Page 81 of Liar Byrd
“Watch.” He takes another inhale, holds it, then slowly exhales the smoke into the air, forming another smoke ring. He then passes it back to me.
I cough only a little this time, and a slow haziness settles over me.
I have never been drunk or high before, but now I understand the appeal.
It’s like someone throwing a blanket over your head, muffling or quieting everything. I picture myself huddled in a fort during a furious storm, feeling safe as the storm becomes less frightening.
I kick my legs as we pass it back and forth.
“You’re not afraid I’ll push you over the edge?”
His soft question lingers between us, and I glance at him, taking in his odd smile, aware of how close he’s sitting and how easily he could do it.
A nudge in the middle of my back and I’d go right over. The only thing I could grab was him, and if he was the one doing the pushing, I can’t see him stopping my fall.
I peer over the edge.
It’s a death drop. We’re maybe thirty feet from the ground. No matter how you landed on that stone front entrance, you’d die. On your head, instantly. On you’re back, probably just as quickly. On your feet, you’d break every bone and die in agony.
“No.” I turn to pass the cigarette back to Makhi to find his strange smile is missing.
“Why?”
I shrug, looking away. “I guess I don’t care.”
What do I have to look forward to except fear? Jeremiah’s acolytes will eventually track me down and drag me back to him, and I’ll go back to being raped on a nightly basis until I die on my childbed like his other wives. Or, most likely, until I’m too old for him to have any interest in, and a new, younger arrival captures his gaze.
Then it won’t be childbirth that kills me. He will.
I get up, tip over, screaming as I try to save myself.
Maybe I’m not as ready and willing to die as I thought.
Hard hands grip me, yanking me back to safety.
Makhi is breathing fast, holding me with both hands. His grip is painful.
All I can think to say is, “You dropped your cigarette.”
“But I caught you.”
We stare at each other for two full seconds, the silence a sharp, tangible thing. A tingle of electricity sparks from me to him and from him to me.
His fingers tighten slightly, and my belly cramps.
“I have to go,” I say, wanting to run away from this strange feeling.
He releases me so reluctantly that I can tell he’s forcing himself to do it. I stand up, more carefully this time, and walk over to the roof door.
When I peer over my shoulder as I step inside, his head is bent, and his hands are busy rolling another smoke. They shake ever so slightly.
As if he feels the weight of my stare, he lifts his head. “Don’t come up here again.”
I turn to leave, and a whisper creeps across the roof and tunnels into my ear.
“Or near me. I’m poison. Stay away.”
The door slams shut behind me, and I flee down the stairs, my steps unsteady, and his dark whisper echoing in my ears.
