The Great Below

The Secret

Octavia was so drunk that the room had taken on a welcome glow at the edges. She stood still, fighting the to-and-fro sway the vodka had given her, while Alex disappeared into the bathroom. The faucet sounded.

Her room had been one end of a spectrum: sparse and new and unmarked. Devoid of character. Nick's room had been the other end: bursting. Unwashed clothes, wrinkled magazines, and a complete DVD collection of James Bond movies. Alex's room fell somewhere in the middle: he had the same basic pieces of furniture, but some were upgrades. The dresser looked like antique oak, complete with a beveled mirror. In the spot where Nick's room had a TV, Alex's had a tower full of stereo equipment – everything from an MP3 docking station to a turntable. His collections, CD and vinyl, were housed in milk crates along the wall as if he'd never finished unpacking.

Octavia went to the neatly-made bed and leaned against it. On the side table, a small picture frame was turned on its face.

Alex returned with a glass of water. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

She pulled back the comforter to find equally soft black, flannel sheets. It was heaven against the bare foot she slid in. She settled into a position halfway between sitting and lying down.

"Here," he added. Alex waited at her side of the bed while she drank. The aches and scratches in her throat came alive against the water.

Octavia pointed to the tower of electronics and said, "Could you...?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have a television like Nick."

"No," she said, and clanked a tooth against the glass from laughing. He thought she was so drunk that she couldn't tell the difference between a stereo and a television. "Could you play some music?"

"Oh."

Octavia finished as much of the water as she could, setting the glass down next to her. The small speakers of the docking station came alive with the sad, gentle notes of a piano. A man's voice sang along in a language she didn't recognize, adding to the melancholy.

"Sigur Rós," Alex said, by way of explanation.

Behind the piano came an organ, and a small tinkling of bells, and the song was a sunrise captured in audio. Octavia sank into the bed and let the room spin. If the vodka hadn't been fast at work, like a hot blanket across her shoulders, she would have grabbed Alex and begged him to help her leave. He might have done it. He seemed upset enough.

But then, she'd done enough begging. When had Victor accomplished anything by asking?

When Alex turned from the stereo tower, she patted the bed next to her.

"Oh, no," he replied. "I'll sleep on the floor."

Octavia shook her head emphatically. "I won't sleep...right away."

To his credit, he hesitated before climbing into the bed. He sat next to her, but on top of the covers. Their shoulders touched. When she looked up at him, she realized how close they were – she could see the creased skin at his neck and then his hair, which curled beneath his ears. She could smell him and feel his warmth. Then she was a little more awake than she would have liked.

"You shouldn't get hooked on anything while you're down here," Alex said. "I mean, you get it and it's great, but you don't know when you'll be able to get it again."

"Like cigarettes?" she asked.

He frowned. "I'm not trying to lecture. I just didn't know alcohol was a problem for you."

She wanted to say, I think of it more as a solution, but instead pulled the covers up around her and ignored him. The notes from the piano stretched out, dreamlike.