Why did I call him that? It doesn’t matter. I like it. And it feels right. Natural.
He flattens the newspaper on the table and looks at me inquiringly. “So then if not New York, where would you like to go?” His gorgeous smile broadens. “I’m yours all day long.”
My face flushes again.
“Why don’t you pick a place?”
He purses his lips.
I want to kiss them…
Fredrik
It’s all an illusion, the voice in the back of my mind constantly tells me as I sit across from Cassia in the finest restaurant in all of Baltimore. It’s all an illusion: The two of us. Sitting here together like this. Like any normal couple would. It’s an illusion, Fredrik. Over and over again. Because I have yet to let myself believe it. A part of me doesn’t want to believe it. The old Fredrik. And the even older one. The parts of me that I’ve only ever known. What is this strange light I feel when in Cassia’s presence?
It must be what a normal life feels like.
And while I feel a great sense of contentment, the light scares the hell out of me just the same.
An illusion, the darkness within me taunts. This kind of life was never meant for you, so don’t fall for it, or what’s left of your life will come crashing down around you into pieces so small that they can never be put back together again. Shut the fuck up!
Cassia’s smile is so vibrant, yet so fragile that I feel the smallest touch of darkness can easily wash it away. She’s wearing a pretty white sweater that fits loosely about her shoulders, revealing the softness of her collarbone and long, dainty neck. An elongated gray skirt clings to her hourglass form, down past her knees and drapes over a pair of tall black winter boots. I took her shopping when we left the house this morning. She was shy and at first didn’t want me to buy her things. So, I picked out outfits for her to wear and bought them anyway. And I dressed her. And while I dressed her, I kissed the scars on her back like I’ve always done. Scars left by cuts that I put there over time, one by one, as I made love to Seraphina.
We leave the restaurant and head back out into the cold, our shoes crunching in the mere two inches of snow that had fallen last night. I open the car door for her and help her into the passenger’s seat. The car is already warm. I made sure to use the remote start before we left the restaurant.
“Fredrik,” Cassia says softly from her seat, “I feel like I’ve known you forever.” I look over at her and her face is flush with heat. I smile gently—though inside I’m not smiling so much—and she continues: “I know that if I told anyone else how I feel about you, despite the circumstances of how we know each other, they’d probably think I was crazy. Greta must think I’m crazy.” Her eyes meet mine again. She’s looking for confirmation or rejection of her theory. I don’t have the heart to be honest with her.
I put the key in the ignition and unlock the wheel so that the car will remain running.
“Greta doesn’t think that way,” I say simply.
I don’t look back at her this time.
“But it really doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks,” she says with uncertainty. “Does it?”
I glance over briefly.
“No,” I say, though I don’t know what I’m saying, or even if I should be saying it at all. “The way anyone chooses to feel about someone else is their choice and their business.” I tried to be vague.
She smiles and folds her hands together on her lap.
“But I really do feel like I’ve known you forever,” she repeats. “I…can’t explain it. But it feels right.” She smiles.
Does she want me to agree?
What does she want from me?
I put the car in reverse and pull out of the parking space.
I spend all day with Cassia, just as I promised. She eventually began to loosen up and suggest places she’d like to go, things she’d like to do. It didn’t surprise me much that everything she chose was simple and not lavish or expensive. I would’ve gladly spent every dollar I own on her, bought her the most extravagant car. I would’ve done anything for her. But all she asked of me was to spend an hour and a half watching a movie in the local theatre. We ate popcorn and drank soda and sat close together with our shoes propped on the back of the empty seats in front of us. I hadn’t done anything like that in—I’ve never done anything like that. It was odd. But it was liberating and immature and unsophisticated, and I’d do it again. If she were with me. And Cassia, for such a small-framed woman, has a massive appetite—so did Seraphina. In addition to the lunch and then the popcorn, she had her fair share of fast food before the day was over.
Shortly after nightfall, we find our way to a nice bar in the better part of town. Cassia’s choice. She’s been calling the shots since before the movie.
“I used to sing in a bar and restaurant,” she says from the passenger’s seat. “When I lived in New York.”
“Really?” I ask, trying to sound surprised.
People come and go from the building in front of us all dressed in casual slacks and nice sweaters and long coats, couples arm in arm, some vaguely tipsy as they leave and make their way to their cars in the parking lot.
Cassia watches them in a soundless, thoughtful manner; her memory of her time singing in New York surely playing through her mind.
She looks over and smiles. “Yeah, I sang. It was my job, though.”
I smile in return.
“I bet you have a beautiful voice.” The most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.
Cassia looks down at her hands in her lap, her face turning red underneath that soft skin.
Then she giggles and says with a grin, “OK, yeah, I am pretty good,” but is immediately embarrassed by the confession.
Leaning over the console toward her, I cup her chin in my hand and close my lips around hers, stealing her breath away. I can’t stop. I’ve missed you. I don’t want to. But you’re not you anymore. I should stop, because I know that nothing good can come from this. But I can’t.
There has to be a way.
The kiss breaks. I stare into her soft brown eyes, savoring the taste of her mouth lingering on my lips.
It’s all an illusion—No…it’s not.
“Fredrik,” I hear her voice say, but it’s faint at first while I’m locked in my own fighting thoughts. “Is something wrong?”
I snap out of it.
She smiles at me curiously. “Why don’t we go inside?” she asks about the bar just feet from us.
Suddenly, I have a new plan. And this time I’m going to make it work. I look at her in silent contemplation, and within a matter of seconds I know what I have to do.
“How about we skip the bar,” I suggest, kissing her lightly on the lips. “I think I’d rather spend the rest of the night alone with you. We can kick back and watch TV. We can soak in a warm bath together.” Anything but the bar. Anything but what might help bring back more memories. The night Greta took off her shackle and they danced and sang to Connie Francis was the night that Cassia got her memories back. Memories I never expected, but nonetheless.
Cassia smiles. “OK,” she says without reluctance or question. “Then let’s go home.”
Home. Seraphina has come home.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fredrik
I never imagined feeling this way about anyone. Seraphina will always be a part of me, but this part of her that I’ll likely never understand, has been filling the holes in my soul that have been empty since I was a boy, ever since the day I brought her here. The holes that Seraphina’s darker half could not fill. I’ve never known light. Only darkness. I’ve never experienced tenderness or frailty or compassion, until Cassia. How can one person be so many things? Wear so many faces? Accommodate so many desires?