Lena

 

 

It's beginning to get dark outside, which means it's time for Risu to scavenge for food. I hate having to lock her up in that cage now that her leg is making such progress. But every time I open the door to her cage, I can see Jason flinching and relaying dark, nervous looks. He's not comfortable with her at all, and as much as I enjoy teasing him, I can respect his aversion to "the little rodent," as he calls her.

I'm all the more surprised when he doesn't fight me on leaving her out to roam for a while when it's time for her to indulge in a few nuts.

"That little hog won't stray too far when there's food to gnaw on," he says, watching her from a safe distance, as she sits on top of her cage working on her first hazelnut. "I think I'll be fine."

I pet Risu on the head, something she doesn't appreciate, especially while she's eating. She shies away from me, her bushy tail twitching.

I head back to check on the batch of mulled wine simmering on stove.

"There is less sugar in it this time," I say, when I bring him his mug. "Should be less risk for a headache tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," he says, smiling appreciatively. "You didn't have a headache this morning?"

I roll my eyes. "Please. I'm European, and we didn't drink that much."

"Don't be so smug, little girl. I can still drink you under the table. Mulled wine just isn't my usual drink of choice."

"Well, it's not meant to be chugged down in large quantities," I scold teasingly. "You don’t drink it through a beer bong."

"Do you honestly think that's what I usually do?"

He frowns, looking visibly offended, and I hurry to shake my head.

"Of course not. Not someone like you," I correct. "I take you more for a whisky guy."

He laughs and nearly chokes on the wine in his mouth. "I see why you'd think that, but no. I don't care much for whisky - much to the dismay of my father."

We're sitting on the couch again, the same couch he has fucked me on several times already. The robe I was wearing this morning is hanging over the back of the sofa, as is the belt he used to tie me up. After we came back inside from chopping wood, he stripped me right away for a quickie. I don't think I've ever had that much sex within such a short amount of time. And it all happened down here, in this very room. It strikes me funny for a moment that we’re both actually dressed right now. Jason hadn’t packed for a winter storm, and since there haven’t been any men living in this house for years, there wasn't really anything I could lend him. I found a hooded sweater that is way too big on me, and it makes for an odd combination with the jeans he's wearing.

"Why does your father want you to drink whisky?" I ask, tugging my feet in underneath me. I gently blow on the mug of mulled wine in my hands.

He shrugs. "Because that's what men in our circles do. It's part of our way of life."

"Your way of life?"

He sighs. "Imagine a room full of men in suits, talking business, shaking hands, complementing each other while making sure to slip a passive-aggressive note here and there, reminding one another how important we are and how little we rely on anyone else, when in reality, we do. Business deals are made over a pricey shot of bourbon and friendships are sealed over it. You stick out if you don't partake in it, and that's not something you want."

"Sounds harsh," I remark.

"Every social circle has its own set of rules," he adds. "It's just something you have to play along with."

"I wouldn't know about that," I say quietly. "I don’t belong to a circle."

He observes me curiously.

"But that's your choice, isn't it," he notes. "You stay here, withdrawn and hidden in the familiar. This life does have its perks."

I raise my eyebrows and regard him quizzically, unsure what to make of his words.

"I remember what you said about your promise to your grandma," he says. "And how you regret not keeping it."

"Then why would say something like that then? About me hiding in the familiar?"

"Because it still holds true," he insists. "I wouldn't be as hard as you are on yourself, and I would not call you either lazy or a coward-"

"But?" I interrupt. "What would you call it then?"

He shrugs and averts his eyes before taking a sip of liquid courage from his mug.

"I'm not trying to lecture you, Lena," he says. "I know how hard this must be for you."

"No, you don't know. How could you?”

"Okay, maybe I don't know, but should that keep me from talking about it with you?"

Our eyes lock on each other in a quiet exchange. Now, I'm the one who seeks support from the warm wine, as he awaits a response that I'm not willing to give. He gives me a few more moments, before he's had enough waiting.

"Can I ask you something?"

"That depends on the question."

"If you were to leave this place, where would go? You said you wouldn't go back to Germany, but is there somewhere else?"

I sigh and lower my eyes. There's an answer to this, but I'm not sure that I should tell him. He may not believe me. Or, even worse, he might think that I'm trying to insinuate something that I'm not.

"Well, you'll laugh when you hear this," I finally offer. "But, I've always wanted to live in a big city. I mean, I grew up in one before I moved here because my family lived in Berlin."

His eyebrows arch in surprise. It’s obvious that he did not expect that answer, and from what he's gotten to know about me up until now, I can't really blame him. I don't exactly come across like a big city girl, especially after that wood chopping adventure we had earlier.

"It was quite a change of pace when I moved here, but I adapted surprisingly well. Oma made it easy, and the friends I made at school here helped, too. Of course, most of them have moved away by now. I only have one friend, Aileen, who you met at the convention, actually."

His expression hardens as he recalls her. "Yeah, lovely girl..."

"She was just having my back," I say, winking at him, and he responds then by releasing a little chuckle.

"I'm not arguing with that. I was acting like an ass," he admits. "But let's get back to your big city dream for a moment."

I throw him a warning look. He'd better not be making fun of me right now.

"Is there any particular city you had in mind?"

"Yeah, in fact there is,” I respond. I pause for a few seconds, then rub my palms down my leg in preparation to make my confession. I take in a deep breath and look him directly in his eyes. "Your city. New York."

I'm afraid to see his reaction. What if takes my admission the wrong way? What if he thinks I'm just saying this so he invites me to go back with him? After all, how ridiculous would that be? We've only known each other for a couple of days.

"New York, huh?" he says, interrupting my anxious train of thoughts. His facial expression doesn't tell me anything. He just absorbs my answer as it is, a simple matter of fact reply.

"I can see why," he adds, after what seems like a considerable amount of time. "It is a great city."

"I've always loved New York," I continue, and I can tell my smile has gone all the way to my eyes and my passion is coming through because I start to talk faster. "It's not that far from here, so I've been there quite a few times, usually with Aileen, when she agrees to come with me. She's not as big a fan as I am."

I sigh, dreamily tilting my gaze to the ceiling. "I just love the hustle and bustle, the diversity, even the dirt and the noise. It's just... life."

It's life? How dumb is that? He must think I'm such an idiot...

"Then, why not just go there?" he asks, making it sound as if it was the easiest decision in the world to make.

"Why not just go there?" I repeat, a hostile tone breaking free. "You know, it's not as simple as that, especially when you have no money."

"You'd have money if you sold this house," he contends.

"Yes, but.... you can see how that wouldn't be easy for me to do, to sell this house, right?"

He nods. "Of course, but it’s an option."

"Besides, what would I do once I got there? I'd need a job, or-"

"College," he cuts me off. "Didn't you say you wanted to go to college? New York has some great schools."

I snort. "You're making this sound so easy."

"Oh no, I didn't say it was easy," he objects, shaking his head. "Living in New York isn't easy, no matter what you do."

I tilt my head to the side and look at him questioningly. "Is it tough for you?"

He offers me a half-shrug.

"You mean other than having to drink disgusting bourbon once in a while?" he begins, the hint of a smile brushing his lips. "It definitely has its challenges and burdens. There’s a lot of pressure on me, and I have a lot of responsibilities weighing me down. And stress that makes me act like an asshole to pretty girls."

The wink he adds to his words makes me blush.

"But you're rich," I interject. "You can do whatever you want, in the greatest city in the world. You can afford anything."

"Do whatever I want?" he snorts. "You really have the wrong impression here."

I roll my eyes at him and finish the last of my mulled wine. It has cooled by now, giving the last sip an odd taste.

"More?" I ask, pointing toward the mug in his lap. "There's still some on the stove. Warm and sweet."

He nods and gets up from the sofa before I can. "Let me."

I hand him my mug and watch as he walks over to the kitchen area. He looks so comfortable in my home, and so freaking handsome in my oversize sweater.

He looks as if he belongs.

Here. With me.