Respite
They came to the new town in the dead of night, and went straight up to their empty, rented room. Sara had given them sleeping bags, and Ardeth unrolled and unzipped them, laying them out flat on top of each other. Rozokov taped up some dark fabric for makeshift curtains.
Neither of them complained of the carpeted floor--at least it didn't remind them of the cots on which they'd slept only weeks before. It was late, and they had stopped to feed in the woods on the way into town. Ardeth undressed, down to underwear and her three-day-old t-shirt, and lay down. Dmitri soon followed, still fully clothed, save for shoes. He put his arm around Ardeth's waist, his face pressed close to her neck, now bare of her once-long hair.
The dark around them was wholly silent. They could still not be totally sure, even now, that they were safe--that no one would walk through that door, hurt them, trap them again. Ardeth was grateful she did not dream, because she knew she would dream of a boy with rough hands who wanted to pretend she was dead while he raped her. She moved closer to Rozokov, there in their makeshift bed, and covered his hand on her hip with her own.
Dmitri kissed the back of her neck in a contented way, his breath cool and even. Ardeth could remember, distantly, that she had once feared him, but now the thought of that was like fearing her own brother, lover, father. The terms blurred and intermingled in her mind, for there was no word worthy of what Rozokov had become to her.
"How do we ever move on?" Her words were a whisper, but she shuddered at them, feeling as if she had broken some taboo by disturbing the quiet.
"Ardeth..." Dmitri stopped because he had no answers.
"How...how can I forget what's happened? Should I forget? I can't stop thinking about what it was like in..."
"Shhhh. Ardeth, there is no forgetting. The time will pass, and you will always remember." His voice was old, sad, final. "You must push these memories aside, think of other things, or they will consume you."
Ardeth shivered again and turned to face him. She placed her hands on his shoulders, pressing her face close to his chest. "I'm so afraid." Her voice was even softer this time, as if she hoped no one would ever hear.
"We both are, child."
Rozokov lifted her chin and met her eyes squarely. He brushed her lips with his, and Ardeth returned his kiss with a passion that was edged with desperation. The night seemed so long now, so alone. She kissed his chin, her fingers restless on his still-clothed chest, needing to be closer. Rozokov's hands brushed under the hem of her shirt, caressing the skin of her abdomen. Ardeth npped at his Adam's apple, smiling at the gutteral sound he gave in response.
They loved in the only way they had left, after violation, desecration, rebirth. The blood from Dmitri's throat was hot and sweet, as it had been at her first taste, but now it satisfied a deeper (and yet somehow less selfish) hunger. His mouth caressed her wrist as the blood flowed there as well. Ardeth felt like part of a great circuit of healing, of need, of want. Her moans were drowned in his flesh, echoing in his veins.
Ardeth thought of the black sun on the t-shirt she wore, from Sara. In this new world she inhabited, the only real sun was black and invisible, half a world away. She had gone into the black spaces of the world, and would never see another sun again.