Chapter 4
When they reached the entrance to Freedom Park, Delemir automatically linked arms with Lissa, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow. They walked up the steps slowly, savoring the beauty that was still clinging to the life it held in it still until the winter frost would come over it. Everything was still lush and green, full of life. In the next week or so, it would be turning brown and orange and the colors of fall.
It was Lissa's favorite time of the year. She loved how the leaves turned brown, gold, red, orange, and yellow. They were a masterpiece of art, something she greatly appreciated. Something she would never forget, not in all the lifetimes of men after her. The memory of how things looked when she lived in other states in contrast to Virginia would be with her; Alabama, California, Louisiana, then finally Virginia. Those were the places where she grew up among the seasons changing beautifully and had taken in the glorious times of her childhood.
To Delemir, this world was so very different from his, yet still had that same feeling that he was home. The feeling was even stronger when he was with Lissa, he thought. He didn't want to lose that feeling. He didn't want to leave here. He wanted to stay. His world was great, yes, but in the week that he'd been here, he had developed a since of familiarity that felt so good, he didn't want it to go away.
Then, when he saw what was next, his breath was taken away.
"We're here," Lissa announced, guiding him to a swirl of glass in shades of gold and purple that were so magnificent, there could hardly be a word to describe them. (A/N: You'd have to see it yourself in those pictures) "Freedom Park. Along this wall here-" she gestured to the glass panels that were many sheets of glass put together to reflect you and show their colors "-are the names of the journalists-writers-that died during wars trying to write what it was about."
"So many names," Delemir whispered, running his fingers along the names etched in the glass. "So many lives that were taken. And for what?"
"To be placed in history. To be placed here." Lissa looked up at Delemir with a serenity he rarely ever saw in her eyes. The feelings there, inside of her, were overflowing with compassion for those that died and the yearning to be so renowned as they had been, but hopefully not in the same way.
"Nine years ago, when I was thirteen, my dad and I stood right here." She stood next to the swirl of glass that curled inward. "One of his coworkers took a picture of us. I still have it on my computer, I think. I'll have to show you. But just walking along here, by these names; it made my eyes fill."
Delemir looked down at her now, and saw her eyes doing just that. Tears nearly slipped out of her eyes, but she blinked them back. "Do not be afraid to cry for those that died in battle, Lissa. I am sure their hearts weep with you when you take the time to appreciate them," he told her, catching her chin in his hand.
Again her eyes filled and tears spilled over her eyes as she said, "I know. I just don't really make it a habit of crying in public. It's a little embarrassing."
"Why is it embarrassing to show how you feel about something?"
"Well, because here, in my world, people see feelings, sometimes, as things better kept to yourself. I mean, you don't just up and cry about something like this. Normally, you take pictures and let it all sink in at your house then cry your eyes out all you want-without people watching you." Lissa swiped at her tears that were on her cheeks.
Delemir locked gazes with her, and for one single moment, he saw everything she was feeling, everything she was thinking. For that one moment, he was inside her mind. He saw love for her family and friends; compassion for the bodies of those names carved into the glass behind them; and fears of something that was still unknown to her.
"What are you afraid of?" he asked her, leaning closer to her. The bond was broken when she tore her gaze away and pulled out of his touch.
"I'm only afraid of one thing, other than that, it's nothing I fear my God. There is nothing to fear but fear itself," she murmured. "Come on. There are some shops down below that I want to show you." She didn't wait for him to follow after her as she hurried off to a door that led to a staircase.
She quickly went down and waited for Delemir to appear behind her. When he did, she avoided his touch and led him to another escalator. This one was very narrow. Delemir had to stand behind Lissa as they went down. He watched her slip off the steps and onto the firm ground with ease. He, on the other hand, stumbled a bit in the process.
"All right?" she asked him.
"Yes."
"Good." She walked into a little store that was very crowded with aisles filled with merchandise for this and that. There were shot glasses and key chains; pens and lighters; candy and sodas. Delemir watched Lissa pick up a shot glass and inspect it carefully, thoroughly. A slight grin crept onto her face as she pulled out a money clip and set the glass and some money down on a counter.
Watching the transition with interest, Delemir was surprised when he, all of a sudden, saw a tall man come up beside Lissa and greet her with a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek, murmuring something that sounded like "Hello, beautiful," to her. Anger and jealously flared in him, but Delemir kept it to himself as the two shared a "touching" reunion.
"What are you doing here?" Lissa was saying with obvious shock and delight. "You weren't supposed to be in till Saturday!" She embraced the man once again with a smile on her face. Her eyes, smiling once again, met Delemir's.
"Well, I just decided I couldn't wait to see you," the man said as they broke out of their embrace. Lissa nearly died laughing as she saw the horrid look on Delemir's face. He looked ready to kill. "Who's this?" The man watched Lissa walk over to Delemir and slip her arm around his waist.
"This is Delemir. He's staying with me for a while. He, ah, might be thinking of moving here to Crystal City if he figures out why he was put in this specific place," Lissa explained. She didn't consider her "material" lying, just forgetting a few semi-important details.
"Delemir, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Connor, one of Lissa's high school sweethearts," Connor explained.
"Not exactly sweethearts, just really close friends," Lissa put in, watching Delemir closely. "I just took him up to the Freedom Park Memorial and showed him the journalist names. Before that, we saw Emilie at the theatre."
"Really? How is she?" Connor asked.
"She's great. Where are you staying?" Lissa slipped away from Delemir and over to the counter to pick up her change and her shot glass. "Here, keep two dollars for a tip," she said absently, handing two dollar bills to the cashier. She didn't even hear the thanks as she walked back to Delemir and Connor.
"I was going to stay at the Hilton hotel just up the road from your place, but they're booked and every other place is booked for the holidays until February," Connor said woefully.
"Then you're staying at my place. I don't know how I'll be able to handle two guys in my house, but somehow I will."
"Hopefully not the same way you did with your brother and father when you were a kid," Connor said playfully.
"No, I'm a lot meaner now." Lissa linked arms with both men and they started out to her home again as night was falling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Oh, mon Dieu!" Lissa cried as the sun shined into her bedroom.
Instantly, Connor ran from the kitchen to her room and saw Lissa lying on her bed, curled in a little ball with a pillow covering her head. "What? What is it?"
"My head!" she yelled. "Too...much...light! Kill it!" Barely peeking out from under her pillow, she uttered a low moan.
Connor held in laughter and closed her window shades. "Better?" he asked.
"Hardly. Could you speak quieter?" she whispered.
Then Delemir ran in, looking frantic. "What's wrong?" he asked.
Lissa nearly shrieked, but instead stood up and ran to her bathroom. A terrible retching noise was heard from inside, could be heard clearly despite she had shut the door. Connor grinned wryly and shook his head.
"She has a hangover, buddy. I think she went a little too far with her whiskey last night enjoying her new shot glass," Connor said.
"I only filled it three times!" Lissa yelled from inside, then moaned loudly.
"Yeah, to the rim and then you downed it like a parched man in a desert," Connor replied. "Do you want a rag?"
"I want an aspirin and this-" She gagged and gasped for air "-bloody hangover to go away. I wasn't even drunk, only a little buzzed," she muttered. "Yes, get me a cold, wet rag and a Tylenol. No aspirin in the cupboards."
"Delemir, you know where her rags and her Tylenol are, right?" Connor asked.
"Yes." Delemir had learned, within his first two days living there with Lissa where the Tylenol was located.
"Will you go get two Tylenol and a wet rag for her? Preferably a white rag," Connor said quietly and stepped into the bathroom after grabbing a hair tie for Lissa.
Inside, she was muttering in French, and holding her hair back. Occasionally, she'd stop talking and cough or throw up again, but she always went back to French.
"I'm really glad I don't speak French. I'm scared of what you're saying," Connor said quietly, kneeling beside her and rubbing her back. "Here." He handed her the hair scrunchy.
"Thanks." Lissa pulled her hair back in a folded ponytail and leaned back against the wall.
"Delemir is getting Tylenol and a wet rag for you," Connor said quietly, leaning against the door.
"Good." Closing her eyes, Lissa drifted in a world that hardly existed. "I'm getting a cold," she muttered as a scratchy feeling formed in her throat. "By the end of the day, I'm going to be sneezing and using up all the tissue boxes in this house."
"I have the Tylenol and the rag," Delemir announced, walking into the bathroom.
"Shh!" Lissa hissed, covering her ears. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
"Don't talk so loud," Connor said, standing and taking the rag and two white pills from Delemir. He gave her the rag, which she promptly set on her neck. Then, Connor filled a cup with water and handed it to her.
Lissa downed the Tylenol and gagged, leaning over to the toilet. "Mon Dieu, I'm going to die. It feels like my head is being split open," she muttered.
Connor smiled and leaned down then began to rub her back gently again. "No, you won't. By lunch, you'll be feeling better," he promised. "Right Del?"
"Of course," Delemir agreed absently.
Upon a shrill ringing beside Connor, Lissa shrieked and uttered a creative curse in French again. Connor swept up the phone, somehow or other placed in the bathroom, and answered it.
"Hello?" he said quietly, standing up and walking out of the bathroom. His voice trailed off as he ventured further into the house and away from them.
Delemir knelt down beside Lissa and leaned back against the side of the tub. She was still leaning over the toilet, gasping for air. Her face, normally tan, was white as a sheet. Her hands, normally steady, trembled and shook as she grasped for something to hold onto. Her voice, normally firm, quivered as she spoke.
"Delemir?" Her hand found his in some miraculous moment.
"Yes?" he asked, squeezing her hand.
"Just so you know, there's nothing between Connor and me. I saw how you looked at him yesterday in the shop. I find it..." She trailed off as she retched again, all liquid from the previous night's welcome to Connor. "Cute," she finished, "that you're jealous. But don't kill him over a small little affectionate kiss, si'l vou plait."
"What's that mean?"
"Please."
"Oh."
"Lissa, that was the secretary at your doctor's office. She needs to know if you're coming today or if you're going to cancel your appointment at the last second again," Connor said as he stepped in.
"Shh. Yes, I'm coming today if this hangover goes away. But don't tell her the hangover part," Lissa warned. She waited a beat, then added, "I'll be there if I can manage to move by the time of my appointment."
"Okay." Connor walked off again, talking to the secretary still.
"All right," Delemir said, placing his hand on Lissa's shoulder.
"What?"
"I won't kill him. Though, involuntarily, I may hurt him if he is too affectionate," Delemir cautioned.
"Don't, please. I don't need one of my best friends to be injured, bloodied, or bruised," Lissa murmured. "I think the nausea is done, thank God."
"Good, now if you could only take loud noises, you'd be set," Connor said as he stepped inside the bathroom again. "Need a hand up?"
"No. I need a big feather bed and a glass of Merlot wine and a really good romance book," Lissa said, standing up. She hissed in a breath again and touched her knee. Shrugging off help, she walked to her bed and fell onto it, closing her eyes. "I'm going back to sleep."
"No you aren't," Connor said, falling next to her. "You're going to wake up now and get over your hangover by dealing with it."
"Then every time a pin drops on the floor, you'll have to deal with my shrieking. Connor, I swear if you don't get out of here now, I'm going to kill you. I'm going back to sleep and if you don't let me, I'll personally make sure you never father any children."
"You used that against your brother once. I remember that story," Connor said playfully, trailing his finger up her arm.
"Yes, and I'm going to be less idle with that threat if you don't get out of my room," Lissa muttered, kicking him away.
"Fine. Be that way. I'll just go and sulk in a corner, meanie," he said with false hurt in this voice.
"Good." Lissa pulled a pillow over her head again and was out cold, sleeping like the dead, for the next five hours. And then was awake for another three.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There were tissues everywhere. The bed was covered in white, snotty tissues. Disgusting as it may have been, Lissa was trying to clean then up by stuffing them in a bag already full. There were three empty tissue boxes, four empty bowls that had contained chicken soup, three mugs of hot chocolate long since gulped down quickly, one sick female, two frantic males trying to keep the female under control, and a partridge and a pear tree.
Tying a knot in one bag, Lissa reached behind her and grabbed about the fifth to last tissue in yet another box and blew her nose, or at least tried to as it ran away from her. Muttering something incoherently, she grabbed another bag and started stuffing the other fifteen million used tissues into it. This wasn't how she expected to spend her weekend-sick with the cold, a story nearly past its deadline, and two men living with her for a while until one left back to Manhattan, and the other living with her until he found out why he was there in Washington, D.C.
This was how she planned on spending her weekend: Using the money that should have gone in the bank to build up on interest to indulge in a weekend spa and bath, getting massages and pampered; eating whatever she wanted when she got back home, leaving the work to her fast metabolism, and working at all hours she felt like on her children's story.
"Feeling better?" Delemir ventured to ask as he brought another mug of hot chocolate to Lissa.
"Bite me, Blondie, and you try having a cold and being impaired from the little fantasies you'd been planning to indulge in for over a month. And I had them planned out so perfectly that I called the spa last weekend, saying to expect me today around noon," Lissa muttered, filling the bag with only a fraction of the white, formerly puffy things on her bed.
"How many tissues are usually in a box?" Delemir asked.
Reaching over to check on the box only an arm's length away, Lissa said, "Your guess is as good as mine, but seeing as I've used...almost four boxes, and judging by the portion of my bed covered in tissues and the two full bags of them, I'd say a hundred to a hundred and fifty."
"What are we doing now?" Connor asked as he came back in to check on Lissa.
"Estimating how many tissues are in a tissue box." Lissa yet again caught her nose as it tried to run away from her. Growling and leaning back, she kicked at the other tissues on her bed with an attitude that said she never wanted to see a tissue again for the rest of her life. "I need another box."
"I bet."
"Shut up." Lissa threw the closet thing that was semi-hard at Connor's head- her foam pillow. He, most unfortunately, caught it and laid back on it on the ground. Bennett walked in and sniffed at Connor's hair. He walked away and sneezed, then jumped up to cuddle in Lissa's lap.
"It's my kitty!" she cooed at him. "How are we today?" She stroked his head and scratched his ears lovingly, shooting evil glances at Delemir and Connor. "At least someone isn't afraid to come near me."
Bennett meowed as quietly as a Siamese could and purred like a motor boat. He rubbed his head against Lissa's stomach and was rewarded by more petting and scratching.
"Hey, it isn't my fault I don't want to get sick," Connor said. "Though I will be, most likely, in about a week. Which reminds me. Who were you with seven to ten days ago?"
Blowing her nose again, Lissa said, "Well, Delemir got here about a week ago, then I saw Emily-not the theatre one-that day. We had spaghetti, in case you're wondering. Then, before that...the three days before that, I was a hermit working on my children's book of which you both are depriving me of working on now."
Connor shrugged again and smiled. "Still isn't my fault. Delemir, did you have a cold when you got here?"
Delemir, who had been focusing on something suddenly interesting on the other side of the room, zoned back and stammered out an answer, sounding something like this: "Huh? Oh, no...No I was not ill," but sounded a lot worse when in his actual words.
"Um, guys," Lissa said quietly, interrupting the conversation they were beginning. She tried hard not to laugh.
"Yeah?" Connor sent her an absent look.
"Would you mind getting out of my room while you talk so I can sleep a little bit?" she asked, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Delemir and Connor stood in unison and left Lissa to fall asleep in ten seconds flat. They walked into the living room and Connor burst out laughing.
"What?" Delemir asked, sitting on the couch.
"You and Melissa," Connor answered, still grinning. He settled on the floor and uttered a half laugh before continuing. "In the past hours that I've been with you two, you were fighting and arguing; threatening and, well, Lissa did most of the throwing of objects. But you two are hilarious. I don't see how you're going to survive another day with her."
Delemir managed an uneasy smile and pushed his hair behind his ear, wary of its delicate point. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?" he said softly.
"Dude, you're not hitting on her, are you?" Conner asked, a cocky grin on his face.
"Hitting on her?" Delemir was truly confused.
"You know, trying to slip a move on her, stuff like that?"
Delemir followed where Connor was taking the conversation and didn't like it. "No. I would never even think of-" Then he remembered something from the previous day. In the dressing room, they'd kissed, and he had moved on it.
Connor let out a sly laugh then said, "I knew it. You do have a flaw, and it's with Lissa."
"I do not, and certainly not with her," Delemir protested, sending Connor a defiant look. He only laughed.
"If you say so." Connor leaned back on the floor and yawned. "I didn't catch a wink last night, how about you?"
"Beg pardon?" Delemir said, finding himself yawning as well.
"Did you sleep any last night? What is with you and modern day clichés?" Connor muttered.
"No, not well, at least. I have been having dreams since I arrived here. They are very frightening dreams," Delemir said quietly. "They have plagued my sleep for over a week." Delemir looked up and saw Connor instantly become interested.
"I'm a dream analyst, so...you mind telling me about them?" he asked, nearly bursting from anticipation.
"Sure," Delemir murmured. "Well, firstly, it's before I come here, to Lissa's house. I know that much for sure. It is as if I am floating at first, then I land on something hard and solid. I nearly feel the pain surging through me. In fact, I do feel it. I can feel the air rushing past me, through my hair and I see the ground rushing up to meet me.
"After I hit the ground-What are you doing?" Delemir looked at Connor strangely as he opened up a document on Lissa's laptop.
"Keep going. I'm keeping track of it. After you hit the ground....What happens next?"
"I stand, feeling weary and sore everywhere. I begin to walk someplace, I don't know where. I see people around me-they're dead. Their cold eyes stare back at me as if wishing their fate on me as well. I hear myself breathing and my heart thudding in my chest. My blood is pounding in my ears. My pulse is racing like a stallion. And all of that is caused because I am staring into the eyes of the dead."
"Intense," Connor murmured, typing vigorously. "Continue."
"I continue walking, and eventually, I see this man-this dark figure on top of a hill. He kills others around me like they are nothing, with only a flick of his wrist. Just tossing his hand in one direction and his victims follow in that way, soaring through the sky and landing lifelessly. I feel anger pulsing through me. I know that these people are my friends and family. It infuriates me that he kills them with so little care.
"As most of me is telling me to run away, to live, there is one tiny part of me that wishes to carry out the vengeance my kin deserve. I charge the man in black, my sword raised-"
"Wait, you have a sword? What is this, a Middle Ages dream?" Connor interrupted, suddenly wearing rectangle-framed reading glasses.
"In a sense."
"Oh. Carry on. You were just running towards the man in black with your sword raised."
"Yes. My sword was raised high above my head as I ran towards the man. As I am about three feet from his back, I cry out." Delemir paused just long enough to make Connor speak.
"What type of cry, or was that the end?"
"No. No, that wasn't the end. It is far from the end, I believe." Delemir's voice was suddenly low and sultry, a type of mourning sound in it. "The man turns around and raises his hand in front of him. Instead of making me soar away, I feel this heat searing through me, burning my flesh. I am stuck in the one position I was in as the man chanted words. Words in a different language, one I had never heard before.
"Then, after the heat, then came a terrible cold, freezing me to my bones. I cry out again, this time in pain as I feel something torn from me. After that, I don't remember anything besides the man's cold, frigid laughter as he stares down at me."
"Down?"
"I fell. I don't know how, but I did." Delemir sat completely still, his hands folded in his lap carefully. "I felt so empty as he laughed. Then I woke up." Connor looked up from Lissa's laptop with a look of intrigue on his face. "And you're telling me you dreamed that?"
"Yes."
"And you expect me to believe you felt something as detailed as this, in a dream?"
"Yes."
"Snow!"
Both men looked towards Lissa's room, where the exclamation had come from. Connor stood and walked to her bedroom, but Delemir stayed sitting on the couch. He knew it sounded crazy. He knew that he sounded crazy. But he had dreamed it. He knew he had, he had felt it. And for some reason, it felt more than a dream, almost a reality. He could almost feel the same emptiness he had during his dream.
"Delemir! Come here!" Lissa cried happily, running into the dining room. Delemir stood and walked towards her, only to be caught in a hard hug. "It's snowing! It's snowing!" Lissa laughed happily.
Delemir couldn't help but smile at her show of enthusiasm by the change of weather. If he really did have the same emptiness, the feeling of missing something, Lissa filled that spot when she was happy. He carefully returned her hug, but with less emotion and power, and looked up. He saw Connor giving him a hard stare, almost like he was warning him against something, warning him not to do something.
"It's the first snow of the season!" Lissa was saying. Then, her energy lowered a bit as she added, "And I'm sick."
"You'll be feeling better by tomorrow if you drink some of that vitamin C water," Connor said.
"Right, and you're Ella Fitzgerald," Lissa said, pulling out of Delemir's arms and turning to face the other man.
"Nah, I can't sing at all. And I'm not dead. But are you saying that it won't make you better, or that you won't take it because it tastes terrible only when you fix it?"
"The...hmm. Are you saying you can make it right, Connor?" Lissa asked.
"Yes. Or at least make it much better than your vitamin C water. This will take like real lemonade instead of really bitter lemonade," Connor told her.
"Fine. Go make it. Then let me tell you about this really weird dream I had earlier. It had Delemir in it," Lissa said, bounding off to her living room and over to her laptop. When she reached it, she saw Connor's document and stared at it in question. "Hey, what's this? Connor, were you using my laptop?"
"Yes!" he called from the kitchen.
"What for? Who said you could?" Lissa crossed her arms and stared at the kitchen doorway, but didn't see Connor to throw a death glare at her.
"Answer number one: Delemir was telling me about a dream he had and I took notes on it. Answer number two: I did."
Lissa called something out in French and grinned. She sat down at her laptop and opened a new document.
"Did you curse at me in French, Lissa?" Connor asked when he appeared in the archway between the dining room and living room.
"No, I called you a pig," she said, laughing.
"This woman has no manners at all. When she knows someone doesn't understand French, she'll yell at him or her in it, call them mean names. Does she do that to you, Delemir?" Connor handed Lissa the glass.
"I have learned to fear whatever Lissa says when it is in a foreign language. If you'll excuse me," Delemir said and began towards the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Lissa asked, looking up at him as he walked up her carpeted stairs.
"My room."
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because why?" Lissa watched, still, with a childish type of fascination as Delemir disappeared out of her view.
"Because I don't wish to talk to anyone right now."
Then his door nearly slammed, and Lissa shot a mean look over at Connor, knowing he had something to do with it. "What'd you do to him while I was asleep?" she demanded.
"Nothing. After he told me his dream, I asked if he really did dream it because it's really de-"
"You doubted him?" Lissa nearly shrieked.
"I only met the man yesterday, Melissa," Connor insisted.
"I don't care. I doubted him when I first met him, but his second day here, I believed him. Delemir is a very truthful person. He's never lied to me."
"In the week you've known him," Connor said.
Lissa looked over at him with a frightening gleam in her eyes. If looks could kill, Connor wouldn't be dead, just honestly and seriously hurting. Lissa saw him shudder and found glory in it as she continued to stare at him.
"Why don't you just shove all the crap you have about dreams someplace I don't want to know about, Connor. You two are both my friends, all right? I don't want to lose that status with either of you, but right now, Delemir does need a place to stay. I've figured out he's not exactly from here, and doesn't have money for everything. Then, you go and say that you don't believe something that, as you said he said, was so real that he could feel it. What about those dreams I've told you about over the phone where I could feel every touch across my skin?"
"I'm sorry, Lissa," Connor began, but immediately stopped when Lissa stood.
"Look. Just forget it, okay? I don't want to get into this, and I doubt Delemir would really want me to tell anyone else about it, either," Lissa said and stood up slowly.
"Where're you going?" Connor watched her move towards the stairs slowly, the thick, white, terry cloth robe she was wearing billowing slightly out behind her.
"Upstairs to talk to Delemir," she answered absently. As she mounted the stairs, she shuddered from a heat deep in her body. She pushed her hair, slick and soft from a shower she had sneaked in while Delemir and Connor had been talking, back behind her ear and felt the round top of it. She thought of Delemir, and his ears with their soft points that she had once touched. She remembered the day she had done that, in the kitchen, then it had carried onto the dining room. That had been one of the most horrific days of her life, she thought to herself.
"Delemir?" Lissa said through the door, knocking softly.
"Yes?" he asked, opening his door. He poked his head out and came nearly face to face with Lissa.
"Whoa," she said with a smile, leaning backwards slightly.
Reaching out towards her, Delemir pulled Lissa in quickly by her shoulder. Lissa emitted a slight, very quiet cry as he did so, but quieted when she was inside. She looked into Delemir's eyes and saw that they were cold, the usual deep blue now an icy blue-gray.
"Delemir, what's wrong?" she asked, walking over to the chair by the window. She sat down and touched a small figure of a ballerina in a pirouette, ready to jump into the arms of her partner that was made of clear glass. She ran her finger over another figure, another little glass ballet figure, a man this time, ready to catch the other ballerina when she jumped. "Sit down." She laid her hand at the spot in front of her where another chair was.
Delemir sighed and obliged to do so. When he sat down, he folded his hands neatly on the table in front of him. Lissa could swear that was the first time she ever saw him hunched down as he was now. She reached over and laid her hand over his and squeezed them gently. He looked up at her, his eyes still cold, and met her warm eyes.
"What is it?" Lissa asked softly. "Tell me, please."
"I cannot really explain it. After I told Connor about my dream-"
"He doesn't believe you," Lissa put in.
"I know." Delemir looked down at their joined hands and thought to himself, it looked so right. How long would he be able to sit here and be with her like this? How much longer did he have until he figured out why he was here, and what for? "He told me he didn't. But after I told him about the sensations and everything that I felt, saw, and heard, he thought I was mad, most likely. But everything was so real, so tangible that it scared me when I woke up from the first night of it. It still scares me."
"Will you tell me about it?" Lissa asked, looking deep into Delemir's eyes. She saw them warm slightly. She offered an encouraging smile and waited patiently for an answer, though that wasn't one of her strong points.
"Of course." And off he went into his dream, all of the sensations, feelings, and the sounds he had heard. When he finished, he looked up at Lissa, who was still staring at him in slight shock of his vivid memory of his dream. He saw the understanding and sympathy she had for him in her eyes. Her eyes were the first thing he had loved about her.
"When did you first begin having these dreams, Delemir?" she asked quietly, her hand still on his tightly.
"The first night I was here," he answered, averting his eyes to the window. "I have a faint memory that it's more a reality than a dream, Lissa. Do you believe me?"
"Yes," she said simply and sincerely. She looked at Delemir and saw him trying to keep his eyes away from her. "Delemir." She lifted her other hand to his cheek and made him look at her. "I do believe you. I never lie unless it's very crucial. You can believe me, I swear my life on it."
"I know," he said softly. He locked gazes with her finally and saw her feelings in her eyes. He saw compassion, sympathy, and caring there, and a number of other emotions as well, but ones he couldn't identify before she disguised them. He finally looked down at the table, saw their joined hands and the two glass figures there. "What are these?"
"Ballerinas. It seems weird to call a guy a ballerina, but I don't know another word to call him."
"What are ballerinas?" Delemir asked, lifting the girl.
"Well, you have to understand the concept of ballet. It's a kind of dance, one that takes a lot of practice and work, but it's fun. Pointe does this to your feet, though," Lissa said, gesturing to her toes that she thrust out from under the table. They were blistered and scabbed, and looked like they were in sincere pain at that moment, but they weren't painful yet.
"What in the name of Eru?" Delemir exclaimed, shocked.
"Pointe is when you dance on the very tip of your feet. I'll show you. I think I have one of my older pair of Pointe shoes in here in the closet." Lissa stood and opened the closet door. She stood all the way in it, raising herself to the balls of her feet and reached up into the top of the closet. She stretched herself out fully, a long, thin line of slightly tan skin. She was still in her thin peach nightgown, but had her terry cloth robe on over it.
When she finally went back down to her feet, she had pink shoes in her hand. She sat herself on the floor and slipped on foamy toe guards, then slipped on the shoes. She laced the pink ribbon up her calf until it reached her knee, then tied them at the crook of her knee.
"Okay. I've been out of my class for two weeks for a break, so-"
"Why a break?" Delemir interrupted.
"Because I sprained my ankle. I was doing a performance and sprained my ankle, and finished the rest of the dance on flat."
"What's flat?"
"This." Lissa demonstrated by standing flat on the ground in her shoes when they were laced up fully. "This is Pointe." She slowly raised herself up to her toes and put her arms in front of her, curved and taut like a bowstring pulled out and ready to let go.
"Oh."
Lissa went back down to flat again then sat down, undoing her shoes. When she was done, she tied the laces together and tossed the shoes up in the closet again. She began to sit down again, but Delemir stood and took her hands in his.
"Lissa," he said, suddenly breathless.
Lissa looked up at his piercing blue eyes and felt her heart catch in her throat. The look he was giving her then was one that she would remember always. His blue eyes, still carrying a slight look that held the ice from earlier in them, watched her intently, every move she made. Every time she tried to remove her gaze from his, she felt like she was bound to him then and there in that way. If she tried to move her face away, his hand shot up to her chin and kept her gaze on his.
"Delemir..." Lissa said quietly, lifting her hands to his chest.
"Don't be afraid of me, Lissa. I know someone hurt you. I see it in your eyes whenever you look at me. I don't know who did, or how, but that person isn't me. Don't imagine them to be, Melissa," Delemir said passionately.
"Delemir-" Lissa's voice caught in her throat and disabled her from speaking.
As Lissa tried to find a reason why what he said wasn't true, she felt him lean forward and press his lips against her gently. He drew back quickly, as if testing for her reaction. He felt her hands begin to tremble against him. He lifted his own hands and took hers in his. He brought her left hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss against her palm.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"F-for what?" she stammered.
"For the hurt you still feel, since it still hurts you, that it did hurt you. I wish there was something I could do." Delemir rubbed his thumb over her knuckles carefully and felt a scar there. He made a note to himself that he'd ask about it later.
"Oh, Delemir." That was all Lissa said before she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder. She felt Delemir wrap his arms around her waist and hold her against him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disclaimer: Okay. I don't own the gift shop under Freedom Park. I don't own the memorial to the journalists there. I own Connor because I made him up. I don't own Pointe or ballet, though I am in ballet. I'm not in Pointe yet, though hopefully, one day, I will. I don't own Pointe shoes, in this story or in reality. ;) Let's see, anything else is already understood. Oh, I do own the laptop that everyone uses because I wrote this story on it. I own the dream that Delemir had and had a fun time making it up since it's morbid. ;) Anyway, uhm, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and the next one is coming soon! By Christmas!
When they reached the entrance to Freedom Park, Delemir automatically linked arms with Lissa, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow. They walked up the steps slowly, savoring the beauty that was still clinging to the life it held in it still until the winter frost would come over it. Everything was still lush and green, full of life. In the next week or so, it would be turning brown and orange and the colors of fall.
It was Lissa's favorite time of the year. She loved how the leaves turned brown, gold, red, orange, and yellow. They were a masterpiece of art, something she greatly appreciated. Something she would never forget, not in all the lifetimes of men after her. The memory of how things looked when she lived in other states in contrast to Virginia would be with her; Alabama, California, Louisiana, then finally Virginia. Those were the places where she grew up among the seasons changing beautifully and had taken in the glorious times of her childhood.
To Delemir, this world was so very different from his, yet still had that same feeling that he was home. The feeling was even stronger when he was with Lissa, he thought. He didn't want to lose that feeling. He didn't want to leave here. He wanted to stay. His world was great, yes, but in the week that he'd been here, he had developed a since of familiarity that felt so good, he didn't want it to go away.
Then, when he saw what was next, his breath was taken away.
"We're here," Lissa announced, guiding him to a swirl of glass in shades of gold and purple that were so magnificent, there could hardly be a word to describe them. (A/N: You'd have to see it yourself in those pictures) "Freedom Park. Along this wall here-" she gestured to the glass panels that were many sheets of glass put together to reflect you and show their colors "-are the names of the journalists-writers-that died during wars trying to write what it was about."
"So many names," Delemir whispered, running his fingers along the names etched in the glass. "So many lives that were taken. And for what?"
"To be placed in history. To be placed here." Lissa looked up at Delemir with a serenity he rarely ever saw in her eyes. The feelings there, inside of her, were overflowing with compassion for those that died and the yearning to be so renowned as they had been, but hopefully not in the same way.
"Nine years ago, when I was thirteen, my dad and I stood right here." She stood next to the swirl of glass that curled inward. "One of his coworkers took a picture of us. I still have it on my computer, I think. I'll have to show you. But just walking along here, by these names; it made my eyes fill."
Delemir looked down at her now, and saw her eyes doing just that. Tears nearly slipped out of her eyes, but she blinked them back. "Do not be afraid to cry for those that died in battle, Lissa. I am sure their hearts weep with you when you take the time to appreciate them," he told her, catching her chin in his hand.
Again her eyes filled and tears spilled over her eyes as she said, "I know. I just don't really make it a habit of crying in public. It's a little embarrassing."
"Why is it embarrassing to show how you feel about something?"
"Well, because here, in my world, people see feelings, sometimes, as things better kept to yourself. I mean, you don't just up and cry about something like this. Normally, you take pictures and let it all sink in at your house then cry your eyes out all you want-without people watching you." Lissa swiped at her tears that were on her cheeks.
Delemir locked gazes with her, and for one single moment, he saw everything she was feeling, everything she was thinking. For that one moment, he was inside her mind. He saw love for her family and friends; compassion for the bodies of those names carved into the glass behind them; and fears of something that was still unknown to her.
"What are you afraid of?" he asked her, leaning closer to her. The bond was broken when she tore her gaze away and pulled out of his touch.
"I'm only afraid of one thing, other than that, it's nothing I fear my God. There is nothing to fear but fear itself," she murmured. "Come on. There are some shops down below that I want to show you." She didn't wait for him to follow after her as she hurried off to a door that led to a staircase.
She quickly went down and waited for Delemir to appear behind her. When he did, she avoided his touch and led him to another escalator. This one was very narrow. Delemir had to stand behind Lissa as they went down. He watched her slip off the steps and onto the firm ground with ease. He, on the other hand, stumbled a bit in the process.
"All right?" she asked him.
"Yes."
"Good." She walked into a little store that was very crowded with aisles filled with merchandise for this and that. There were shot glasses and key chains; pens and lighters; candy and sodas. Delemir watched Lissa pick up a shot glass and inspect it carefully, thoroughly. A slight grin crept onto her face as she pulled out a money clip and set the glass and some money down on a counter.
Watching the transition with interest, Delemir was surprised when he, all of a sudden, saw a tall man come up beside Lissa and greet her with a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek, murmuring something that sounded like "Hello, beautiful," to her. Anger and jealously flared in him, but Delemir kept it to himself as the two shared a "touching" reunion.
"What are you doing here?" Lissa was saying with obvious shock and delight. "You weren't supposed to be in till Saturday!" She embraced the man once again with a smile on her face. Her eyes, smiling once again, met Delemir's.
"Well, I just decided I couldn't wait to see you," the man said as they broke out of their embrace. Lissa nearly died laughing as she saw the horrid look on Delemir's face. He looked ready to kill. "Who's this?" The man watched Lissa walk over to Delemir and slip her arm around his waist.
"This is Delemir. He's staying with me for a while. He, ah, might be thinking of moving here to Crystal City if he figures out why he was put in this specific place," Lissa explained. She didn't consider her "material" lying, just forgetting a few semi-important details.
"Delemir, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Connor, one of Lissa's high school sweethearts," Connor explained.
"Not exactly sweethearts, just really close friends," Lissa put in, watching Delemir closely. "I just took him up to the Freedom Park Memorial and showed him the journalist names. Before that, we saw Emilie at the theatre."
"Really? How is she?" Connor asked.
"She's great. Where are you staying?" Lissa slipped away from Delemir and over to the counter to pick up her change and her shot glass. "Here, keep two dollars for a tip," she said absently, handing two dollar bills to the cashier. She didn't even hear the thanks as she walked back to Delemir and Connor.
"I was going to stay at the Hilton hotel just up the road from your place, but they're booked and every other place is booked for the holidays until February," Connor said woefully.
"Then you're staying at my place. I don't know how I'll be able to handle two guys in my house, but somehow I will."
"Hopefully not the same way you did with your brother and father when you were a kid," Connor said playfully.
"No, I'm a lot meaner now." Lissa linked arms with both men and they started out to her home again as night was falling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Oh, mon Dieu!" Lissa cried as the sun shined into her bedroom.
Instantly, Connor ran from the kitchen to her room and saw Lissa lying on her bed, curled in a little ball with a pillow covering her head. "What? What is it?"
"My head!" she yelled. "Too...much...light! Kill it!" Barely peeking out from under her pillow, she uttered a low moan.
Connor held in laughter and closed her window shades. "Better?" he asked.
"Hardly. Could you speak quieter?" she whispered.
Then Delemir ran in, looking frantic. "What's wrong?" he asked.
Lissa nearly shrieked, but instead stood up and ran to her bathroom. A terrible retching noise was heard from inside, could be heard clearly despite she had shut the door. Connor grinned wryly and shook his head.
"She has a hangover, buddy. I think she went a little too far with her whiskey last night enjoying her new shot glass," Connor said.
"I only filled it three times!" Lissa yelled from inside, then moaned loudly.
"Yeah, to the rim and then you downed it like a parched man in a desert," Connor replied. "Do you want a rag?"
"I want an aspirin and this-" She gagged and gasped for air "-bloody hangover to go away. I wasn't even drunk, only a little buzzed," she muttered. "Yes, get me a cold, wet rag and a Tylenol. No aspirin in the cupboards."
"Delemir, you know where her rags and her Tylenol are, right?" Connor asked.
"Yes." Delemir had learned, within his first two days living there with Lissa where the Tylenol was located.
"Will you go get two Tylenol and a wet rag for her? Preferably a white rag," Connor said quietly and stepped into the bathroom after grabbing a hair tie for Lissa.
Inside, she was muttering in French, and holding her hair back. Occasionally, she'd stop talking and cough or throw up again, but she always went back to French.
"I'm really glad I don't speak French. I'm scared of what you're saying," Connor said quietly, kneeling beside her and rubbing her back. "Here." He handed her the hair scrunchy.
"Thanks." Lissa pulled her hair back in a folded ponytail and leaned back against the wall.
"Delemir is getting Tylenol and a wet rag for you," Connor said quietly, leaning against the door.
"Good." Closing her eyes, Lissa drifted in a world that hardly existed. "I'm getting a cold," she muttered as a scratchy feeling formed in her throat. "By the end of the day, I'm going to be sneezing and using up all the tissue boxes in this house."
"I have the Tylenol and the rag," Delemir announced, walking into the bathroom.
"Shh!" Lissa hissed, covering her ears. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
"Don't talk so loud," Connor said, standing and taking the rag and two white pills from Delemir. He gave her the rag, which she promptly set on her neck. Then, Connor filled a cup with water and handed it to her.
Lissa downed the Tylenol and gagged, leaning over to the toilet. "Mon Dieu, I'm going to die. It feels like my head is being split open," she muttered.
Connor smiled and leaned down then began to rub her back gently again. "No, you won't. By lunch, you'll be feeling better," he promised. "Right Del?"
"Of course," Delemir agreed absently.
Upon a shrill ringing beside Connor, Lissa shrieked and uttered a creative curse in French again. Connor swept up the phone, somehow or other placed in the bathroom, and answered it.
"Hello?" he said quietly, standing up and walking out of the bathroom. His voice trailed off as he ventured further into the house and away from them.
Delemir knelt down beside Lissa and leaned back against the side of the tub. She was still leaning over the toilet, gasping for air. Her face, normally tan, was white as a sheet. Her hands, normally steady, trembled and shook as she grasped for something to hold onto. Her voice, normally firm, quivered as she spoke.
"Delemir?" Her hand found his in some miraculous moment.
"Yes?" he asked, squeezing her hand.
"Just so you know, there's nothing between Connor and me. I saw how you looked at him yesterday in the shop. I find it..." She trailed off as she retched again, all liquid from the previous night's welcome to Connor. "Cute," she finished, "that you're jealous. But don't kill him over a small little affectionate kiss, si'l vou plait."
"What's that mean?"
"Please."
"Oh."
"Lissa, that was the secretary at your doctor's office. She needs to know if you're coming today or if you're going to cancel your appointment at the last second again," Connor said as he stepped in.
"Shh. Yes, I'm coming today if this hangover goes away. But don't tell her the hangover part," Lissa warned. She waited a beat, then added, "I'll be there if I can manage to move by the time of my appointment."
"Okay." Connor walked off again, talking to the secretary still.
"All right," Delemir said, placing his hand on Lissa's shoulder.
"What?"
"I won't kill him. Though, involuntarily, I may hurt him if he is too affectionate," Delemir cautioned.
"Don't, please. I don't need one of my best friends to be injured, bloodied, or bruised," Lissa murmured. "I think the nausea is done, thank God."
"Good, now if you could only take loud noises, you'd be set," Connor said as he stepped inside the bathroom again. "Need a hand up?"
"No. I need a big feather bed and a glass of Merlot wine and a really good romance book," Lissa said, standing up. She hissed in a breath again and touched her knee. Shrugging off help, she walked to her bed and fell onto it, closing her eyes. "I'm going back to sleep."
"No you aren't," Connor said, falling next to her. "You're going to wake up now and get over your hangover by dealing with it."
"Then every time a pin drops on the floor, you'll have to deal with my shrieking. Connor, I swear if you don't get out of here now, I'm going to kill you. I'm going back to sleep and if you don't let me, I'll personally make sure you never father any children."
"You used that against your brother once. I remember that story," Connor said playfully, trailing his finger up her arm.
"Yes, and I'm going to be less idle with that threat if you don't get out of my room," Lissa muttered, kicking him away.
"Fine. Be that way. I'll just go and sulk in a corner, meanie," he said with false hurt in this voice.
"Good." Lissa pulled a pillow over her head again and was out cold, sleeping like the dead, for the next five hours. And then was awake for another three.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There were tissues everywhere. The bed was covered in white, snotty tissues. Disgusting as it may have been, Lissa was trying to clean then up by stuffing them in a bag already full. There were three empty tissue boxes, four empty bowls that had contained chicken soup, three mugs of hot chocolate long since gulped down quickly, one sick female, two frantic males trying to keep the female under control, and a partridge and a pear tree.
Tying a knot in one bag, Lissa reached behind her and grabbed about the fifth to last tissue in yet another box and blew her nose, or at least tried to as it ran away from her. Muttering something incoherently, she grabbed another bag and started stuffing the other fifteen million used tissues into it. This wasn't how she expected to spend her weekend-sick with the cold, a story nearly past its deadline, and two men living with her for a while until one left back to Manhattan, and the other living with her until he found out why he was there in Washington, D.C.
This was how she planned on spending her weekend: Using the money that should have gone in the bank to build up on interest to indulge in a weekend spa and bath, getting massages and pampered; eating whatever she wanted when she got back home, leaving the work to her fast metabolism, and working at all hours she felt like on her children's story.
"Feeling better?" Delemir ventured to ask as he brought another mug of hot chocolate to Lissa.
"Bite me, Blondie, and you try having a cold and being impaired from the little fantasies you'd been planning to indulge in for over a month. And I had them planned out so perfectly that I called the spa last weekend, saying to expect me today around noon," Lissa muttered, filling the bag with only a fraction of the white, formerly puffy things on her bed.
"How many tissues are usually in a box?" Delemir asked.
Reaching over to check on the box only an arm's length away, Lissa said, "Your guess is as good as mine, but seeing as I've used...almost four boxes, and judging by the portion of my bed covered in tissues and the two full bags of them, I'd say a hundred to a hundred and fifty."
"What are we doing now?" Connor asked as he came back in to check on Lissa.
"Estimating how many tissues are in a tissue box." Lissa yet again caught her nose as it tried to run away from her. Growling and leaning back, she kicked at the other tissues on her bed with an attitude that said she never wanted to see a tissue again for the rest of her life. "I need another box."
"I bet."
"Shut up." Lissa threw the closet thing that was semi-hard at Connor's head- her foam pillow. He, most unfortunately, caught it and laid back on it on the ground. Bennett walked in and sniffed at Connor's hair. He walked away and sneezed, then jumped up to cuddle in Lissa's lap.
"It's my kitty!" she cooed at him. "How are we today?" She stroked his head and scratched his ears lovingly, shooting evil glances at Delemir and Connor. "At least someone isn't afraid to come near me."
Bennett meowed as quietly as a Siamese could and purred like a motor boat. He rubbed his head against Lissa's stomach and was rewarded by more petting and scratching.
"Hey, it isn't my fault I don't want to get sick," Connor said. "Though I will be, most likely, in about a week. Which reminds me. Who were you with seven to ten days ago?"
Blowing her nose again, Lissa said, "Well, Delemir got here about a week ago, then I saw Emily-not the theatre one-that day. We had spaghetti, in case you're wondering. Then, before that...the three days before that, I was a hermit working on my children's book of which you both are depriving me of working on now."
Connor shrugged again and smiled. "Still isn't my fault. Delemir, did you have a cold when you got here?"
Delemir, who had been focusing on something suddenly interesting on the other side of the room, zoned back and stammered out an answer, sounding something like this: "Huh? Oh, no...No I was not ill," but sounded a lot worse when in his actual words.
"Um, guys," Lissa said quietly, interrupting the conversation they were beginning. She tried hard not to laugh.
"Yeah?" Connor sent her an absent look.
"Would you mind getting out of my room while you talk so I can sleep a little bit?" she asked, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Delemir and Connor stood in unison and left Lissa to fall asleep in ten seconds flat. They walked into the living room and Connor burst out laughing.
"What?" Delemir asked, sitting on the couch.
"You and Melissa," Connor answered, still grinning. He settled on the floor and uttered a half laugh before continuing. "In the past hours that I've been with you two, you were fighting and arguing; threatening and, well, Lissa did most of the throwing of objects. But you two are hilarious. I don't see how you're going to survive another day with her."
Delemir managed an uneasy smile and pushed his hair behind his ear, wary of its delicate point. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?" he said softly.
"Dude, you're not hitting on her, are you?" Conner asked, a cocky grin on his face.
"Hitting on her?" Delemir was truly confused.
"You know, trying to slip a move on her, stuff like that?"
Delemir followed where Connor was taking the conversation and didn't like it. "No. I would never even think of-" Then he remembered something from the previous day. In the dressing room, they'd kissed, and he had moved on it.
Connor let out a sly laugh then said, "I knew it. You do have a flaw, and it's with Lissa."
"I do not, and certainly not with her," Delemir protested, sending Connor a defiant look. He only laughed.
"If you say so." Connor leaned back on the floor and yawned. "I didn't catch a wink last night, how about you?"
"Beg pardon?" Delemir said, finding himself yawning as well.
"Did you sleep any last night? What is with you and modern day clichés?" Connor muttered.
"No, not well, at least. I have been having dreams since I arrived here. They are very frightening dreams," Delemir said quietly. "They have plagued my sleep for over a week." Delemir looked up and saw Connor instantly become interested.
"I'm a dream analyst, so...you mind telling me about them?" he asked, nearly bursting from anticipation.
"Sure," Delemir murmured. "Well, firstly, it's before I come here, to Lissa's house. I know that much for sure. It is as if I am floating at first, then I land on something hard and solid. I nearly feel the pain surging through me. In fact, I do feel it. I can feel the air rushing past me, through my hair and I see the ground rushing up to meet me.
"After I hit the ground-What are you doing?" Delemir looked at Connor strangely as he opened up a document on Lissa's laptop.
"Keep going. I'm keeping track of it. After you hit the ground....What happens next?"
"I stand, feeling weary and sore everywhere. I begin to walk someplace, I don't know where. I see people around me-they're dead. Their cold eyes stare back at me as if wishing their fate on me as well. I hear myself breathing and my heart thudding in my chest. My blood is pounding in my ears. My pulse is racing like a stallion. And all of that is caused because I am staring into the eyes of the dead."
"Intense," Connor murmured, typing vigorously. "Continue."
"I continue walking, and eventually, I see this man-this dark figure on top of a hill. He kills others around me like they are nothing, with only a flick of his wrist. Just tossing his hand in one direction and his victims follow in that way, soaring through the sky and landing lifelessly. I feel anger pulsing through me. I know that these people are my friends and family. It infuriates me that he kills them with so little care.
"As most of me is telling me to run away, to live, there is one tiny part of me that wishes to carry out the vengeance my kin deserve. I charge the man in black, my sword raised-"
"Wait, you have a sword? What is this, a Middle Ages dream?" Connor interrupted, suddenly wearing rectangle-framed reading glasses.
"In a sense."
"Oh. Carry on. You were just running towards the man in black with your sword raised."
"Yes. My sword was raised high above my head as I ran towards the man. As I am about three feet from his back, I cry out." Delemir paused just long enough to make Connor speak.
"What type of cry, or was that the end?"
"No. No, that wasn't the end. It is far from the end, I believe." Delemir's voice was suddenly low and sultry, a type of mourning sound in it. "The man turns around and raises his hand in front of him. Instead of making me soar away, I feel this heat searing through me, burning my flesh. I am stuck in the one position I was in as the man chanted words. Words in a different language, one I had never heard before.
"Then, after the heat, then came a terrible cold, freezing me to my bones. I cry out again, this time in pain as I feel something torn from me. After that, I don't remember anything besides the man's cold, frigid laughter as he stares down at me."
"Down?"
"I fell. I don't know how, but I did." Delemir sat completely still, his hands folded in his lap carefully. "I felt so empty as he laughed. Then I woke up." Connor looked up from Lissa's laptop with a look of intrigue on his face. "And you're telling me you dreamed that?"
"Yes."
"And you expect me to believe you felt something as detailed as this, in a dream?"
"Yes."
"Snow!"
Both men looked towards Lissa's room, where the exclamation had come from. Connor stood and walked to her bedroom, but Delemir stayed sitting on the couch. He knew it sounded crazy. He knew that he sounded crazy. But he had dreamed it. He knew he had, he had felt it. And for some reason, it felt more than a dream, almost a reality. He could almost feel the same emptiness he had during his dream.
"Delemir! Come here!" Lissa cried happily, running into the dining room. Delemir stood and walked towards her, only to be caught in a hard hug. "It's snowing! It's snowing!" Lissa laughed happily.
Delemir couldn't help but smile at her show of enthusiasm by the change of weather. If he really did have the same emptiness, the feeling of missing something, Lissa filled that spot when she was happy. He carefully returned her hug, but with less emotion and power, and looked up. He saw Connor giving him a hard stare, almost like he was warning him against something, warning him not to do something.
"It's the first snow of the season!" Lissa was saying. Then, her energy lowered a bit as she added, "And I'm sick."
"You'll be feeling better by tomorrow if you drink some of that vitamin C water," Connor said.
"Right, and you're Ella Fitzgerald," Lissa said, pulling out of Delemir's arms and turning to face the other man.
"Nah, I can't sing at all. And I'm not dead. But are you saying that it won't make you better, or that you won't take it because it tastes terrible only when you fix it?"
"The...hmm. Are you saying you can make it right, Connor?" Lissa asked.
"Yes. Or at least make it much better than your vitamin C water. This will take like real lemonade instead of really bitter lemonade," Connor told her.
"Fine. Go make it. Then let me tell you about this really weird dream I had earlier. It had Delemir in it," Lissa said, bounding off to her living room and over to her laptop. When she reached it, she saw Connor's document and stared at it in question. "Hey, what's this? Connor, were you using my laptop?"
"Yes!" he called from the kitchen.
"What for? Who said you could?" Lissa crossed her arms and stared at the kitchen doorway, but didn't see Connor to throw a death glare at her.
"Answer number one: Delemir was telling me about a dream he had and I took notes on it. Answer number two: I did."
Lissa called something out in French and grinned. She sat down at her laptop and opened a new document.
"Did you curse at me in French, Lissa?" Connor asked when he appeared in the archway between the dining room and living room.
"No, I called you a pig," she said, laughing.
"This woman has no manners at all. When she knows someone doesn't understand French, she'll yell at him or her in it, call them mean names. Does she do that to you, Delemir?" Connor handed Lissa the glass.
"I have learned to fear whatever Lissa says when it is in a foreign language. If you'll excuse me," Delemir said and began towards the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Lissa asked, looking up at him as he walked up her carpeted stairs.
"My room."
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because why?" Lissa watched, still, with a childish type of fascination as Delemir disappeared out of her view.
"Because I don't wish to talk to anyone right now."
Then his door nearly slammed, and Lissa shot a mean look over at Connor, knowing he had something to do with it. "What'd you do to him while I was asleep?" she demanded.
"Nothing. After he told me his dream, I asked if he really did dream it because it's really de-"
"You doubted him?" Lissa nearly shrieked.
"I only met the man yesterday, Melissa," Connor insisted.
"I don't care. I doubted him when I first met him, but his second day here, I believed him. Delemir is a very truthful person. He's never lied to me."
"In the week you've known him," Connor said.
Lissa looked over at him with a frightening gleam in her eyes. If looks could kill, Connor wouldn't be dead, just honestly and seriously hurting. Lissa saw him shudder and found glory in it as she continued to stare at him.
"Why don't you just shove all the crap you have about dreams someplace I don't want to know about, Connor. You two are both my friends, all right? I don't want to lose that status with either of you, but right now, Delemir does need a place to stay. I've figured out he's not exactly from here, and doesn't have money for everything. Then, you go and say that you don't believe something that, as you said he said, was so real that he could feel it. What about those dreams I've told you about over the phone where I could feel every touch across my skin?"
"I'm sorry, Lissa," Connor began, but immediately stopped when Lissa stood.
"Look. Just forget it, okay? I don't want to get into this, and I doubt Delemir would really want me to tell anyone else about it, either," Lissa said and stood up slowly.
"Where're you going?" Connor watched her move towards the stairs slowly, the thick, white, terry cloth robe she was wearing billowing slightly out behind her.
"Upstairs to talk to Delemir," she answered absently. As she mounted the stairs, she shuddered from a heat deep in her body. She pushed her hair, slick and soft from a shower she had sneaked in while Delemir and Connor had been talking, back behind her ear and felt the round top of it. She thought of Delemir, and his ears with their soft points that she had once touched. She remembered the day she had done that, in the kitchen, then it had carried onto the dining room. That had been one of the most horrific days of her life, she thought to herself.
"Delemir?" Lissa said through the door, knocking softly.
"Yes?" he asked, opening his door. He poked his head out and came nearly face to face with Lissa.
"Whoa," she said with a smile, leaning backwards slightly.
Reaching out towards her, Delemir pulled Lissa in quickly by her shoulder. Lissa emitted a slight, very quiet cry as he did so, but quieted when she was inside. She looked into Delemir's eyes and saw that they were cold, the usual deep blue now an icy blue-gray.
"Delemir, what's wrong?" she asked, walking over to the chair by the window. She sat down and touched a small figure of a ballerina in a pirouette, ready to jump into the arms of her partner that was made of clear glass. She ran her finger over another figure, another little glass ballet figure, a man this time, ready to catch the other ballerina when she jumped. "Sit down." She laid her hand at the spot in front of her where another chair was.
Delemir sighed and obliged to do so. When he sat down, he folded his hands neatly on the table in front of him. Lissa could swear that was the first time she ever saw him hunched down as he was now. She reached over and laid her hand over his and squeezed them gently. He looked up at her, his eyes still cold, and met her warm eyes.
"What is it?" Lissa asked softly. "Tell me, please."
"I cannot really explain it. After I told Connor about my dream-"
"He doesn't believe you," Lissa put in.
"I know." Delemir looked down at their joined hands and thought to himself, it looked so right. How long would he be able to sit here and be with her like this? How much longer did he have until he figured out why he was here, and what for? "He told me he didn't. But after I told him about the sensations and everything that I felt, saw, and heard, he thought I was mad, most likely. But everything was so real, so tangible that it scared me when I woke up from the first night of it. It still scares me."
"Will you tell me about it?" Lissa asked, looking deep into Delemir's eyes. She saw them warm slightly. She offered an encouraging smile and waited patiently for an answer, though that wasn't one of her strong points.
"Of course." And off he went into his dream, all of the sensations, feelings, and the sounds he had heard. When he finished, he looked up at Lissa, who was still staring at him in slight shock of his vivid memory of his dream. He saw the understanding and sympathy she had for him in her eyes. Her eyes were the first thing he had loved about her.
"When did you first begin having these dreams, Delemir?" she asked quietly, her hand still on his tightly.
"The first night I was here," he answered, averting his eyes to the window. "I have a faint memory that it's more a reality than a dream, Lissa. Do you believe me?"
"Yes," she said simply and sincerely. She looked at Delemir and saw him trying to keep his eyes away from her. "Delemir." She lifted her other hand to his cheek and made him look at her. "I do believe you. I never lie unless it's very crucial. You can believe me, I swear my life on it."
"I know," he said softly. He locked gazes with her finally and saw her feelings in her eyes. He saw compassion, sympathy, and caring there, and a number of other emotions as well, but ones he couldn't identify before she disguised them. He finally looked down at the table, saw their joined hands and the two glass figures there. "What are these?"
"Ballerinas. It seems weird to call a guy a ballerina, but I don't know another word to call him."
"What are ballerinas?" Delemir asked, lifting the girl.
"Well, you have to understand the concept of ballet. It's a kind of dance, one that takes a lot of practice and work, but it's fun. Pointe does this to your feet, though," Lissa said, gesturing to her toes that she thrust out from under the table. They were blistered and scabbed, and looked like they were in sincere pain at that moment, but they weren't painful yet.
"What in the name of Eru?" Delemir exclaimed, shocked.
"Pointe is when you dance on the very tip of your feet. I'll show you. I think I have one of my older pair of Pointe shoes in here in the closet." Lissa stood and opened the closet door. She stood all the way in it, raising herself to the balls of her feet and reached up into the top of the closet. She stretched herself out fully, a long, thin line of slightly tan skin. She was still in her thin peach nightgown, but had her terry cloth robe on over it.
When she finally went back down to her feet, she had pink shoes in her hand. She sat herself on the floor and slipped on foamy toe guards, then slipped on the shoes. She laced the pink ribbon up her calf until it reached her knee, then tied them at the crook of her knee.
"Okay. I've been out of my class for two weeks for a break, so-"
"Why a break?" Delemir interrupted.
"Because I sprained my ankle. I was doing a performance and sprained my ankle, and finished the rest of the dance on flat."
"What's flat?"
"This." Lissa demonstrated by standing flat on the ground in her shoes when they were laced up fully. "This is Pointe." She slowly raised herself up to her toes and put her arms in front of her, curved and taut like a bowstring pulled out and ready to let go.
"Oh."
Lissa went back down to flat again then sat down, undoing her shoes. When she was done, she tied the laces together and tossed the shoes up in the closet again. She began to sit down again, but Delemir stood and took her hands in his.
"Lissa," he said, suddenly breathless.
Lissa looked up at his piercing blue eyes and felt her heart catch in her throat. The look he was giving her then was one that she would remember always. His blue eyes, still carrying a slight look that held the ice from earlier in them, watched her intently, every move she made. Every time she tried to remove her gaze from his, she felt like she was bound to him then and there in that way. If she tried to move her face away, his hand shot up to her chin and kept her gaze on his.
"Delemir..." Lissa said quietly, lifting her hands to his chest.
"Don't be afraid of me, Lissa. I know someone hurt you. I see it in your eyes whenever you look at me. I don't know who did, or how, but that person isn't me. Don't imagine them to be, Melissa," Delemir said passionately.
"Delemir-" Lissa's voice caught in her throat and disabled her from speaking.
As Lissa tried to find a reason why what he said wasn't true, she felt him lean forward and press his lips against her gently. He drew back quickly, as if testing for her reaction. He felt her hands begin to tremble against him. He lifted his own hands and took hers in his. He brought her left hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss against her palm.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"F-for what?" she stammered.
"For the hurt you still feel, since it still hurts you, that it did hurt you. I wish there was something I could do." Delemir rubbed his thumb over her knuckles carefully and felt a scar there. He made a note to himself that he'd ask about it later.
"Oh, Delemir." That was all Lissa said before she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder. She felt Delemir wrap his arms around her waist and hold her against him.
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Disclaimer: Okay. I don't own the gift shop under Freedom Park. I don't own the memorial to the journalists there. I own Connor because I made him up. I don't own Pointe or ballet, though I am in ballet. I'm not in Pointe yet, though hopefully, one day, I will. I don't own Pointe shoes, in this story or in reality. ;) Let's see, anything else is already understood. Oh, I do own the laptop that everyone uses because I wrote this story on it. I own the dream that Delemir had and had a fun time making it up since it's morbid. ;) Anyway, uhm, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and the next one is coming soon! By Christmas!
