Page 23 of Dream Girl

“You have a distinctive face, really attractive too. Bonus points to you, Miloslav.” Her broken Russian accident comes out.

“I’m not Russian.” I clarify for what must be the hundredth time that she plays with her accents.

She’s not gifted in that area of expertise, but I give her points for trying and never giving up no matter how inaccurate they are. Amelia doesn’t do it in public because she never wants to disrespect anyone by using accents in a lighthearted way to bring optimism into a conversation.

“No one would notice. I think two percent of you can fit into Russian.” She nods, hooking her chin with her fingers and squinting her eyes when she stares at me.

“Russians don’t blink an eye with a bear in their home.”

She stammers, immediately retracting. “Maybe not Russian. I’m not ready to have a bear hanging around our apartment. I don’t think the floor can support that much weight.”

Then she snaps her fingers. “Oh! I want to see the Christmas lights in downtown!”

Amelia scrambles up and flees to the bathroom before I could get a word out. An excited Amelia is someone who is stubborn to any other noises. She wouldn’t notice a group of thieves having a party with pots and pans when she’s focused on making one thing happen.

I flip the comforter away from my legs; the coldness of the room settles on my heated skin. I’m not bothered by the cold, but I know Amelia is doing this for me by lowering the heat, so I don’t scorch under the comforter.

“The lights don’t come on until five.”

Winter has the worst timing when it comes to sunlight, and many people complain about the lack of sun to fuel their work productivity. I think it’s a waste of money and time to put up the lights around trees; they take up a lot of energy that the city has to pay for which all boils down to taxpayers’ money.

“We’re going to eat first and then find a good spot to watch the lights!” she shouts from the bathroom, voice distorted by the toothbrush in her mouth.

I stand beside her, washing mine under the water before putting on toothpaste. “Only fools get excited about hypothermia over lights on wilted trees.”

She glares at me through the mirror, kicking her leg against mine. The minty flavor hits my tongue as I brush my teeth; I watch her duck her head and rinse her mouth before putting her toothbrush down.

“You don’t have one romantic bone in you.”

I finish and rinse my mouth too. “All two hundred and six are occupied with useful skills.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and grinning. “Oh yes, opening a jar of pickles is a useful skill.”

“That’s because you can’t do it.”

I follow her out of the bathroom where she starts to rummage through the closet. My shirt on her rides up to her thighs; conditioned response forces my body to react. I come behind her, hugging her supple body to mine and letting the cold temperature in the closet set on my arms as I breathe in her floral shampoo on her hair.

At least it’s not that discounted fruity conditioner that she brought that one time and I had to pry it out of her hands before it became too sweet to draw in ants. It was sickeningly sweet, and it creates a nauseating environment.

It was a health hazard, and I potentially saved her from being overdosing on essentially fermented fruit yogurt in a bottle.

“Merry Christmas and I love you.” The whisper is soft, almost inaudible as I let the confession sink into her head.

She spins around in my arm, clasping her fingers on my back while her brown eyes are glowing in happiness.

I truly love this woman. She’s been absolutely a heaven-sent to me; patient and supportive of my persistent distrusting nature, loving the war-damaged soul, and accepting boyfriend Milo and Navy SEAL Miloslav.

Not a single person I have come across who knows my name can distinguish the two changes combating in my head, fighting for dominance. They did some to a compromise with Amelia. Milo would be there for her as an affectionate, loving, and tentative boyfriend. Miloslav would be her domineering, protective, controlling shield.

“Merry Christmas and I love you too.”

Amelia stands on her toes, and I meet her halfway, kissing her soft lips and reeling in the content happiness comforting me and basking me in a light of warmth that repels the nagging uncertainty in the back of my mind.

The nightmarish memories and the distinctive throbbing from the scar on my right side fade to oblivion.

For now.

It’s going to come back and haunt me. It always does, and it will never stop as long as there are doubt and fear for it to feed on. For now, though, I have Amelia, and everything is great.

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