Haunted By Him

Chapter Ten

That night, he gets out of bed and can’t find Natalia in the compartment. He thinks she might have gone down to the dining car, which she does at meal times to bring him something back because he’s too afraid to leave their room, and figures that this would be a good time to take a shower.

He limps into the bathroom and strips, folding up his clothes because he’ll need them later and trying not to look too hard into the mirror. His entire left arm is metal, up into his shoulder. He doesn’t remember having lost his arm. He doesn’t remember having the new one grafted on. All he knows is that it’s there, and there’s a big red brand on his shoulder that marks him as theirs. He has plans on removing that once he gets to America, but until then, he’s keeping his oddities a secret from Natalia. He’s hiding his arm. She doesn’t need to know.

He takes his shower and he shuts off the water and he’s starting to pull down his towel when the door opens behind him. He whirls around just as Natalia is slamming the shower door shut.

“What was that?!” He hears her cry and he feels something fall apart inside him.

So much for hiding his arm.

“Um, my ass?” He replies angrily. He knows she’s talking about his arm. He just doesn’t want her to say anything, doesn’t want her to acknowledge it. He’s done such a good job of hiding it so far. “Why are you coming in here??”

“You know what I’m talking about!” She yells. “Don’t avoid it! What was that?!” He doesn’t want to come out and face her, so he sits down on the shower floor in the cold water, dropping his towel, and hugs himself.

“None of your business!” He calls back.

There’s a long pause and he figures she’s still there and he sits there on the ground and looks at his hand. It shines in the light and the water beads and runs off it, rolling through the seams between the plates of metal.

“Was that what I thought it was?” He hears Natalia after a while, her voice quieter. “Was that your arm?”

“Yeah,” he replies weakly. “Yeah, it was.”

“That’s why you always wore gloves,” she says. He can hear it dawning on her. He doesn’t respond. “And is it, uh, attached to you?” She asks. The Soldier stares down at his hand and swallows, then he stands up. He wraps his towel around his waist tightly and opens the bathroom door. She’s sitting there and she stands when she sees him, looking uncomfortable. He bites his lip and steps back and he can feel her eyes slide across his skin. He hates it and he realizes that he didn’t have to show her, but it was easier this way. Less questions this way. And maybe after she had finished staring at it, she’d never mention it again.

A second passes and she steps into the bathroom after him, letting the clouds of steam envelop her. Its hot, but he’s getting goosebumps. He doesn’t know what to do. The last time someone invaded his boundaries like this, they’d done it in order to hurt him and dehumanize him and humiliate him. He feels vulnerable.

But Natalia doesn’t hurt him, even though he’s backed up so far his back hits the wall. She reaches down and takes his hand and he lets her cautiously. She holds up his fingers and examines them, turning his hand around and following the lines. Her fingers move up his forearm and his elbow and he watches them linger on his artificial bicep, where the plates warp just enough to look like a human arm, to match his other side. He doesn’t know what she’s doing. He looks at her face and wishes he could read the expression there, but it’s painfully blank. Then, suddenly, he can feel her fingers again and he looks down and realizes that she’s tracing now the line where the metal fuses with his body, there where scars and skin pucker, and he sucks in a breath. Natalia pulls her hand back and looks up at his face.

“Sorry,” she breathes quietly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He says nothing. “It’s a very beautiful replacement,” she continues. He thinks he should thank her for the compliment, but he doesn’t know if he can.

She’s staring up at his face now and it’s not the first time he notices that she’s beautiful. She has rosy skin and the most beautiful mouth he’s ever seen and suddenly, in the heat of the steam swirling around their faces, she looks perfect. He’s not sure what’s gotten into him.

“It’s not beautiful,” he says in a whisper. “It’s not like you.” His voice catches. He can’t believe he’s said this and he curses himself. But a smile curls around her face, a genuine one, and it takes his breath away.

He thinks she might kiss him.

Instead, she breaks their eye contact and backs up, then turns and leaves the room. He’s left alone in the steam and he looks down and sighs.