”
“No.” She smiled sadly. “I did always want singing lessons, though.”
His body became rigid. “Why didn’t you have them?”
Emilia shrugged at the tension that had settled between them. What had she said that had made him go so cold all of the sudden, make him sound so intense?
“Too expensive, that’s all. My mom said our money was better spent on other things…” She trailed off, hating the way he exhaled sharply and stared at the sink without blinking.
“What is it?”
“Never let other people tell you that you cannot have something you want, Emilia Ward! Especially do not let something frivolous keep you from being content. D-do you understand?”
She nodded, knowing right at that moment that if he had told her that the earth was flat, she would have believed him.
Chapter 8
Falling
In addition to the closing of Iram Manor, Emilia was busy with an increase in tutoring sessions. Students struggling to raise their GPA or simply pass a particular course engorged the tutoring center, kept Emilia on her feet, and took any spare time she had on evenings or weekends. She was glad, naturally, as this indicated a slight surge in her bank account, but in addition to the many clients who called for a last-minute pre/post-holiday-party cleaning, the extra work left her tired and somewhat ragged.
