The sixth sense

Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8
Lili
THE FIRST HALF OF THE DAY lasts forever, one lesson after another, one break after another. The classmates are trying to talk to me, but the only things they hear in response are 'yes' and 'no'.
"Lily, it's lunchtime!" Pauline shouts, trying to dampen the voices around us. She grabs my hand and pulls me to the exit where Amar's checking the permissions to have lunch outside of school. We take the reports out of our bags and show them to him. Outside, the sun's shining brightly; its rays are reflecting in the windows, blinding our vision and creating a beautiful pattern of light on the new foliage.
"Where are they?" Pauline mutters, quickly typing a new text on the phone while the other students keep leaving school.
Finally, I see Adam. It's impossible not to notice him; he towers over the crowd. Emma's walking next to him and they're holding hands. I swallow an unpleasant lump stuck in my throat. Then, I see Paul. He watches me with a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips.
"Well, Lily, what do you think about our asylum?"
"It's not that bad. I've seen worse." I'm trying really hard not to lose it. Laughing, I push a strand of hair behind my ear. I can feel Adam's gaze on me, and I don't know where to hide from him. "Does anyone happen to know Cecile's phone number? She wanted to have lunch together, but I don't think I can find her in the crowd."
Emma frowns, puzzled. "I thought you'd have lunch with us. . .Paul, what have you done to scare her off?" she asks rudely.
Paul's eyebrows jump in surprise. "Why do you think it was me? Last I checked, the role of a royal bitch in our band belonged to Pauline." He points to his sister with a comical gesture. Only now do I realize how much they look alike.
Pauline shrugs indifferently and without looking up from her phone, she says, "I behaved like an angel who came down from heaven."
"Nobody offended me," I interrupt their arguing. "I just don't want to become an unnecessary addition to your company."
Emma comes closer and takes my hand in hers. "Lily," she smiles warmly with so much kindness in her look, "I understand that the move wasn't your decision. You're not an unnecessary addition; we're one family now. And I'll be glad to know you better."
Her confession stumbles me. 'I don't want to know you and I don't want to see you anywhere near Adam!' my inner voice screams. But I force an awkward smile and nod. "Okay, then where are we going to have lunch?"
"In the park! The weather's amazing today. I suggest we buy sandwiches and sit right on the grass under the sun."
It's Paul's turn to speak, "I'm glad you're with us! I'll buy you a sweet donut on the occasion, but I can't promise it'll be sweeter than me. There're not many things in the world that are sweeter than me," he says cheerfully, moving his eyebrows up and down.
"If that's how you normally flirt, you're gonna die a virgin," Pauline declares in a mundane tone, and Emma bursts out laughing.
"Pauline, my little sister, that's how I normally warm up." He graces me with a radiant smile and then says in a languid voice, "Lily, I can't stop wondering if I've ever seen a girl more beautiful than you . . . young Julia Roberts was pretty too but believe me, she doesn't stand a chance . . ."
The entire scene looks so comical and ridiculous; I smile and Emma giggles again.
"See, Pauline, I'm not as much of a lost cause as you think I am."
"Congratulations, brother. Your stand-up was a success. The next stage is a circus performance."
He waves her off. "It's envy speaking in you now because all the family charm's running in my blood and not in yours. And I think I've made it clear I'm not a universal evil. I didn't offend anyone. Don't you think you owe me an apology for digging on me?" he asks with a scoff.
"Enough grimacing," Adam barks harshly.
We all freeze for a second. Adam stands with his elbows against someone's car, smoking a cigarette. His gaze is focused on Paul. A mixture of indifference and aggression fills his look.
Paul opens his mouth, intending to say something, but Emma stops him, "Please don't."
She looks into his eyes, and he bites his lip, hesitating.
"Please," Emma repeats in a low voice.
Paul gives Adam an angry look. "Someday, she won't be there to protect you."
"She'll always be there," he responds, exhaling smoke with a mocking grin on his luscious lips.
To my surprise, Paul suddenly leaves. Judging by everyone's faces, it's not the first time that is happening.
"Paul," Emma calls after him, "we were going to have lunch together!"
He doesn't say anything. Instead, he takes out his phone and types someone a text message.
"Leave him," Pauline tells her, "or he'll return and start another fight."
'Another fight,' I repeat mentally and then look at Adam, trying to understand what just happened. He looks anywhere but not at me.
"Adam, could you stop treating him like that?" Emma asks angrily. "He was so sweet with Lily and it's exactly what she needs now!"
"Screw him," Adam says gloomily and then takes another hit. "I forgot I needed to do something urgent." With those words said, he walks away from us.
This time Pauline and Emma look surprised. Obviously, Adam's behavior today is not what they are used to.
"Adam!" Emma shouts, running after him. "Wait! Let's talk."
She catches up with him and they disappear around the corner.
"What the hell happened to him?" Pauline mutters thoughtfully. Then she looks at me, saying, "Looks like you and I are going to have lunch together. Let's go to the café. I hate sitting on the grass, flapping away the ants."
"Is Adam always like this?" I dare to ask.
Pauline shakes her head. "No, Adam is more like a story about the valiant knight. You know, when all the virtues are combined in one person? Adam would be that person."
"Then why does he behave like that?"
"Paul's pissing him off. However, today it's mutual like never before. But don't worry about that, Lili, it's not about you at all. Sometimes people in a bad mood give others a dose of their own medicine."
Pauline takes out a pack of female thin cigarettes and offers me one.
"I don't smoke, thank you," I say on autopilot.
She points her chin to the nearest cafe on the corner. "What do you think about the Parisian brasseries?"
"I haven't visited them yet," I answer with a chuckle.
"Then we definitely need to sit on the terrace and flirt with the office clerks!"
She chooses a table next to the older men, and smiling sweetly, asks them for a lighter. Men break into smiles and start a conversation.
"With your height, you need to carefully choose clothes for your wardrobe," Pauline suddenly says. "Otherwise, they'll easily take you for a fourteen-year-old teenager. No sneakers, no T-shirts or sweatshirts," she adds instructively and gives my converse a meaningful look.
"Screw you," I respond, smiling. Then I lean back in my chair and look into her eyes.
She starts laughing. "I already like you, Lily. Maybe Emma should learn a few things from you."
"How long has she been dating Adam?" I decide to ask the main question that had been turning in my head from the very moment I first saw the two of them together.
"Adam and Emma have been together for what feels like forever," Pauline answers. "You know, they're one of those sweet couples who meet in the elementary school and find their destiny. They'll have children in the future and die on the same day," she adds with a chuckle. "Damn boring and ridiculously happy! Emma and Adam fit that category like no one else."
My heart skips a beat for the millionth time. Everything inside me hurts. I feel a predatory bitter lump in my throat, and I don't know how to suppress the emotions overwhelming me at that moment. I told him everything about my father; he knew how much fidelity meant to me. But sometimes people surprise you in a very bad way. They hurt you and tear your soul into shreds.
I force a smile and ask Pauline, "What are you going to order?"
I don't give a damn about her answer, so I stop listening to her.
"Lily, you're so pale," she says, worried, and I nod.
"I think I am. I'm not feeling well and I'm really sorry for leaving you here alone. But I'd better go home."
"Shall I call you Uber?"
"No, no. I live not far away from here."
I stand from my seat and throw my bag over my shoulder. "See you tomorrow, Pauline!"
She frowns. "I'm not sure I shall let you go home alone."
"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine," I say abruptly and Pauline nods silently in response.
I'm on my way home; it's very close to the café I just left. I feel much better now that I know the city. I don't want to call Uber every time I need to go somewhere. It's important for me to control where I am and have an opportunity to leave whenever I wish. Otherwise, I start feeling helpless and I hate it. The scar hurts so bad, and I start rubbing it furiously. Phantom pains return too frequently these days, which is so annoying. No, scratch that. It drives me up the wall. Just like the pain inside me. A mixture of chagrin and disappointment. I come to my apartment and see several letters and a notice from the post office with my name on it, lying on a small rug near the door. Grandma must have sent me books, but they failed to deliver them because there was no one at home to take them. On the notice, I can see the address of the post office where my books are waiting for me. I have to Google the location. But I decide to do it later. I enter the apartment and it meets me with complete silence. I'm glad I'm home alone now. The windows in my room are wide open and the spring breeze's playing with the curtains. I fall on the bed and close my eyes. All I want now is to fall asleep and sleep until the end of the year. I don't want to see him, I don't want to hear him, and I don't want to love him. I think that is what everyone wants—to be able to control their feelings. But, unfortunately, it's impossible. My hands as if unintentionally reach for the red notebook where I write about my past. What is it anyway? My personal diary or notes about my trip? I don't know, but one thing I know for sure—every line I write is saturated with my memories of us. I take my pen, reread the last sentence, and start writing the next one.
You helped me to get up, and I realized that you were higher than me; my head was on your shoulder level. I felt a little shy when you held my hand. The third sense worked—the touch. I felt you skin to skin and it was another sense related to you, Adam.
You grinned, watching the blush creep up my cheeks. And I got even more nervous, feeling the rush of blood to face.
I cleared my throat and let your hand go, asking, "So, what's the plan?"
You picked up your jacket from the asphalt and shrugged casually. Then you waved your hand in the unknown direction. "Let's start from there."
"And what's there?"
"Nothing special."
"Then why are we going there? What exactly are we going to do there?"
I got a little nervous and questions started pouring out of me at light speed. It was all your fault. Your touch affected me, Adam. When I touched you, I felt goosebumps run all over my skin as if in a sloppy romance story. For the first time in my life, I got goosebumps from someone's touch.
"I'll take you around the corner and . . ." You paused intentionally and our gazes locked. Your eyes of a beautiful woody shade were so warm, mysterious, and peering into mine.
"Let me guess. You'll take me around the corner and then shred me to pieces right in the crowd of tourists," I said with an unhidden irony in my voice.
You smiled broadly. "Dear Lord, your fantasy is insane! I was planning to buy you an Italian ice cream. But it looks like Lily from Lausanne has something different in mind. Or maybe a two-scoop cone doesn't fit into your everyday entertainments."
"Adam from Paris, ice cream is the best thing in the world, and it fits my plans perfectly. There's no need to talk about it."
You laughed so loudly, so freely, and I couldn't help but smile too. I liked to make you laugh. And indeed, when we walked around the corner, you bought me ice cream. The pistachio and coconut scoops sat proudly on a waffle cone. Chocolate and vanilla scoops were for you.
"Why do they say that Italian ice cream is the most delicious in the world?" I asked, enjoying the sweet coolness melting on my tongue.
"Because it tastes so good," you answered with a very serious expression on your face and then you winked at me. Your eyes sparkled with fun.
We walked in silence, eating ice cream, and I secretly examined you. You were wearing black skinny jeans. You took your sunglasses from the back pocket and shielded your eyes from the sun. They fit you perfectly, making you look like a fashion magazine cover model. A gray T-shirt hugged your chest and biceps, and I saw another small hole, this time under the collar, but I liked your devil-may-care look. I could feel freedom in you, calmness, and something else; the something I still need to figure out. Every step you took was full of confidence as if you knew every street in the city. You tried to protect me from the annoying salespeople who thought I was just another tourist, dying to buy every small thing they showed me. You had an album under one arm and a pencil behind your ear. The very denim jacket that brought us together was thrown over one shoulder. You ate your ice cream and finished it much faster than I finished mine. You know, Adam, maybe it was a little funny, but I liked looking at you. The wind played with your hair and I wanted to touch it and run my fingers through it. The locks looked so soft and shone beautifully in the sun. Do you remember where you took me? What was the first place that you showed me in Florence? It was one of a kind inhabited bridge. Honestly, I'd never seen houses on the bridge before that day. I didn't even know it was possible.
"This is Ponte Vecchio," you said and looked at me. "In Italian, it means an 'Old Bridge'."
"How old is it?" I asked, finishing my crispy waffle.
"Old enough to be called old," you replied with a grin.
But I refused to give up easily. "Well, how old is it?"
"Are we having a history exam or what?" you asked, smiling broadly.
"Well, you're my guide, aren't you? You need to tell me everything about this amazing bridge."
You shrugged casually and pulled the pencil from behind your ear, slipping it into the back pocket of your jeans. "I don't remember the exact date it was built, but I know it was almost seven hundred years ago. It's the oldest bridge in the city and the only one that has retained its original appearance."
We walked across the bridge, and you nodded to the shops where gold and jewelry were sold. "It's also called the Golden Bridge. In the eleventh century, masters lived here. Some shops have been working since then."
We made our way through the crowd of tourists, looking at the endless rows of shops where you could buy almost anything you wished for. Our shoulders and hands touched as if accidentally. I liked to be so close to you, I even came closer than necessary just to accidentally touch you some more.
"How do you know all of the above?" I asked.
"I was born in Florence. When I was seven, my family and I moved to Paris. But I often come here." You gave me a quick glance and clarified, "My grandmother lived here. She told me a lot about the history of the city. Then she moved closer to the sea, but I still love coming here from time to time. I love this city. I love it very much."
I could feel that love in your voice, the tenderness, and awe that went along with every word you said about the city.
"Yes, it's beautiful here," I agreed.
You nodded contentedly and muttered, "Very."
You took me to the middle of the bridge where the buildings ended, forming two open panoramic platforms overlooking the river. We stopped for a moment and silently observed the water, bridges, and the city.
"What's the name of the river?"
"Arno," you said and suddenly pulled me closer.
It was unexpected and I lost my balance, falling right into your chest, face first. Just then I heard a loud roar behind me; people around us started to scream . . . I took a deep breath. You smelled like freshness, mint, and cigarettes. I wanted to rub my nose against your skin and inhale some more of your amazing scent.
"What happened?" I asked, awkwardly moving my head to see your face. Your hands were on my waist, and I was scared to move.
"Just a small accident between the two cyclists. It's the second accident that I witness during this trip. By the way, the first one ruined my phone. This time, my reaction was much faster," you explained, looking at me with a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "I just saved your life."
I rolled my eyes but failed to hold back my smile. Your boyish charm conquered me all over again.
"How do I thank my knight?" I asked sarcastically.
For a moment, your gaze slipped to my lips. You bent down your head, swallowing the distance between our faces. I didn't hear anything of what was happening behind me. No curses, no apologies, no bicycles, nothing at all. Everything disappeared in the glow of your eyes . . .
"How about kissing your savior?" you asked in a whisper, and I felt your breath on my face. But you didn't try to kiss me, Adam. Although if you did, I would definitely answer that kiss. You wanted me to take the first step and initiate the kiss. It was a part of your game, wasn't it? I was sure our small adventure was just a game for you at first. Cheerful, carefree, a little romantic, and a bit crazy. I could feel the spirit of adventurism waking in you. But I didn't kiss you . . .because I was a coward. I swallowed nervously and slipped out of your embrace.
"Turns out you're just an arrogant, damn self-assured savior. I don't want to ruin your fantasies, but guys like you aren't my type exactly. So don't expect me to kiss you, buddy. Get over it so as not to be highly disappointed in the future."
"Guys like me are not your type?" you quoted me with a laugh. "Handsome, incredible, sexy," you continued, teasing me.
"Too arrogant," I said back with a chuckle.
"You're just a coward," you said confidently.
All I wanted now was to knock off your arrogance. "Are you saying if a girl doesn't want to kiss you, it means she's a coward?"
You stepped closer and grinned. "Lily, you do want to kiss me."
I laughed out loud and punched your chest playfully. "Keep dreaming," I muttered. Then I turned away from you and continued walking forward.
But you know, Adam, you were right. I was desperate to kiss you. To run my fingers across your clean-shaved chin, bite your bottom lip and taste you. Want to hear more truth? You were right when you called me a coward. It scared me how much I wanted to kiss you. That's why I refused to go for it. I was afraid to know what it would be like to feel your lips touch mine. After all, it was just a game . . . just a meaningless game, Adam.