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Memories of a dirty mattress on the floor and her own voice begging when she really hadn’t wanted to be touched made her arms wrap tightly around herself as she moved into the kitchen. She hadn’t purchased much, opting to save her money instead, but ramen had been familiar and cheap. The woman who had taken care of her had brought pallets of it to the cabin because it never seemed to go bad.
She dropped her self-protective huddle to use her hands. It was fine. Luka struggled to even touch her wrist. He might stab her with a knife, but she highly doubted he’d threaten to stab her with a body part. The reminder should have let her spine loosen, but the tension grew worse as memory swooped around her.
She’d seen a penis close up, had gagged on it as she’d tried to fake pleasure in the act. The reminder had her turning toward the sink to dry-heave. She felt lightheaded as she rinsed out her mouth anyway.
The microwave beeped to remind her the food was ready.
Alina hadn’t eaten yet either. The thought of eating made her stomach twist as acid roiled inside her.
She took out a spoon to stir the ramen, blowing on it as she did. Luka might be able to feed himself if he wasn’t too weak. Watching him in the throes of a fever hadn’t been pleasant, but he had been dazed and helpless and that had given her a false sense of security. Well, he hadn’t been helpless exactly; he had come close to stabbing her even in that state. But he hadn’t, and she had a pile of weapons on the top of the dresser to prove he didn’t intend to. Now that he was recovering, he would be more aware and capable of controlling his instincts.
She blew on the still-steaming ramen as worry drifted through her. Luka may have been kind, but sharing a one-bedroom house with him seemed like an intimacy she shouldn’t encourage. Even so, the thought of him leaving made her muscles tense as well.
She didn’t know her own mind, but it wasn’t like she needed to make a decision immediately. His fever had just broken.
It wasn’t Luka’s fault her skin tingled where he’d held her wrist while she slept.
“Alina?”
She jumped at his presence in the kitchen; panic filled her as her eyes dropped to his stomach. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be sitting up yet, much less—” Sneaking up on me, she finished in her head as she jerked out one of the dining room chairs. “Here. Sit.”
When his brows drew together, puzzled, she pointed at the chair and added a glare. “If you don’t, I’ll never forgive you.” It was a childish thing to say, and her head dropped as she cringed inside.
He sat so quickly that she was reminded of his speed despite his injury. His confusion petered off to become the blank stare she was more familiar with.
She grabbed the still-hot ramen and crossed back to him, setting it in front of him. “At least sip the broth, even if you don’t feel hungry.” Him sitting at the table was better than him slurping noodles while lying in bed. Not that she could imagine him slurping.
He tilted the plastic cup to sip from the side before quickly pulling it away and staring down at the liquid that had most likely burned his tongue. His eyes narrowed as if in accusation, but that accusation was focused on the broth.
“Well, it’s still hot,” Alina told him. She was careful not to touch him as she reached for the unused spoon, lifting a spoonful to blow on. Being the focus of those light, intense eyes caused a skittering feeling to rush over her arms. Once she’d cooled the broth enough, she held it out toward him.
Luka took it into his mouth, letting her feed him that spoonful. She stared as his tongue caught a stray drip, and then she dropped the spoon. Hot liquid dotted his hand and the table, but Luka didn’t flinch.
“Shoot, sorry.” Alina hustled to the counter to grab some napkins, too many for such a tiny spill, but they cushioned any chance of touching him as she patted him dry first, then the table. “Well, you get the idea. Blow on it first, and it’ll be all right.”
The tattooed rosary caught her eye as his hand lifted the spoon. The way his lips pursed to blow was distracting, and she forced herself to focus on the ink instead. “Why a rosary?” The blurted question caused her shoulders to hunch. “I mean, you’re not religious, are you? With what you do. Not that I’m judging. I’m glad you killed that house full of men.” They had all known what was happening to her. Mainly one man had hurt her, but there was a time when that hadn’t been enough for him, and others had joined in. The cross along Luka’s hand blurred before her eyes. “I’m glad,” she repeated.
Luka’s other hand closed over the rosary before returning to his lap. “My mother,” he said, so softly that she questioned whether he’d said anything at all.
“Oh.” Alina felt stupid, like that one syllable wasn’t enough. “So do all your tattoos have meaning, then? No, that’s probably not the case. There are so many.” She forced her eyes to focus as she took in the skull and the snake, buried within foliage that covered the other spaces along his arm. It was as if he wore sleeves of ink. “But doesn’t having someone tattoo you hurt? Of course it hurts. They’re made with a needle, right? I just meant, with how touch is painful for you, isn’t it excruciating to have…” Her voice drifted away as she realized she’d been rambling. There were so many images all over his skin. His arms, of course, but she’d noticed other tattoos along his torso while she’d changed the bandages. They drifted up to his neck, making the bob of his Adam’s apple even more fascinating. They even covered his shaved head and curled toward his face.
His back hadn’t contained any, though. Not unless she counted the crisscrossing scars in different stages of healing. Maybe it had never been healed enough to be inked.
“Supposed to hurt,” he said, spooning up noodles with his broth this time.
“Oh.” The dumb sound was back. “So because being tattooed is supposed to hurt, that makes the pain of being touched almost okay? Is that why you have so many?”
Luka ate another spoonful of ramen, waiting until he swallowed to nod.
“Do you have a favorite design?” Her eyes traced the wings under his neck as she watched him swallow another bite. The wings weren’t attached to anything, so she wasn’t certain, but she thought they might be angel wings.
His free hand moved to trace the cross within the strand of beads.
She followed the motion with her eyes. The rosary was her favorite as well. There was something about the way it looped over his skin, as if it were part of his body’s design. “You must have loved your mother a lot.”
His eyes flew to hers, and he stared, unblinking.
Alina’s hand went to the wrist he’d held while they slept, encircling it and rubbing it as her gaze dropped. “I don’t remember my mother much. The memories of her were the hardest. The way she held me and sang to me seemed more like I had imagined the memories. Like what a mother would be.” Caring, she thought, but the word wouldn’t escape.
