Girl in the High Tower - Chapter 7

(Editor's Note: About Damned Time, Right? It's been a while. But I have so desperately wanted to get back to this story. I've really developed feelings for these two protagonists — I've even basically written chapters 8-9! But it needed a transition... something to get these two on a level playing field. In my own mind, I've had it as these first 7 chapters being the "introduction/courtship" phase, where the stage is set and intentions are clear. Going forward, we are entering act 2: the "honeymoon" phase. And as most folks can guess, the honeymoon is where a lot of the... fun stuff starts to happen. Tee-hee-hee, to finally putting the "erotic" into erotic fiction. Enjoy this one, folks. :-) -H)

###

“Yeah, they think I’m a little nuts,” Roger mumbled to himself. “But in this town, there’s not really a shortage of odd loaners who talk to themselves. And people don’t usually want to interrupt them anyway.”

Nadya let out a little laugh, her mouth continuing to hang open as she struggled to take in every pixel from the VR headset. They had only been on their “date” for 20 minutes, but already, she had forgotten that her body was inside of the white tube she had been forced to endure as part of her treatment. In her mind, it was miles away, and belonged to another person. As far as her eyes and ears were concerned, she was walking down one of the city’s long avenues, with its glimmering lights, sounds of traffic, and storefronts that overwhelmed her senses.

“What’s that, on the right hand side to you?” she said.

“Oh, this? The place with the blue lights?” Roger responded.

“Yes!” resonated crisply in Roger’s earpiece.

She and Roger had already gotten into a flow. Her curiosity, always piqued under normal circumstances, had been shifted into overdrive. She had already asked Roger to study a dozen things already so that she could have the benefit of seeing it too: a row of bicycles chained up outside of a restaurant; a peek down an intersecting street; the interaction with the Indian clerk at the bodega Roger frequented; some graffiti sprayed on the wall of a narrow alley. Things that were so normal to Roger, but that for Nadya he had come to realize, were positively alien. He relished the opportunity to show her such common mainstays of city life for the first time, and even this early on, barely had any care whatsoever as to whether or not they made it to the places he had planned during this four-hour period they had together. She was positively giddy, so he was just happy that the tight awkwardness he had been feeling in his gut all day had been for naught — so far, things were going well.

“Oh, this? It’s a record ship,” Roger said. “They sell music, some gifts, shirts… things like that.”

“I thought you could just get all your music online. Why is there still a shop that sells old music?”

“People like it! I have a record player in my apartment,” Roger said. “Some people say it sounds better, or that there’s a charm to it… But I think it’s because there’s something tangible about it. Like… using a pencil to write something on paper, instead of using a computer.”

“You are so funny,” she said. “But I know what you are saying. It is something you can hold in your hand. Can we go inside?”

“Sure!” Roger said. He walked inside the mostly empty shop and began to peruse the crates of albums that were arranged in even but weathered rows. “You like… Ella Fitzgerald,” he said, settling in the jazz section.

“This place is so… eccentric,” she said. “Look at that wall… Is that a shelf of… um… pipes for marijuana?”

“Ha, yeah,” Roger mumbled to himself. The bored clerk had already noticed the guy in huge glasses, talking to himself. But Roger didn’t care. “They sell those.”

“But you cannot buy marijuana?”

“You can get it,” Roger said. “I mean, from someone on the street. Or, if you need it for medical purposes, you can get a license.”

“What is it like?” Roger stalled for a moment as he started to retrieve an Ella and Louis album from a box. “Uhh.. Marijuana?”

“Yes. Does it make you crazy? Or sleepy?”

“Umm... It’s like… Do you know how you feel when you drink alcohol?”

“A little,” Nadya said, reflecting on the few occasions when she had had wine.

“It’s like that. But… it’s hard to describe. Your head feels a little light, and you can get a little dizzy, but not in a bad way. Your thoughts can get a little random, but that’s actually part of the fun. It’s very relaxing.”

“I would be so afraid to try drugs,” Nadya said. “I have heard that you can get addicted.”

“That’s true for a lot of them,” Roger said. “But not with weed. It’s very gentle. I smoke it every once in a while.”

“You do?!”

Roger had forgotten, again, about how insulated Nadya was. But he trusted her enough, at this point, to be honest, while putting it into her perspective. “Sure. I enjoy it. I know there’s all this talk about how evil it is, but that’s all media hype. Plenty of states make it legal now, actually.”

“Hmm. But not here. So how do you —” Nadya sharply inhaled through her teeth, causing a hissing noise to come through Roger’s earpiece.

“Woah, are you okay?” Roger asked with a register of concern.

“Nadya composed herself. “Yesss… I am fine. It is… a part of my treatment.”

Roger was careful not to press, knowing how sensitive she was about this monthly ritual. “I’m sorry. It sounds… I hope it’s not… painful?”

“No, it not painful,” Nadya said. “It’s just… very cold metal on top. I never know when it is going to happen, but when it starts, it always will happen a few more times. I’m… sorry.”

“No… no reason to apologize.” Roger’s lingering curiosity about this mysterious, baffling “treatment” flared up, again. And this time, as was usual, it did so with a faint flicker of eroticism — he could only imagine the setup she had vaguely described in their past conversations, and couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the fact that her incredible breasts were currently resting atop a giant table, while the rest of her was isolated in a soundproof, light-proof booth. “I… listen, I know you don’t like to talk about it, and I don’t want to pry. It’s just… you don’t have to say sorry.”

A moment of silence. “Thank you, Roger.” It sounded sincere. But before Nadya could continue, an involuntary “Mmmmph!” came from her nose, as if she had just been punched in the gut. “Sorry.”

There was a small quiver in that last word. Roger decided it might be good to head out of the store and continue walking down the street. “Nadya… what’s… on your mind?”

A small sniff confirmed Roger’s thoughts, that Nadya’s emotions had shifted.

“This… this is not a normal date,” she said.

Roger was confused, and a little worried, as he aimed his head toward the ground as he walked. “What do you mean?”

“Can you…” Nadya said. “Can you please stop moving for a moment? Maybe look up at the sky?”

Roger forgot that she could see what he was seeing, and probably added to the agitation she was feeling with his erratic movement. “Oh, yes. Sure.”

Nadya took a moment to collect herself. “I… can we go to a café?”

Still bewildered, Roger said, “Yes. Of course.”

A small bar as only a few doors down; Roger took a seat outside on the terrace. After a brief interaction with the server, and a beer on the way, he thought it proper to ask if she had gathered her thoughts.

“Listen, Nadya… You can tell me anything. I know there are some things you’re sensitive about. I’m having a lovely time. And I hope you are, too. But… do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

In her cramped tube, Nadya took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. She gritted her teeth through another bout of cold metal pressing against the top of her left breast, connected to her, but still, seemingly miles away.

“I’m…” she began shakily, eventually resolving herself, though some sniffles remained. She took some solace in sitting still at the table, watching, from his point of view, people and cars passing by on the street.  “Roger, I’m not a freak. I don’t want you to think I’m a freak.”

“Nadya, I don’t think…”

She cut him off. “But if I wasn’t a freak, I could go out with you in real life. Or I would go out with you like this, and not scream every five minutes because something cold touches my breast, or my nipple is pulled, or something pushes into my skin, or because of heavy weight on top of me, while I am in this dark place where I am scared to be.”

Roger caught himself before saying anything. This was not like Nadya. By now, she would have changed the subject, or very simply said she did not want to talk about it any more. He gave her the space she needed, and listened. “Go on.”

“Before I came here, at home. The children in my town knew about me. Sometimes, they stood at my window while I was in my bed, and they would stare. They called me a monster, like, a breast monster.” Her voice quivered again. “But I am not a monster. I like to… read, and cook, and paint, and lay in the sun, and… I like to talk to you because you are the only person who does not think that there is something wrong with me that needs to be fixed.”

Roger didn’t want to emptily placate her. He wanted, more than anything, to simply say, “You’re not a monster, don’t be ridiculous.” But this was coming from somewhere deep. He tried to think of what his old therapist would have said in this situation.

“And this treatment… like, tonight. This is supposed to fix you?”

“Yes!” Nadya said, suddenly breathless, releasing some emotion she had been keeping locked away. “But I do not think it is working. I still grow, and grow, and I still have to do this every month. And they say to me, they say, ‘do not worry Nadya, it takes time, it takes time,’ but how much time is it going to take before I can be normal?!”

Her voice was desperate, if a little muted. Though her capsule was soundproof, she restrained herself from the urge to scream. Instead, she blurted an unrestricted train of thought “I used to think… I used to be afraid of what I would do if I became so big that I could not walk anymore. And who would take care of me, and how I would go to the bathroom. And I have Zoya, and I have this place to live, and I don’t worry like that so much now, but it is getting sooo difficult to even walk to the kitchen like I used to, and now I have to use a crane more and more....”

Roger wasn’t sure if she was hyperventilating at this point, or if she was just trying to catch her breath, or if some other element of her treatment had occurred that was causing unpleasant sensations.

“I… thank you for sharing all of this, Nadya,” Roger said. “Like, for real. I appreciate that.” Roger meant it. Their conversations had always been fairly passive over text. Roger could figure out whether it was the trust they had already established, or whether it was because this was one of the first times they had communicated with their voices?

It hit Roger. Aside from Zoya, and given her reclusive, deliberately isolated existence… when was the last time Nadya had talked to anyone? How much of this outburst had been long overdue? To Roger, Nadya had been this exotic impossibility, locked away in the neighboring building; to Nadya herself, she was simply a normal woman living an impossible life.

The words tumbled out of Roger’s mouth. “I don’t think you’re a freak, Nadya. I think you’re wonderful. I think I might love you.”

Roger blinked. The “L” word. On their first “date.” A knot in his gut told him he might have ruined something.

Nadya breathed heavily through her nostrils. The beer on the table that Roger hadn’t even registered receiving, was in her field of view. She felt her fingernails dig slightly into her palms, faintly registering the sounds of the cars and passersby on the street. Roger lightly cleared his throat. She had no way of knowing that he felt as if he had just triggered a landmine, and was waiting for it to explode. And while she was a little startled at first, the surprise washed away quickly, leaving something pure behind.

“I think… I might love you, too.”

They both let out small chuckles, trying to figure out where the next move would be for either of them.

“You’re just… perfect,” Roger finally said. “I think about you all the time. And… I know we haven’t even met, or anything. But… I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Another pause. “I wish there was some way I could see your face.”

Roger wanted to oblige. But he didn’t want to mess with his phone and accidentally cut off the connection through the glasses. He spotted a chrome napkin holder on the tabletop. “Well…” He held it up to his face.

“There you are,” she said.

“I wish I could see yours, too,” he smiled at his own reflection, only faintly concerned that somebody at the neighboring table would see him being a literal Narcissus.

Nadya’s heart fluttered. “I guess the tables are all turned over.”

“Hmm?” Roger said.

“You know, it is a saying? You can’t see me, but I can see you, but it was opposite before.”

“Haha, the tables are turned. I get it.”

“I said this!”

“I understand.”

“Roger… You are the only friend I know. You know this already. I need you to tell me that it is okay if I am… not ever normal again.”

“I wouldn’t change anything about you.” He smiled into the napkin holder. He could hear her smile. “I’m gonna put this thing down before they call the police on me.”

“No, don’t arrest you!” she laughed. For Nadya, it was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Not even a sharp tug to the skin of her right breast, as if it had been abruptly hefted and repositioned by unseen hands, could spoil the floaty feeling she felt. This time, she felt no guilt or shame about letting out a little grunt. Now she knew that Roger understood, and didn’t think any less of her.

Roger felt incredible. Downing half of his beer, he took a moment to look to the sky, trying to figure out his next move. He couldn’t remember the last time he told a woman he loved her. And he wondered why it was such a dramatic thing in movies. It felt like something he should have said ages ago, a weight off his shoulders as well. They “might love” each other. He, Roger. And Nadya, the astonishing girl in the high tower.

Roger cleared his throat, this time with a little more purpose. It felt right to leave it there — what they had just said felt so fragile, and he didn't want to blunder into knocking anything over. “So. We’ve got… 3 hours left.” He tried to sound casual, but couldn’t contain his own excitement. When he had seen the ad online a few weeks before, with as much as she had talked about her adoration for him, it felt like a no-brainer. “Guess who has an exhibit… at the museum...”

“Noo!” Nadya said.

Roger left some cash on the table, and took back to the street, eager to share Vincent Van Gogh with one of his biggest fans.