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There's only emptiness in my thoughts now. There are a few fresh trails of airplanes in the sky. They fly high above us. They appear… and disappear again, after a few minutes. I don't know how many of them I've already watched in the past hour.
I'm lying here, in her arms, but ever since I've finally got a grip of myself again, no one of us has spoken a single word.
Her right arm is still around me, her right hand holding my right upper arm. Her left hand lies weightlessly at my chest. My head rests on her right shoulder… I just have to lean my head a little sideways to let it rest against her chest. What a beautiful moment, actually. The shade of that olive tree is just right, the little breeze from the sea, the warm white sand.
I lean a little more towards her, feeling her contours beneath her t-shirt.
I love you, Audrey. I don't have to say it again, I've already told you I don't know how many times lately. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I'm so lucky that you're here with me.
She must have felt me move. Her hug tightens for a moment, and she bows her head down to place a kiss on my head.
What are you thinking about?, she asks me.
I have no idea. Am I thinking about anything at all? Ever since I told her the truth about my worst days, I've only stared out into the sky. No single thought crossed my mind. Nothing. The pictures didn't linger in my head, as they used to.
It must be some kind of psychological emergency mechanism – that whenever you cry your eyes out because of something bad, it'll go by after some time. Once you've cried enough, the thoughts about it disappear and then you're left back, empty minded, staring out into the nowhere, free to start all over again, from scratch. Something in the back of your head doesn't allow to think back to the bad stuff any longer. This is why the crying stops, finally. Nothing has changed, the world is still the same, but right now I just don't feel like thinking back.
Nothing… I finally answer, I've just been staring out into the sky. I turn my head a little to look into her eyes. And you?
She lifts her left hand and places a finger on my forehead, traces the contours of my nose, my chin and lets her hand run down my body until she grabs my right hand.
I've watched you… she says, softly, these are the arms that carried me a whole night long. Into freedom.
She lifts my arm up. I just let her to it.
Between the tattoos, there are two large bruises that I've caught in Armenia, a week ago.
I softly grab her hand with mine and our fingers interlock.
Do you even remember that night? When I found her, she had obviously gotten drugged by the Chinese. She had been hysterical, even shouting at me first, before she finally realized that it was me, who was in front of her, not they.
Some parts, yes, she tells me, like when you sent that car down into the lake and got rid of all the things that you couldn't carry. And you talked… all the way, so that I wouldn't fall asleep.
I look into her eyes. She hasn't come to that sacred place of empty-mindedness, like I have. Her eyes tell me without any words that she's thinking back to that night, probably even back further. I wish I could take these memories from you, I tell her.
Don't. They're not only bad.
I shake my head in disbelief.
That night… nobody else ever did anything like that for me. You risked your own freedom to save me.
Freedom. What a strange word. I've had so much time in my life to think about that whole concept of freedom – maybe I thought about it too much. Because in the end, my only conclusion was, that there is no freedom. You're never free. I've been sent into wars, allegedly fighting for freedom… of who? Mine? No, I was in the army. That's almost the opposite of freedom. The people back home? They couldn't have cared less, what was going on halfway round the globe. The people living in Afghanistan, in Serbia, in Iraq? Looking back now, I don't really think we ever managed to give anyone of them any freedom. There's no country on this whole planet where I'll ever be free to live a normal life, not after what I've done. Even if I go home now, they'll either kill me for knowing the truth about where Audrey spent the past half year or they'll put me behind bars for life.
Do you think we're free now?, I ask her. I don't want to ruin your joyful mood, Audrey, but I need you to stop dreaming.
She nods. Yes.
I shake my head. No, we're not. I point at our boat that waits for us in the middle of the bay. Over there are drugs worth millions of Dollars. We're travelling with fake identities on a mafia boat and they expect us to be in Venice next Monday, if border control or the DEA doesn't catch us first. Does that sound free to you?
She sighs and looks at me.
You'll be free in two weeks, Audrey, I tell her. If all this goes well, you'll have your life back.
Do you really think I'll be free then?
She has held me in her arms all this time but now she curls up and snuggles up against my chest. It's a gilded cage that awaits me, Jack. Nothing else. Ever since dad decided to run for president, I didn't even remember anymore how freedom felt like. Do you think the secret service would have ever let me get on a boat and just sail the Mediterranean Sea? Or have trip to some city with friends? Or spend a day lying on the beach like we do now?
I put my arms around her. She looks like's going to continue her story. It's best if I say nothing at all.
They followed our every step. The press were around, always, ready to tear you apart in their articles for wearing a wrong dress, speaking to the wrong person, waiting for any embarrassing moment to take a picture and make you look like a fool. Living in the White House is even worse. There are people everywhere, trying to be there for you but in the end they just steal your privacy though they don't even want to. I haven't had a single day for myself in years, not even a few hours. I haven't had any real friends because I learned that I could trust nobody.
She takes a deep breath and turns her head to look into my eyes. Or is it just me, who's crazy?
No. I softly stroke over her shoulder. I can't even imagine being in such a situation. For me, the past years were a lot different. Mostly solitude.
There was no-one who I could ever speak to. Or tell something like I just told you.
Maybe her solitude just wore a different cape than mine.
What about Marc?
No. Living such a life was always his big goal, I guess. She shakes her head. He would have declared me insane. And given my past, that was always a walk on the edge. If you've had psychological problems at one point in your life, you're branded with it. The slightest non-conformity will trigger anyone around you to go 'oh wow, look at her, she's acting insane again'.
There's so much hurt in her eyes. And anger. It boils behind her eyes, all the injustice that she's had to endure, in that world in Washington D.C. where only being perfect means that you're good enough. She always wanted to be perfect, I remember. In her job, her looks, even in her relationships. Maybe it was different in ours… because we had such an odd one. I never wanted you to try to be perfect, Audrey. You were perfect just the way you were, just like you're now. I'd never judge you for any of your quirks. You didn't speak a word for almost a month, but I would have never urged you to change. You didn't want to sleep on a bed, the first few days – neither did I. You had to let your anger out that night, beating me, but that was nothing personal. You didn't mean it, you just couldn't keep it locked up inside you. Just like when my anger burst out an hour ago. I didn't mean to shout at you but somehow there was no choice. In some points in our lives, we just don't have it under control what we're doing. Forget being perfect, it just doesn't work.
We keep lying in the shade. I just hold her close because there are no words which could ever make this better. I can't change her past, not the part of what she had to endure in China, not the part of what she had to go through after she came back and none of these moments when they slighted her for being mentally unstable.
She grabs a handful of the white sand and lets it trickle between her fingers.
Maybe this is what they call freedom. Right now, there's nobody judging you for anything. You'll eventually go back to your gilded cage, but your dad is no longer President. Your life will be much easier than it was in the past years.
I wonder – is she thinking the same thoughts? About how her life will be in a few weeks?
Maybe you're right, I sigh and let go of her to lie on my back. Maybe this really is freedom. I close my eyes. It is really hard. I've always hated having my eyes closed or being in the complete darkness. No chance to say where the next hit will come from.
Right now, there's no hit. On the contrary. She must have turned around and put her hand on my stomach.
Enjoy it, she tells me.
I'm trying. I really am, Audrey, trying to live the moment and neither think back to the awful past or forward to the uncertain future ahead of me. Damn it, open your eyes again. Here she is. Seeing her beautiful face is exactly what I needed to stop the awful thoughts from returning.
She must have seen it, that moment when I ripped my eyes open again but they were still filled with horror for the split of a second. Audrey, you can't make me enjoy this kind of freedom. I'm not ready for it.
Let's go back to the boat, she says, and for a moment I'm really glad that there's something again that'll distract me from my damn thoughts.
Holding on to the life ring that I gave her before, she swims the way back. I follow her closely, balancing the plastic bag with the transponder on the other life ring, trying not to get it wet.
It takes a while until it's in its rack and attached to the cables. We'll switch it on tomorrow, when we continue our journey. Tonight we'll stay here in this bay, alone. If this was my boat, I'd never leave. But we have to. Because freedom is an illusion.
Audrey went downstairs and warmed up two cans of chili. She even told me that she's hungry – a good sign. In all the past weeks, she never said she was hungry. I didn't even feel hungry myself, I rather compelled myself to eat. No matter what. As long as it isn't stale bread or dried-out rice, I would have been okay with anything.
We end up sitting at bow of the ship, each of us a bowl of chili in our hands and between us what's left of that bottle of wine that I found downstairs a few days ago.
I give in to the urge to apologize for only having bought that awful canned chili and goulash soup. I was out of money and it was just the cheapest and quickest thing to get a tray of each. Back then, I just didn't care.
She just laughs and grabs a bite, acting like it was delicious.
I have to smile. No, it's definitely not delicious. It's a cheap Turkish can for less than a Dollar.
What would you rather have right now?, I ask her.
She takes a moment to think and then puts some of the chili onto her spoon. Close your eyes and open your mouth, she says.
I do.
Given that we're in Greece right now, that's a delicious Greek salad with feta cheese and olives. She feeds me the spoon.
It's a miracle what your imagination can do. Of course it's just the chili, but hearing her words, how she describes preparing that Greek salad, I can almost taste it. She was always a great cook, though it were only a handful of evenings, in which I got the chance to taste it.
Now it's your turn, she smiles.
I'm very bad at this.
Come on, try. I don't believe you. She closes her eyes and waits for me to feed her a bite of the awful chili along with some much better food for her imagination.
Okay. We'll be in Italy in a few days… so think of pasta, penne al arrabiata, with tomato sauce, lots of basil, garlic, a teaspoon of honey, chili and cheese gratiné, a bit of parmesan on top… She indulges in her imagination. Well, it's not too hard to imagine eating penne al arrabiata when you're acutally eating spicy chili.
She finally opens her eyes again, still smiling.
That really sounds like you know what you're talking about…, she teases me.
I've lived alone for quite a couple of years Audrey, I learned at least a few things to keep myself alive.
Now she's laughing. Like cooking?
Maybe, I shrug, take the bottle of wine and drink a little out of it. We're alone, in our own world, free. Nobody cared to bring glasses.
She takes the bottle out of my hand and drinks from it, too, until she bursts into laughter. I guess it's because this is the first time in her whole life that she has drank wine out of the bottle.
Come on, it's my turn again, she remarks and puts some more chili on her spoon.
I close my eyes.
This is the first time – in what feels like ages – that I enjoy eating anything.
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