Page 51 of Only You

‘I bought extra copies,’ she said, waving away the worry. Chuckling, he closed his eyes.

Two days had passed since the night at Mackie’s club.

For the most part, he had healed up, but Selene could tell he was still sore.

As such, she insisted he rested a bit longer.

Despite the short time frame, Demir had already become restless.

She had done her best to distract him with conversation, sharing stories about her childhood or with card games.

The times he didn’t want to talk or play games, she would re-read the Charlie Parker article.

It always made her giddy when she saw the picture. She had stood right next to him! Well, next to Demir, who was next to him, but it was good enough.

‘I still can’t believe it. Actual proof that me and Charlie Parker were in the same room. He liked my dress. Ugh, I wish they got a picture of him kissing my hand,’ she gushed. ‘I’ll never throw this paper out.’

‘Jack might,’ Demir murmured.

Selene’s jaw dropped and she chucked the newspaper at him. ‘That’s not even funny!’

It didn’t stop Demir from chuckling as he gathered up the pages. He stared at the picture before frowning.

‘What’s with the face?’

‘They didn’t put your name.’ He handed it back to her. Her eyes roamed over the page for a moment before spotting the caption.

Charlie Parker (right) with amateur boxer, Demir ‘Doomsday’ Elliot (left), his coach (far right), and beauty (far left) at the Blue Rabbit Club.

‘Oh,’ she said and shrugged. ‘That’s all right. I didn’t expect them to. Besides, I look fantastic.’

‘You don’t mind no one knowing your name?’

‘Nope. Besides, Charlie Parker does.’ She winked.

Demir shook his head but said nothing as he stared at the ceiling. ‘I guess. It’ll be a nice surprise in a few years when the papers have to start calling you Dr Robinson,’ he surmised.

Selene paused, once again finding herself stunned by his words.

So many times, people had dismissed her when she said she would be a doctor.

The few times they would acknowledge it, they always attached Jack’s name to it.

She should be used to it but there was a unique sting every time she was called the ‘future Dr Sullivan’, like she wasn’t even allowed to have her own dreams.

It was nice about having someone who didn’t question her ability to make something happen by herself. She could fall in love with a man like that.

‘What?’ he asked, and realising she was staring, she looked away, changing the subject quickly.

‘Nothing. So, what do you want to do? Make it count. It’ll be the last time you will get the privilege of my presence for a week.’

‘So, you and Jack are going on a trip soon,’ Demir noted dryly.

The holiday had been months in the making with Selene and Jack bouncing around ideas of where to go and how long they could be away.

She hadn’t thought much of it – just another plan that could fall through at any moment – until Jack showed her a map a few days ago with a route already marked out.

He’d had stars in his eyes when he told her about the lake and all the things they were going to do.

Selene was glad he’d been distracted; the panic on her face would’ve been too obvious.

Jack rarely went big but when he did, he pulled out all the stops. And there were only a few ‘surprises’ left in their relationship.

‘Yep,’ she said, forcing a light tone to her voice. ‘We finally found some time to be alone.’ They sat in awkward silence before she cleared her throat. ‘So, um, what to do. What to do…’

‘What can I do that doesn’t involve you chasing me down?’

Her shoulders relaxed as she eased back into the conversation.

‘I don’t “chase you down”.’ She rolled her eyes before looking around.

‘We could play cards, listen to the radio. I guess I could get you a few magazines, if you can read ’em.

’ She winced before looking at him apologetically.

‘Not that I’m assuming you can’t. I just— I mean, I know everyone’s not the best. Not that it means you’re dumb.

Jack struggles with it sometimes. I’m not comparing you to Jack—’

‘I can read,’ he replied, so calm it bordered on bored. ‘I don’t like magazines though.’

‘Oh,’ she said awkwardly. ‘So… what do you read? Those crazy crime novels?’

Demir fiddled with his hands as he reluctantly told her, ‘I read poetry.’

Selene’s eyes widened and she giggled, covering her mouth with her hands. ‘Wait, wait, don’t tell me you’re one of those secret poets that go to the clubs to start revolutions,’ she teased.

He huffed out a laugh. ‘Hardly,’ he said, making eye contact with her.

‘I don’t have a lot of patience with books, so I read poetry because it’s shorter and gets to the point.

A lot of them are stupid as shit, but others help things make sense,’ he explained.

‘Like, Langston Hughes… “I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins. / My soul has grown deep like the rivers.” Or Shakespeare, “When in the chronicle of wasted time / I see descriptions of the fairest wights / And beauty making beautiful old rhyme.” Or “I love thee to the depth and breadth and height / My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight…”’

Selene stared at him in awe, her eyes never wavering.

‘Elizabeth Barrett Browning,’ she said. ‘I’ve read that poem before. It’s beautiful.’

His gaze suddenly became distant. ‘It was one of the first poems I ever read.’

‘Why do you sound so sad about it?’

Demir sighed, clasping his fingers together and staring at the ceiling. ‘Because,’ he said. ‘It’s also the reason I started fighting.’

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she put the paper aside. ‘I… don’t understand.’ Demir took a deep breath, and she could tell it would be a long story.

He told her about how his parents had left him in the care of his aunt and uncle when he was young.

How his aunt used to work as a maid for a family, the Keene’s.

Sometimes, she would take him with her to help.

One day, his aunt was dusting and accidentally knocked over some books.

Mrs Keene started screaming, insulting his aunt how she couldn’t even read the books.

So, Demir, determined to prove to her that he and his aunt were smart, grabbed the fanciest one and took it home, knowing Mrs Keene wouldn’t notice because it was just for decoration.

It happened to be a volume of poetry by Browning.

His neighbour taught him how to read using that book.

He studied for weeks, memorising as many poems as he could.

When he was ready, he went into the living room in front of Mrs Keene and recited every poem he learned.

‘The minute I was done, she slapped me across the face, screaming about how I stole from her,’ Demir said.

‘She fired my aunt. On our way out, Mrs Keene’s son said something stupid.

I don’t even remember what it was, but it made me mad enough to punch him in the face.

He didn’t even try to hit me back. He just ran inside, yelling for his mama. ’

Demir clenched his hands into fists, anger radiating off him. Selene leaned over and placed her hand on his. He looked down and let out a long sigh, his shoulders drooping in defeat.

‘I had never seen my aunt look so terrified,’ he confessed quietly before clearing his throat. ‘As soon as we got home, she beat me. I talked back, trying to tell her I did it for her. She didn’t care. She wished that I had just taken the slap, and I couldn’t accept that. I ran away that night.’

Selene bit her lip, her heart aching as she imagined brave, little Demir getting punished for trying to protect someone he loved. ‘Did you ever go back?’

‘I see her a couple times a year,’ he told her. ‘But I never lived there again, no matter how bad it got. I never asked for her help either.’

‘Do you ever regret it?’

‘No,’ he answered. ‘I love my aunt, but I couldn’t be small for her.’

‘I know the feeling,’ she whispered. ‘Being forced to be small… until you feel like you can’t exist at all.’

They locked eyes for a moment. In his eyes she could see the same pain she’d felt when she lived with her parents, the unique feeling of betrayal when the person you loved and protected unleashed their pain on you.

So, she stood up and went to her bedroom. Crouching, she searched under her bed – where most of her books resided – until she found what she needed, returning to the living room and holding out a book of poems by W.H. Auden.

‘At least, you got a good hobby from it.’ She handed him the book as she sat down on the other end of the couch, folding her legs under her. ‘Mind reading to me?’

‘You might not like how I say it,’ he warned.

‘Maybe I will.’ She propped her arm on the back of the couch, resting a cheek on the back of her hand. ‘Don’t rule me out just yet.’

She stared at him expectantly until his eyes became resigned. Clumsily, he flipped through a few pages before settling on a poem. He cleared his throat, purposely not looking at her. She smiled at his shyness while waiting patiently.

‘This one is called, “Lullaby”.’