Day Four-Thirty-Four: The final straw

The third thing.

The… third thing. So unexpected, so surprising, so… so…

So.

I had a conversation with Bora.

About leaving.

I'd largely kept it from her, because I wanted to ask her at just the right time. That was late yesterday evening, during cleanup, with Eve curled up asleep in the only remaining bed on the pub's main floor. Bora cleaned the countertop, I chugged some water. Everyone else had gone to bed or was working late shifts elsewhere.

Conversation.

"Bora?"

"Yep?"

"Me'n Eve are probably gonna leave."

"Yeah, I know."

"You do?"

"Word gets 'round when you say it enough times, dummy. You're as yappy as, er, Doc, when he gets excited."

"Oh."

"Kinda sudden, isn't it? Just when Pubton's gettin' off its feet?"

"Well, that makes it a good time. Doesn't need me anymore, right?"

"You sure about that?"

"… maybe."

"Hmm. Don't sound that decisive to me. Any idea where you're gonna go?"

"Not yet. Probably gonna get that wagon off Morris, maybe barter for better wheels. Hell, could buy a whole new one. I've got some money tucked away. Might head west, to the Imperium."

"Ah. Been there. Lotsa walled communities. Nice when you get in one, though. Real diverse. Never boring."

"I bet." Pause. The moment of truth. "You wanna come with us?"

"What?"

"You. Leave Pubton. Come with us. You're… I dunno, you're like a mom to Eve. You'd be perfect. Plus you've stood beside us this whole time. Always been there for me."

"…"

"Come on. Please?"

"What about your wife?"

"I… don't think that's a thing anymore."

"You sure 'bout that?"

"You've seen her. She's pretty final about our marriage. And she hates Eve, so…"

"…"

"Come on. We have our whole lives ahead of us. We could… I mean, you 'n I… I know you were with Robert, but… we make, we’d make, a great… c-"

"Look me in the eyes."

"Huh?"

"Do it."

"Okay…"

"Now say it."

"… c-…"

"…"

"… c-couple. Couple."

"…"

"…?"

"… oh, if I could just tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"This'll do for a start."

Bora leaned over the bar, grabbed my tunic, and kissed me. On the lips.

She's done it before. Not on the lips, like. Little pecks, friendly, cheeky things she gives to a lot of people. Guess it's part of being a barmaid who thrives on tips. But this, this, this was a full-on thing, a warm, sensuous feeling, so soft and forceful and surprising, so unlike anything Libby had ever given me. It was something I'd dared dream about, something every man who's ever leered at her has fantasized, but it was so wicked and lascivious that I could never quite describe it accurately or entirely, even in my own diary. A kiss, a feeling, an explosion…

… of horrified revulsion.

I've never experienced anything like it. That pressure, which I know should have been utterly exquisite, turned to ashes against my face. My lips felt poisoned, dripping with putrid venom, infused with a feeling of wrong, wrong, oh gods no, this is so wrong, like incest and bestiality and genocide wrapped into a single, potent, disgusting package.

I fell back with such violence that my chair tipped. I spat and squirmed on the ground, shuddering, the taste clinging to the back of my mouth so foul that I imagined I'd just drank a year's worth of my mom's homemade cough syrup. I've never experienced something so ungodly gross, so utterly incorrect, and I hope I never do again.

Bora peered at me from over the bar. She was grimacing, though she looked much less perturbed than I. Rather, she was sad.

She said something in that kiss. Something I can't understand, something… grotesque. Something I can't ask her about, not now, maybe not ever, because the mere memory brings poison back to my lips.

Hell.

The ceremony's tomorrow. I hand over mayorship tomorrow. Bora and I part ways… tomorrow. And I know, I know so clearly, that it's for the best.

But I don't know why.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Father