Cutting the Cord Page 12

  She goes to bed and tries to sleep. A bug scampers across the white ceiling and the shadow from the light fitting is a dark grey.

  Perhaps Father did make a blunder. Perhaps his people gave him the wrong information. As if. He hasn’t made a mistake. He has deliberately deceived her, fed her lies, tested her, hoping she is loyal enough not to visit Elga Hinkel. And he sent Kolya to follow her.

  But Kolya must have let her see him. He wanted her to know he was there. That Father had sent him.

  Is this love? How can Father mistreat her this way?

  She curls her knees up to her ribcage and clutches at herself. If only she could run away and never come back. Then she starts to shake and she can’t breathe, so she rises onto her knees and holds the wall. It is cool, hard and comforting. Only it can’t hold her. She wants a person and needs to know that she can defy Father and be in control. Not caring about the consequences, she leaps up, dresses in a black miniskirt, a red lace blouse.

  At the dojo, competitors face each other and engage in a friendly round of sparring. There is a faint smell of sweat in the air. Lukas stands on one of the mats, launching defensive moves with an appealing sense of purpose, oblivious to everything else around him. He is winning more points than his opponent. Oh, he is good. Looks like he can withstand almost anything. Her fingers ache to touch him. Noriaki approaches her.

  ‘Your instruction is already paying off,’ he says. ‘You must teach me how to train people so effectively.’

  ‘Thanks, Noriaki.’

  He smiles warmly. ‘Of course, it helps to have such a determined, strong student. With a big heart.’

  Lukas brings his opponent down, wins the match and helps the other guy up.

  ‘He’ll take the nationals,’ she says to Noriaki.

  ‘Yes.’ Noriaki walks away to speak to another student who isn’t performing as well.

  Lukas comes up to her, stroking the side of his jaw. ‘Hey, you.’

  She has to act fast before her nerves unravel: ‘Are you finished?’

  He nods.

  She steps closer to him, her breasts touching his chest. His masculine scent envelopes her. ‘Come home with me.’

  He takes a slight step back and looks away. ‘I take you back to your apartment, I won’t be able to keep my hands off you. It’s a bad idea.’

  Her mouth sets into a hard line. ‘In that case, I’ll go.’

  She heads for the stairs; unbidden tears pool in her eyes. What was she thinking? Of course he doesn’t want her. Why would he?

  ‘Anika, wait.’

  Amira halts mid-stride. Lukas runs a hand through his hair.

  ‘You say I need to learn the power of defence, and it’s true. But only against you.’ He takes her by the hand and pulls her out of the dojo. ‘Maybe you’ll teach me some other time.’

  He closes her apartment door behind them. The anger at Father is still there but, now she is alone with Lukas, she wants him to hold her and not let go, for him to know her completely. Will she be able to satisfy him? What will it feel like to have him inside her? Will she make a fool of herself? She has only ever been with one man, and that had not been her choice.

  ‘You’re sure this is what you want?’ he asks.

  She is tired of being the good girl, obedient and passive; she is choosing Lukas, but she has to look like she knows what she is doing. Her fingers search for the top button on her blouse.

  He stops her with a kiss, both sweet and haunting. How can he make her so dizzy? He tilts his face down, tracing his lips along her collarbone, the curve of her neck. His hands hold hers. Her skin tingling, she is frozen, listening to him breathing.

  He tugs at her bottom lip with his teeth. ‘The problem is that you make me lose control.’

  Then he presses his palms to her cheeks and attacks her mouth, urgently sliding his tongue in against hers. His body pins her against the wall. This is the Lukas she has sensed; his decisiveness allows her momentarily to feel safe.

  Three hours later, at around midnight, they are in her bed, and Lukas rolls onto his back. The room is mostly dark now; there is only the soft glow of a bedside lamp. His belly rumbles.

  ‘Food.’

  ‘Men are so weak,’ she replies. Her muscles are loose, like they are falling off her bones. She doesn’t care. He has held her and known part of her.

  Lukas rises, slides on his underwear, his blue jeans from his bag. He goes into the kitchen. An opening of cupboards; his footsteps come closer and he stands in the doorway.

  ‘That refrigerator needs food,’ he says. ‘Cheese, vegetables. You know, that kind of thing?’

  She rolls her eyes.

  ‘Wait here.’

  Amira props her head on her hand. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To get something we can eat.’

  She wants to catch his arm and bring him back to her, but he is already out of the room.

  Lying in bed, she tries to think how she can best paint his shapes, his tone of skin. But all she can imagine is his throat being slit by a person in a black balaclava, with blue eyes like her own. Why did he have to leave her alone?

  Fifteen minutes later, he returns with ice cream, bananas and red wine.

  ‘You came back,’ she says.

  He fills mugs with the ice cream and slices banana on top. Tumblers fill with wine. She is glad now that he has gone to the shop; the sweetness of the dessert will be perfect. They hold up their tumblers.

  ‘Prost,’ he says. ‘To us.’

  ‘To us,’ she agrees.

  She swallows some wine; it is rich, full bodied, and delicious. He hands her a mug and a spoon. Gazing at the pieces of banana, there is a sudden picture. Although she has eaten the fruit many times before, this image is new yet familiar, like deja vu. She wants to believe it is the alcohol talking, but it isn’t; it is a memory, a feeling, a ripping feeling as though someone has opened up her chest.

  The picture: a small boy, no older than two, stuffing his mouth with banana. But his face was blurry.

  Another one. He was holding onto her, crying ‘No! No! No!’

  She wouldn’t let him go, but someone was pulling him away. She couldn’t hold onto him tightly enough …

  Amira rubs her temple and takes a large swig of drink. ‘What’s wrong?’ Lukas asks.

  Words rise up within her, words that shouldn’t be spoken. ‘Too much excitement,’ she says.

  He swings an arm around her shoulders. ‘Did you get my messages while you were painting?’

  She has to think for a moment; yes, that’s right, the last he knew she was working hard as an artist. She nods. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t respond. Family problems.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound good. Tell me about them.’

  What can she say that isn’t a lie? She puts her food and wine on the bedside table. ‘I need to get some sleep.’

  ‘Eat first.’ He feeds her some ice cream and banana from his mug. ‘It will help you tomorrow.’

  She complies, although she is no longer hungry.

  ‘Why won’t you talk about your family?’ he presses.

  ‘Isn’t much to tell.’

  ‘Well, there must be something.’

  ‘My parents were strict,’ she says.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘They’re kind of … religious. My brothers and I had to believe everything our parents said, without question.’

  ‘That must have been tough.’

  She takes a mouthful of ice cream, without really tasting it: he trusts her too much. Coldness is beginning to seep into her bones. She needs to redirect the conversation away from the Knoxes.

  ‘I feel like my birth brother and mother were taken from me, which I suppose might be normal for a child who was adopted at two, right?’

  He frowns. ‘That’s young. Surely you can’t remember from when you were two?’

  ‘That’s what I thought. But I have these feelings, these flashes of things, that seem to come from a different world.
’

  ‘My uncle swears he remembers when he was a baby in a cot. He was looking at one of those colourful mobiles that turns and plays music. So maybe it’s possible to have such early memories.’

  ‘It’s confusing because I don’t know if they are memories or dreams or if I’m just making it up. They are like pictures seared on my brain.’

  ‘Have you discussed this with your family?’

  She laughs. ‘Only one of my brothers. The rest would think I’d flipped out.’

  ‘Against their religion?’

  ‘Yeah, something like that.’

  ‘You’ve said before how you want to find your birth family but haven’t been able to. I did some research. There are ways you can track them down.’

  She doesn’t like where this is heading.

  ‘They don’t seem to allow closed adoptions in Australia anymore. But there are websites you can go onto and put down your details and scan for your family. Why don’t you give it a shot? I can even help you figure out a profile for yourself, if you like.’

  Oh no! She really has been too indiscreet with him! ‘My parents wouldn’t be happy if they found out,’ she mumbles.

  ‘How would they know about it unless you told them?’

  She can’t tell him about Laith and Oscar. ‘I’d feel like I was betraying them,’ she says.

  ‘But you wouldn’t be and, besides, they should understand.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Lukas,’ she says, irritated. ‘Your father might, but mine wouldn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Her gaze flicks upwards. Why are they having this conversation? It is wrecking everything that came before. Can’t he see when to drop it?

  ‘I’ve told you why.’

  ‘But you’re unhappy. Why not try it? Or I might be able to pull some strings in the office.’

  He isn’t going to let up. She has to say something.

  ‘Look, I can’t call authorities, I can’t put my name up on websites, I can’t go through any of those usual routes. My family would not permit it. I can’t do that to them.’

  He is very quiet now, staring pensively into his tumbler. She regrets her harsh tone, the way she’s put the words.

  ‘Lukas, I’m sorry –’

  He finishes his drink. ‘Don’t be.’

  She wants to take back her anger. She’s upset him.

  ‘I haven’t been honest with you and it’s not fair. My family are different, weird, over-protective.’ Her voice is sounding tight and her head is beginning to ache.

  Lukas puts down his mug on the bedside table, leaning back against the bedhead and looking at her for a long time.

  ‘Your family won’t change how I feel about you. You are beautiful, Anika.’

  She has to blink several times to keep her eyes from brimming over. ‘You don’t know who I am. Where I’ve come from. What I’ve done.’

  ‘You’re wrong, I do know who you are.’

  Her neck is stiff. ‘How?’ she asks.

  He puts his arms around her and kisses her. ‘Just by being with you.’

  ‘You’re delusional,’ she replies. ‘Or drunk.’

  He pinches her softly at the waist. ‘We’re a good pair, then,’ he says, a broad grin on his face.

  When she wakes it is almost two in the morning. Lukas is gone. On the pillow beside her is a note:

  Sleep well, beautiful. I have an early shift. I’ll call you tomorrow.

  X Lukas

  Silence echoes beyond her breathing. She has slept with a non-Member, for personal reasons. An action that can be used to excommunicate her from the Movement. But that’s what she wants anyway, isn’t it? She is filled with restlessness and a desperate need for fresh air and walking. She rises out of bed, puts on her jeans, T-shirt and jacket. Grabs her gun.

  Outside is dark and there are no clouds to dim the almost full moon, the brightness of the stars. The streetlights cast an amber haze on the footpath as she walks along. She touches her lips with her fingertips. Sex with Lukas is so very different to her only other experience …

  It was her sixteenth birthday. She was on her bed, reading a novel about a female spy. A birthday present from Mother. She knew that Father must have approved it first. Father came into the room, startling her. He sat down beside her and announced that he had a surprise for her.

  ‘Dress up nicely for it. Maybe a skirt and a touch of make-up.’

  The sun coming through the window slanted glaringly on Mother as she appeared in the doorway. Amira squinted to see her face.

  ‘Please, why don’t we go on a picnic?’ Amira asked him.

  ‘No, today is an important occasion. Come, Mother, let’s get out of Mira’s way so she can prepare.’ He casually pulled a small parcel from a bag and left it on the bed. ‘Happy birthday.’

  They left and he closed the door. She picked up the present; it was wrapped in handmade paper with a floral print. She opened it and saw a bottle of perfume. She had never owned one before. Mother sometimes allowed her to use some of her homemade herbal essences along her collarbone. But this gift of extravagance, which she didn’t know how to use properly, made her feel almost panicky. She decided on one spray to the neck. After a scent of alcohol, there was rose and jasmine. She dressed in a black skirt, of mid-thigh length, and a sleeveless blue blouse.

  Once she was ready she walked down the stairs and Mother embraced her. ‘I’ve a birthday cake for you when you come back. Something to look forward to.’

  Father drove her to a Member’s house near Culburra Beach. She had been there before for women’s meditation sessions. It was blue weatherboard and had a mauve-coloured awning and pots filled with petunias. As usual, the curtains were drawn to discourage onlookers.

  ‘This is something special,’ Father said, ‘that will help you to be an even better Warrior. Do not disappoint me with this, Mira. If for some reason you don’t embrace the opportunity, there will be consequences.’

  His words, and Mother’s earlier mood, unnerved her. What test of Father’s did she have to pass this time?

  Inside, she realised she was not mistaken to be so terrified. Twenty-five year old Dylan, one of her fitness trainers, waited on a couch. Alone. He sprang to his feet and stared at her as they entered the room. Everyone in the Movement loved Dylan. He was tall and handsome, with blond hair and a powerful devotion. But he was certainly one of Amira’s least favourite trainers, mostly because he worked her so hard.

  She glanced downwards, trying to hide behind her hair. The air suddenly seemed dank, and she could imagine the dim yellow light from the overhead lamp pressing against the curtains, seeking a wider release.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, then?’ Father said to Dylan.

  What was the ‘it’ he was to leave them to? She dreaded the prospect of being left with Dylan on some arranged date. She didn’t know what to say to him, except to enquire how many bench presses he was pulling these days.

  ‘Father, what’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘Dylan will show you. Make sure you do as he asks. You may need to do this one day – for the Cause. You need to get used to it.’ He looked at Dylan. ‘You have an hour.’ Then as an afterthought: ‘Be gentle.’

  Father left the house. Amira heard him lock the front door.

  Dylan walked towards her. ‘I’m honoured that he has chosen me, that he would think me worthy.’ He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek; his fingers were rough and dry. ‘And of course, you’re very sweet.’

  She recoiled. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What he asked me to do. Take off your clothes.’

  She studied his expression; he didn’t blink.

  ‘What? No. Father wouldn’t ask you to do this.’

  ‘You heard what he said.’

  Dylan tugged at her blouse, like a boy eager to unwrap a lolly. Up close she could see the bristles on the surface of his jawline, threatening, waiting to burst through.

  ‘No, please, let me call my mother. Ther
e’s been some mistake.’

  ‘He doesn’t make mistakes and, besides, he told me no phone calls. His exact words. Now, come on, it’s not that bad, you’ll see.’ He lifted up her skirt. ‘You don’t know how jealous all the other guys are of me.’

  Everyone knew about this but her? She slapped his hand away. ‘There’s no reason for them to be jealous.’

  ‘Well, it’s your decision, Mira. You can walk out and leave, if you want. I’d be obliged to tell your father. But it’s your choice.’

  He put his hands on his hips and looked out of the window, as if he didn’t care how she decided. His mouth opened and he licked his top lip.

  She looked at him, trembling all over. Disobedience would lead to severe consequences. Days in solitary, or perhaps excommunication. She was powerless, but part of her also wanted to please Father, to show him she was not afraid to sacrifice her body for the Cause. That she could, and would, do anything he asked of her.

  She lifted her chin. ‘Isn’t there a bed or something?’

  Dylan smiled at her. ‘Right this way.’

  The bedroom was decorated with flowers, and the scent of incense filled the air. Sandalwood. Selena’s unmistakable touch.

  ‘Do you want me to help you with your clothes?’ Dylan asked.

  ‘I’ll do it myself,’ she replied.

  He took his jeans, T-shirt and underwear off. His body was overly muscular, his skin thin, his penis already standing erect with pulsating purple veins. Better get this over with. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long. She undressed and lay down on the bed. He kissed her and rubbed his hand between her legs and her mind floated out of the room and she tried to think of the birthday cake, of the paperback she was reading, anything but his cramming into her, and how she felt herself draining away.

  At last he moaned and spasmed and it was done.

  Then, there was a creaking at the back door, and Kolya suddenly appeared in the doorway. She and Dylan were naked on the bed. Quickly Amira scurried to find her clothes. There was a sting between her legs and she was conscious of the thin trickle of blood on her inner thigh. Dylan sprawled out on his back.