Chapter Eighteen

Durga

I know something’s wrong. Humans evidently feel nothing on their end of the soulbond, but every waking minute of the day, I feel a connection with Raisa. I know when she’s happy—most of the time—and when she’s horny, also most of the time.

Even though I wasn’t around, I also knew when she stubbed her toe last week, or when that guy from Baltimore refused to pay for illustrations she’d already completed for a book he was writing—asshole.

Something is so terribly wrong that I ask Chief Brokka if I can leave my shift early. “I’ll stay at the ready if we get a call. I… just need to check on something,” I’d explained. He agreed. It helps that the Zone is contained in a ten-block area. I can arrive at a call anywhere in the Zone within three minutes if I run.

My anxiety increases the closer I get to our apartment. It spikes as I take the stairs two at a time. The moment I open the door, I know she’s not here. The burned sugar smell of her sadness overpowers the smell of scorched galamash on the stove.

I don’t know why I call her name as I search the small apartment; I know she’s gone. It’s not surprising to see the white note on the table. Picking it up with trembling fingers, I keep it between my thumb and forefinger as though it’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever touched.

My apartment feels dark with her soulbound light no longer filling it.

As I carry it to the couch, I wonder what it could possibly say that would be a more eloquent message than my lonely succulents on the windowsill. I stare at them, my eyes so unfocused that I see double. But no matter what tricks I play on myself, those aren’t my plants and her plants in little couples, they’re just my plants.

My attention turns to the note.

Durga,

Let me apologize. I never wanted to impose. Those guys scared the shit out of me and it was so very nice of you to offer me to stay at your place. And, wow, that you went by my apartment every day to see if it was safe, that was above and beyond.

Three weeks is a long time and I don’t want to outstay my welcome. So thanks for letting me crash at your place. I know I owe you.

She wrote more, then scratched it out so thoroughly she made a little hole in the paper in one spot.

She even signed it—Raisa—as if I didn’t know who wrote it. As though we are perfect fucking strangers.

Perhaps the worst part of the note is the P.S: It’s best if you don’t try to contact me. After all, what is there to say?

I’m not seeing double anymore. For some reason it’s as though I’m looking through a waterfall.

I’m still on duty, so I don’t take off my clothes; I just stumble into my bedroom and lie on the bed, wanting to fade into oblivion, but that’s not the way it works. I’m wide awake, my mind whirling.

So much was lost when we came through the Rift: not just family, but oral traditions and books. What happens when your soulbound mate rejects you? I have no idea, but I imagine it feels like I do right now. It’s like my heart has been ripped, still beating, from my chest.