Chapter Nineteen

Durga

I woke up sometime in the middle of the night and reread the letter, especially that horrible P.S. Then I decided I’m not powerless and I’m not going to lie here and do nothing. She’s my soulbound, my heart, and no matter what she says, I’m not walking away because of a scribbled note that I don’t understand.

Something happened, and until I know what I did wrong, I’ll just have to grasp at straws doing anything that comes to mind until I find the magic that will at least make her talk to me.

I groggily stumble out of bed, determined to make the most out of this day. Even though my heart is heavy with confusion and worry, I refuse to let it dampen my spirits. Raisa may have left without an explanation and ordered me not to contact her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t show her how much I care in other ways.

First things first, I make breakfast. Although I rely on street food, as a male orc, I have a penchant for cooking up a storm in the kitchen. I strain my memory. Did I ever tell her that cooking is a male orc’s way of courting his female? That I never cook breakfast for myself; I only cooked it every morning for her. Perhaps she thought I just loved to cook, rather than that I was trying to woo her.

Was I really so dumb I didn’t tell her how much she means to me? How could we have shared what we did in the bedroom—and shower and couch and kitchen table—if I didn’t care for her?

I raid my pantry, gathering ingredients to prepare a delicious feast fit for a queen. As the aroma of sizzling bacon fills the air, my mind races with ideas on how to make this meal extra special.

With breakfast prepared, I neatly package the food as I text Marissa to see if I can borrow her car. Since Others have mostly been confined to the Zone all these years, few of us have a car—we don’t need them.

I wish I could pack a note with her food, but Raisa said not to contact her, so I won’t. I know I’m splitting hairs, but somehow in my mind, writing a note is breaking her written request. Delivering breakfast is not.

We all take the fire engine on practice runs, so I know how to drive. Not wanting to break Marissa’s car, it takes long minutes as I go about ten miles an hour from the Zone to Raisa’s house.

When I finally get there, I use the key she gave me weeks ago so I could check on her place and then place her still-warm breakfast outside her apartment door, ring her bell, and then scout the neighborhood to see if I catch the scent of those thugs. She may not want me to communicate with her, but I can keep watching over her from afar.

I vow to keep bringing her breakfast until she agrees to at least talk to me.

“What’s wrong with you Durga?” I ask myself in the car on the way home. “Breakfast? Is that the best you can do?”

I come up with a plan, which will at least keep me busy, and at best will make her see there’s something real between us that she can’t throw away, at least without a conversation.

I’m a great cook, but I’ve never baked anything in my life. Learning to bake will keep me busy. Raisa has a sweet tooth, so I spend my free time discovering the world of cookies and bars. They’ll travel well.

The next morning, in addition to cooking her breakfast, I bring her a pan of brownies and one of my succulents. My heart tightens in my chest when I see a plate from my house sitting on the floor outside her apartment door.

I delivered her omelet on it to her yesterday. She washed it and set it out for me as though she expected me to come back this morning. I take my first full, deep breath since I walked into my apartment and found her gone.

She may not want me to contact her, she may have taken all her possessions back to her apartment, but she is communicating with me. Maybe I have a chance to win her back after all.

There’s a spring in my step as I leave her apartment. Just as I did yesterday, I walk the neighborhood, sniffing for those thugs. When I return to her apartment through the alley, I see what has to be her car in the parking lot. That first night, she mentioned her red Ford Fiesta. There it sits.

I can do more than cook, bake, and give her more succulents. There are gifts of service I can provide.

The next morning, after retrieving a clean empty plate and exchanging it for one full of fruit and still-warm banana nut muffins, I go to the parking lot and get to work on her car with the supplies I brought.

Using the coiled garden hose attached to her building, I wash and wax the car. It’s part of the skill set I learned at the firehouse. Washing her little red car is a lot easier than a huge fire engine, and a lot more satisfying knowing it will make her life easier.

By accident, I notice her driver’s side door is unlocked. If we were on speaking terms, I would scold her because it’s dangerous. There’s a steering wheel lock, but it still leaves her vulnerable. It does, though, give me the opportunity to detail the interior.

When I pull back the seat and ease my large frame through the door, a wave of odor hits me that’s so vile I have to step out of the car. The scent of months-old vomit hits me like a fist. Still, I make headway on the interior of her car, taking generous breaks to go outside and breathe.

Her apartment is on the other side of the building, so I know she’s not watching me. She’ll get a nice surprise the next time she slides into her front seat.

The next day, I continue my routine, only before I check her neighborhood, I leave eight air fresheners in a fan on her front seat. Eight little pine trees in different colors and with different scents. To my orc nose, the car still reeks, but perhaps her human nose will only be able to smell a mountain forest.