Page 64 of Melancholia

The game starts off pretty similarly to the last hand. I’m able to discard three cards immediately in a run, and when I pick up a card from the deck, I put it down with those. Amir does the same on his turn, though he’s only able to get rid of two cards by playing off of the run I put down. This game is even quicker than the last two, and I’m left with two cards to his four pretty early on. We trade turns, neither of us able to do anything, until finally I draw a card that I wanted four turns back.

Crap.

I could win this, I think. There are four cards between what I need now and the top of the discard pile. But if I can get it, I can make the world’s best run. Otherwise, I’ll be stuck with it, and a glance at the table shows me he is, very slightly, in the lead.

I make the choice and on my next turn, I pick up all five cards to get what I want. “Okay,” I sigh, placing down everything I can, thanks to the card I got. The run in front of me is longer than anything he’s played, and I sit back in my seat, holding two face cards, a ten, and a nine. I want to keep the kings. I’m so close to a third one, and if I could just get it—or if he puts it down—then there’s no way I lose this. So I discard the nine.

Amir studies the cards in front of me for a moment, glancing between them and what he has. “That was very good,” he admits before he plucks cards out of his hand. He picks up the nine I just discarded and puts three down, then puts another card down to work off of my run.

Leaving him with one.

“No. No, don’t you dare⁠—”

“But I do hope you’re not holding anything of high value.”

The card he places down is a king. The fucking king that would’ve sealed my victory.

Unfortunately, now it just leers up at me as the herald of my loss.

“Want me to tally again…” he trails off when I drop my hand, showing the ten and the two kings. “Ah.”

Neither of us needs to tally to know that I have definitely lost.

“Well, better luck next time. It was a very bold play. I can’t fault you for it, especially with how that game was going.” He gathers up all the cards, straightening them into a neat stack before sliding them back into the old box that he places in front of me.

“But I think that now, it’s time to talk about what I’ve won.” There’s a note in his voice I’ve never heard before, and my stomach curls with both anticipation and dread at the thought of what he wants from me.

23

My apartment door closes behind Amir with a note of finality that has my insides squirming. In my head, I go through the options, trying to predict what he’ll want me to do this time. His words from before, about this victory being significant for him since I picked the game, make me wonder if he’s just punishing me for wanting to play something more fun, less psychological.

His games make me think about things I might not want to.

Mine just involve cards and math.

“Okay. Um.” I turn to face him, raking a hand through my hair. “I know you’ve been in here before, but⁠—”

Amir is suddenly right there, his hand at my throat as he pushes me into the wall beside my front door. I whimper when his lips descend onto mine, and I couldn’t have expected just how desperate his kiss would be. His free hand grips both of mine, and he breaks the kiss to shove them over my head against the wall before resuming the kiss.

“What—Amir⁠—”

“You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this since the cemetery,” he purrs. “A few nights ago at the park, I planned to…well. I wasn’t expecting my mother to need me.”

“Is she okay?” The words are out of my mouth automatically, and Amir opens his honey-gold eyes to find mine in the dim ambience from my kitchen nightlight.

“My beautiful, perfect little mortician.” He sighs deeply, leaning against me until his forehead is pressed to mine. “My wonderful, cocky rummy partner.” I can just see the edge of his grin before he kisses me again. “We are not going to talk about my mother tonight. But yes.” He brushes his mouth to mine. “She is fine. Ask me about it another time, and I might tell you.”

“Oh? There’s going to be another time?” It’s a stupid thing to ask. There always seems to be another time. But Amir only chuckles and kisses me again. Harder.

With his hand on my throat, he turns us and guides me back through my apartment. He navigates around the table by the door that holds my keys until my legs press against my sofa. A small sound leaves me when I’m forced to sit, but Amir is right there, never letting me go.

“There will be many, many more times.” His words feel intentional, and they send a shudder through me. “You won’t get rid of me so easily, Nell. Perhaps you won’t get rid of me at all.”

“Oh.” I sigh the word against him, unable to focus on anything other than the way he kisses me. I’ve never been kissed like this. Never in my life has anyone kissed me like they need it to breathe. Amir is perfect. That’s the only thing I can think of as he pushes me down on my back, my head on the pillow I always have here for when I can’t or won’t sleep in my bed.

“Now let’s talk about my prize.” He kisses me one last time, then sits up so he’s between my thighs, his hands tracing along the inside of them, pushing my shorts further up. “I want you.”

My stomach twists and I sit up on my elbows, eyes wide as I look up at him. “Why?” I ask, though I swear I meant to say something else.