40. Crossover

The second the elevator door shut, Guiliana dipped her head and wept, her hand clamping to her mouth. 

"Breathe," she commanded herself. "Here is not the place." 

Waiting for her cab by the glass revolving door at the entrance to the building that caught the reflection of passing headlights and the street fronting it, she texted Erdem. Can we talk? 

The boy called her in a minute. 

"That was fast," she chuckled, getting into the backseat of the car. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, Guili. What's up?"

"I've heard you were out of town."

"Where did you hear that?"

"I went to the clinic today." 

"You what?" he shouted, his voice low. Judging by the sound, a door seemed to have clicked shut. 

"I could use a drink, so I asked your boss for your whereabouts. And he said you're running an errand for him." She bit the inside of her cheek, her brows raising. 

"I could use a drink, too," the boy dramatized with a wail. "Anyway, my day can't be worse than yours. So, tell me everything. I'm all ears." 

Leaning to the windowsill, Guiliana glanced out at the roadsides agleam in the night; the billboards winked at her, mocking. She closed her eyes, and for a moment, she was as if back in the control room at the clinic again, swooned again, high on the memory of the lost years again, when Warshon hacked into the building's surveillance system. He showed her the footage of the man meeting the others downstairs, confirming their suspicion. But her eyes kept wandering off the screen to his firm muscles, which rippled beneath the black linen shirt, accented with a thin silver chain on the collar. Languid and assertive, arrogant even, he still exuded the bad boy charm when he threw on the knee-length blazer hanging on the back of the chair, and she could fall head over heels for him all over again. The bruises and scars on the side of his chiseled face only made her ache for him more, and a visceral pain hollowed out from her chest, emptying the air in her lungs. She wiped the tears streaming down again with the heel of her thumb.

"Hello?" Erdem said, his voice concerned. "Darling, you okay?"

Covering her face, she crumpled into an inconsolable sob. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for!" Erdem tried to soothe her. "I did this shit to you all the time, and I was worse, crying while I had nothing but silliness to cry about! I owe you a shoulder. Listen, when I come back, we'll drink. Cry on me all you want, and I'll be your face diaper." 

The sob broke into a short laugh. "Thank you."

"Nah, you don't need to. Like I said, I owe you."

"No, I mean, thank you for shining a light into my life."

A short silence fell, amplified by the whirring of ventilation. "Shit, you gonna make me cry," chuckling, the boy sniffled. "I feel the same about you, Guili."

"You aren't mad at me for keeping it from you?"

"What's to be mad about? I never gave you a chance to talk, just me yapping on my infatuation while you licked your wound in the dark. Gosh, I should have been more observant."

Guiliana shook her head. Her massacre smudged, and she didn't care. Despite all their secrets, the things she still kept from him, and vice versa, Erdem was the closest thing she had to family.

"Hey, it's ok, Guili," he tried to console her while she indulged herself in her pain. "It's his loss, you know? I don't know if it'd make you feel better, but when I first became his apprentice, he was cranky as fuck and aggressive, too, going to all the boxing matches to have himself beaten every week. I didn't know why and thought it was just his character. Well, I do now. You held quite a place in his heart." 

So did he in mine, and still does. Trembling with tears, Guiliana thought about all the nights she cried herself to sleep, missing his look, his touch, his breath in her ears. But he had moved on now, and she had not. She huddled into herself. 

Over the earrings, Erdem kept calling her name, telling her that it'd be okay. 

"I don't deserve you," she sobbed.

"You deserve more," he replied. "I wished things hadn't been like this, or I was made different, so I can love you in every way you deserve to be loved, Guili. So, curse me that you'll haunt me in the next life and beyond, and I'll love you for eternity."

 She bit her hand, but the weeping wouldn't stop. "Damn it, kid, why? It's so out of your character."

Erdem chuckled, "I know. But it's also the voice I always have in my head when I see you. Now seems like a good time to let it out." 

The car stopped at the red light. Guiliana tucked her cheek to the shoulder as she turned to the window reflecting the kaleidoscopic colors of the city lights. On the LED billboard at the crossroad, the last debate between Kieren Zaman and Mustafa Agca had just begun, of the two contending over what would matter, which shall last. Her eyes shuttered. Between each blink, she heard Mira's wheezing voice. 

Conquest is a phase, as is romance. She thought, her lips parting with a sniffle. The most profound romance isn't the one that ends in a marriage, but those gone with the wind before ever coming to full bloom, and whose premature ends, their infinity. Guiliana had two great loves. One lived on in pristine memory exactly because it had withered in reality before it would inevitably pall; the other a promise meant to be kept but never could, ringing both sincere and hollow. She could grasp neither when she reached her hand, yet she had them both safe in her heart, and nothing could tear them away from her. 

Heaving a long sigh, she tilted back her head and laughed quietly. "Enough about me," she hummed at length. "When are you coming back?" 

"Hard to say," Erdem groaned. "Hopefully soon."

She knew better than to ask what he was doing, so she simply said, "Be careful." 

A small chuckle. "Nothing dangerous, just annoying. Don't worry." 

"Call me when you're back?"

"Of course." 

***

Warshon saw Guiliana to the elevator after she identified the man who left after the Abids. 

"That wasn't so bad." Swiveling to face him, she held out her hand. "I suppose we'll see each other again soon, so shake my hand, Warshon." 

Angling his head as he looked over his shoulder, he smirked. "Sure, Lord Qusbecq will re-enlist you, but as a pawn, you know less about his plan than I do at this point. Why should I ally with you, if that's what you're plotting for?" 

"Because…" her voice hitched, hand shaky. 

"Don't even think about threatening me with Mira. Do I need to remind you that your only leverage here is Lord Qusbecq's suspicion of my feelings for you? Prove it otherwise, you're out. You'll be nothing to him, and you'll make me an enemy who will make you regret." He slowly pivoted toward her, his head low, eyes drilling. All these years, she'd played the mistress to the weasel of a man for what? For a moment the length of a breath, he wanted to taunt her, to humiliate if not decimate her. But then, the breath waned into a sigh. Long had his rancor for her dissipated, longer his love. She stood before him now as no more than a woman he used to know, and his cruelty suddenly felt gratuitous. 

"You really are stubborn, aren't you?" He scoffed at her hand still holding out to him. 

"Your little girlfriend told me it's stubbornness that kept her alive," she retorted, her wry smile unwavering. "Better learn to adore this quality."

He took a hand out of his pocket. "This is a thank you for keeping her company this afternoon." 

Her hand was cold, as cold as he remembered. 

She shrugged and pulled away. 

"By the way, she had two pumps on the inhaler this afternoon," she said, turning to the elevator. "I don't know if each one counts as an attack, just thought you might wanna know. I wanted to ask you to check on her, but she refused. Like I said, she's more stubborn than I lest you haven't realized."

"Of course," he mused, shaking his head. "Well, thank you, again, for letting me know." 

The elevator opened its door. 

Guilana sashayed inside. "Goodbye, Dr. Qusbecq," she raised a hand, her fingers flicking, her teal eyes a gleaming smile. 

"Take care, Guili," he said, holding her gaze while the door shut on them. 

Backing a step, he frowned with his eyes closed, his wrist turning at his side. Something tore at his chest as if the elevator had ripped out a piece from him when it went down, a vision of possibility in a different time and dimension perhaps. Were their souls embedded behind a different mask and under a different name, they would have stayed together, and he would have loved her till the end. But a twist on the timeline had diverted them to a path where that vision for a future was no longer concatenated to their present. 

He opened his eyes, his lips pursing. Turning on his heels, he went back to the life he wanted, and not even fate could part him from it this time.