Bloodistan // Vampire Thriller

0.31 - Cihangir Who Was There For Too Long

Tasha wades through suburban Kruv with the taste of stale birthday cake cloying in her palate. She is bundled from head to toe in purple wool and a pink hat is forced down her ears, her brown curls peeking out. Her eyes are as wide and adorable as ever. She doesn't look fifteen.

Clouds pucker like prudish vulvae during the winter, unwilling to let any glimpses of radiance pass through. The streets are dark and homogenously lit at nine in the morning. There is always the potential for rain but that rain never comes.

She has walked and held hands and bumped shoulders and kissed cheeks and ridden bicycles more times than she can count through these very streets. It has not quite sunk in that this will be the last winter she ever spends in Damya.

It is a lazy Saturday morning for everyone else. Doors and windows are shut tight and thick metal grates and chains are becoming more and more common. Everyone has closed their gates. It is not only the sky that is prudish.

Tasha allows herself to walk through the middle of the deserted road, twirling every so often and stumbling. She feels the weight of her special handbag for the first time since she ever began wearing it. She can't help caressing its soft faux leather and running her hands along the tears and peeled off bits of Rexine along its sides. She does not know what to feel about it.

She walks up to the gate of Number 17 Wattsberg Street and pushes the button for flat three on the intercom.

"Natasha?" a very familiar voice says.

"It is I," she says.

"Hang on."

She takes a few cautious twirls and watches as Inspector Tasimov emerges from Flat 3 and pulls his brown jacket tight around his body, smiling at her as he walks towards the gate.

"Tash, it's bloody freezing. You came walking?" He wraps his arm around her and holds her close. They make their way up the steps to the apartment.

"Yeah, I wanted to walk. It's like the last time I'll ever be able to," she says.

"Yeah." He opens the door and shoos her in, closing it behind her.

Miss Alghami is already by the door. Her hijab is off and her hair is tied up into a severe bun. Tasha finds herself swept up into a tight, fierce hug.

"Nice to see you too, Miss Alghami," she chuckles.

"Zaynab," she says, her voice firm.

"Zaynab." Tasha nods.

"Hey, I'm dropping you wherever you need to go next, alright?" Tasimov says from behind her and she nods absently.

She looks around the house. She had been here once before with her parents after all the interviews last year but that was before Miss Alghami had become a permanent fixture in Tasimov's life. All those ridiculous Kruv Motorcycle Club posters had been taken down and framed embroidery work had been hung up in their place. There was soft, warm carpeting now. The sofas had been reupholstered with something wine-red and very inviting. And everything smells nicer too. Tasha can smell something sweet and warm coming from the kitchen.

"There's food in here that hasn't come from Ling's?" Tasha asked. Ling's Takeout was what sustained Tasimov through most of his single life.

"Yeah, she cooks, cleans, has a Corolla, she's amazing in the sa-

Miss Alghami punches Tasimov in the stomach before he can finish. "So, when's the flight, Natasha?" she asks, sitting next to Tasha.

"The day after. Four thirty in the morning."

Tasimov nods. "Need me to drop you guys?"

"On what? Your motorcycle?" Tasha giggles.

"Hey, did I mention the Corolla?" he asks.

"You did, Tyador. Many many times." Zaynab smiles a little and Tasha smiles a lot. She was not sure about how this was going to work out but it did. Not beautifully but life and love are rarely all beautiful. She had seen Miss Alghami sobbing softly in the library after trying to call her mother. She has given one love up for another. Tasha can understand that. She can't relate but she can understand.

Tasha opens the latch to her handbag and pulls her scuffed revolver out. She places it on the table and it sits there like a conversational black hole, sucking all the words out of all of them. Tyador coughs and picks it up, putting it into a drawer under the TV. "I suppose you don't need me to thank you for your service to the country and all that, do you?"

"What service?" Tasha smiles. "The best I could ever manage was four."

"When you started out, the best you could ever manage was to hit the paper. Don't you forget, Tasha Markov," Tasimov said. "I surely won't."

Zaynab took her hat off and ruffled her hair. "Forget about it now. I'm stuffing you with Ghraybeh before you go."

Tasha laughs at Tyador's jokes and wolfs down Zaynab's cookies for an hour. She tries to think of ways to express how much love she feels for both but she does nothing. She watches his arm brush around her hips as he goes to the bathroom to wash up. She watches her smile and shake her head. She doesn't show it but she's quietly looking at everything. She's quietly trying to commit everything to memory.

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed that chapter. Please leave a comment letting me know if you did.