“Let’s talk about something else,” I said in the end. “You, perhaps.”
A laugh burst out of her, trailing off into little giggles when she saw I was serious. “What, Rojan Dizon, walking advert for the male ego, wants to talk about something other than himself? Oh, I love it when you make me laugh.”
It was hard to be offended when she was right, and that’s why I loved going there.
And there, just as it had sneaked up on me, threatened to drown me, it all went away. I was at Erlat’s, drinking tea, and she was laughing at me, with me, poking fun and teasing, and everything else was very far away. It was almost as good as sleep.
As always, Erlat knew what to say, how to get me out of my own head. I tried to do the same for her, told a few scathing and sarcastically drawn stories to make her laugh some more. That laugh did wonders for me, it always had. Showed me just how ridiculous I was. We ignored the boom-shudders and forgot the world outside, just for a few hours.
We only touched on the rest once, when Erlat said with sudden seriousness, “Sometimes you scare me. What the hell do I do with a man who won’t let me seduce him?” She tried to laugh, but it came out wrong and she tried to cover it with more words. “What are you scared of, Rojan?”
“You seducing me” brought a smile, but that night… it was a rare thing for me. A time when I felt I could be as truthful as true gets. Something about sitting there with Erlat, drinking tea like we didn’t have a care in the world, like the Storad weren’t at the gates and nothing was wrong, even though everything was wrong. Something about the way she looked at me, and how just being there knocked me sideways so I almost wasn’t me. Maybe this was what templegoers felt when they went to confess their sins to the priests. “Screwing it up, that’s what I’m scared of. Failing when people are relying on me. That part scares me witless, because I am world-class at screwing it up.”
What I didn’t say, because there are some truths that are too true to be said out loud, was that I was coming to realise that that was why I was in love with Jake. Partly because I admired her – I loved the way she fought back against every crappy thing life had thrown at her, had scratched and clawed to get a hint of happiness, wouldn’t, couldn’t give up. But also I was beginning to see that I wouldn’t make a play for her, and not just because of Pasha, because he was my friend and I couldn’t do it to him, even if I’d had a hope in hell. That was my excuse, but it wasn’t the reason. If I couldn’t or wouldn’t try, I wouldn’t fail, wouldn’t bugger it up in my usual style. She was safe to be in love with.
Erlat said nothing, and I was glad because I didn’t want to think about it any more, the prospect of failing. Instead she smiled a secret little smile, poured more tea and changed the subject.
Maybe confession is good for the soul after all, because the next thing I recall is Erlat shaking me, and me all but falling off the lounger with treacle for brains and what felt like a slug for a tongue.
“You do say some strange things while you’re asleep,” she said while I tried to remember which way was up. An odd tone to her voice that I couldn’t quite pin down.
I got myself arranged in something like normal order, and realised I actually felt halfway to decent, bar the ever-present hollow ache in my belly. “Like what?”
She didn’t answer but made herself busy with hot water and tea, with setting out two plates on the low table. I steeled myself for grey mush, but it wasn’t too bad. At least it had the texture of real food, even if it tasted like ashes. At that point it was almost luxury.
“Good thing I didn’t have any more clients booked,” she said. “You snoring and whiffling on about Jake would have quite put them off their stroke.”
I could feel the blush starting round my ears, but I didn’t even get the chance to defend myself, because Erlat was clearly enjoying this.
“Didn’t even have the decency to share my bed. Of course, you’d be ruined for other women then. Maybe that’s why, hmm? Or you’re just scared. I bet that’s it.”
She was chattering – not like her, too quick, too smooth, covering up some nameless fear perhaps. Even so, there was a possibility my face might boil off in embarrassment – hell, even talking about what I was going to be doing in an hour or two, creeping behind enemy lines, exposing myself to crap-only-knew-what, seemed preferable. Actually, right then, Namrat turning up and offering to eat my soul seemed preferable to talking about why I wouldn’t take Erlat to bed.