He’s really too pleased with himself. I think of Peter Pan flying off into Neverland, taking Wendy with him. I think of sword fights and fairies. That’s how it feels in the clearing—like magic.
Only magic isn’t real. Flying isn’t real either, even if it felt like that on the back of his bike.
“You know, if I were another girl, I might be worried about all this secrecy. You might have dug a ditch out here for all I know.”
His smile slips away, and I regret my words. Why can’t I just accept this moment for what it is? Why can’t I trust anyone? My insides churn, faster and harder. How did I get so broken?
His hand takes mine, warm and dry and comforting. “If that’s what you think, why did you come with me?”
His words are soft, more curious than accusing.
“I’m not some other girl,” I tell him. I’ve looked death in the face my whole life. My father is a murderer. My fiancé is a monster. “I’m afraid of dying, but I’m more afraid of never living.”
Understanding flickers in his eyes. He knows I mean more than just drawing breath. More than just running. I dream of the day I can be safe enough to really enjoy life. To do more than survive.
It’s why I came with him. He’s a breath of life.
“It’s nothing scary,” he assures me. “It’s…like a present.”
My heart skips. “A present? Because your presents have a tendency to be scary.”
That makes him laugh. “Not this one.”
“What is it?” I tease him. “A battle ax? A sword?”
He just smiles mysteriously and leads me into the grass.
There is no path here. We follow the tree line, walking through lush grass already damp with dew. Then the trees break, revealing a structure standing at the top of a hill. Is it a house? But no, it is made entirely of windows. Or at least, there used to be windows. Now there are tall empty spaces where glass would go. It could almost pass for an old greenhouse except for the elaborate dome on the top.
And the turrets.
It reminds me of a woman. An old stately woman with gray hair and a serenity that only comes from experience. I don’t look at her and think, she once was beautiful. I think, she is beautiful. Every wrinkle in her skin, every crack in the stone, stands for a secret she kept.
“What is this place?” I breathe.
He is quiet a moment. I look over to find him studying me, an uncertain light in his eyes. He’s studying me, I realize, and that both unnerves and charms me, that he would be that interested in me, that he wants to see beneath the smooth, waxed surface of my skin.
“I’m not sure. The house is two klicks south of here. Or what’s left of it. This was… a detached ballroom? An observatory? Maybe both.”
A ballroom. That sounds right.
I’m too excited now. I let go of his hand and run ahead, finding the door even though every window is open. There is no actual door either, just an empty frame. I step inside and look up. The ceiling is faded, scrubbed from the inside each time a storm rages. But I can still see the painting of cherubic angels.
I can’t even begin to guess when this place was built or how long it has lain abandoned, but somehow, a few panes of window have survived, mostly near the ceiling or the base, where they were partially protected by a turret outside. I couldn’t see them from outside because they were too murky, too muted to reflect the moonlight. The gloom of them matched the gloom inside, camouflaged.
But here, I can see the windows clearly, blocking the sight of the trees. From inside I can see everything.
He is standing by the door when I look back. His arms are folded. He leans against the empty doorframe, his face shrouded in shadow. Somehow I’m in the middle of the room. I forgot myself for a moment, forgot to be worried. Forgot to be afraid.
I approach him slowly, feeling somehow shy. He’s done filthy things to my body, and I’ve done them to him. But now I am just a girl who’s been given a present by a boy.
I look down for a moment at my shoes and the marble floor beneath, made murky with time. “Not that I don’t appreciate you bringing me here. But why?”
Of all the things he could have given me. He could have taken me to see a movie. He could have brought me a flower. Instead he took me here, knowing this would mean more than anything.
Not just why. How?
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t take payment from my body, not yet. “I thought you might want to dance here.” He nods toward the floor. “Like the roof.”