Croatian Palace
Imagine that you’re standing in Croatia. Funny, you never thought you’d go, but here you are. You’re in Old Town Dubrovnik, in an ancient Grecian palace by the sea. Creamy white towers of marble buttress you on either side, lit by the warm glow of candles. Reflections spill across the floor like ripples on water, the stone so smooth and well-trodden by foot traffic over centuries. The air is heavy, wet, and sweet with the breath of the Adriatic sea and the faint music of laughter and dining. You sit at a cafe with an evening glass of wine, when you notice a woman walk by. She’s beautiful, with long, waist-length dark hair and lean, voluptuous figure underneath a grey sheath dress. You scan furtively up her face and see a full pout, white smile, and what seems to be an enormous piece of spinach in her teeth -Holy shit. Is that Fan-Pei? That girl on Instagram? She looks completely unremarkable but also somehow exactly like her. That’s totally her. How did you start following her?
She’s leaning over, talking to a small girl. She has a huge smile across her face, giggling exaggeratedly and holding up a glass bottle like the hostess at a tea party. She honestly looks and acts like a cartoon. “Sok jabuka?” she says. The girl nods, juice on her face, and pushes her cup up to Fan-Pei, who fills it with a flourish and another giggle. The girl is enchanted with the performance. “I used to be a party princess. I can do this in my sleep.” Fan-Pei says with a shrug to the father. “I like to make people happy, and kids are really easy. Oh look you finished the juice already! I don’t have anymore!” The sticky, wet child starts to climb up Fan-Pei’s lap. She quickly masks her grimace with a pageant grin and lifts the girl into her lap. “My baby, you’re so cute, but I’m not your mommy!” She rocks her back and forth, singing no, no, no to the child. Something about the moment feels incredibly voyeuristic and you whip around, afraid to be caught staring. You push the event out of your mind and finish your drink.
Three days later, you’re carrying some groceries, wondering if you can cut through the apartment complex park on your way to the Airbnb. You hop from the curb to the sidewalk, the movement oddly timed with the rippling sound of fresh laundry hung like flags across the windows. “Please don’t. Please let me go. Please.” A voice from the window closest to you. It sounds familiar. You look down the window to a shower, and a woman is cowering in the corner, long dark hair clinging to her white skin. “Get up! Get up! You can’t leave.” A naked old white man is standing over her, spraying her in the face with the nozzle. “I’m not done yet. Stand up! Don’t be scared.” You look away. The vision is so strange it doesn’t compute. It’s like your brain glitched. You must have misunderstood the situation. You continue walking. At the end of the block you hear, “Please don’t do this. Just let me go home.” Where have you heard that voice before? You circle the block and think, something seems familiar, and that scene doesn’t look right. You should go back. You pace back to the apartment and hear that the voices have moved to the next window. You peer inside. A bedroom.
The woman is prone, lying naked on the bed, her body a swathe of white skin. On top of her is the old, menacing white man from before. You recognize the woman as Fan-Pei. She’s wet, her body slack, face expressionless, her eyes swollen and glazed. “Please just let me go. Please.” Her lips barely move, she seems almost unconscious. “Yes, just go to sleep. Go to sleep.” The man says in shushing, final tones. “I’ll be fast I promise.” You see him towering over her, rolling a condom over his erect penis and your vision blurs. Your mind starts to swim and you find your legs running towards the door. Unlocked. You run into the bedroom, unable to find your voice, “h-hey!” you croak, “Stop!” Your limbs seem to move of their own accord. You see your arms swing and the man on the floor. Fan-Pei looks almost asleep, eyes unfocused. You grab her hand and say, “Get up! Get up!” You pull her to her feet and out of bed. She starts running with you, somnambulant, one hand clutching her crotch. You’re full of adrenaline and feel like you’re floating out of your body, part of you wondering how strange this must look to be running with a naked Asian women through an empty Croatian complex.
You reach your Airbnb, usher Fan-Pei inside, and lock the door behind you. Careful not to look at her too closely, you ask if she’s okay. Her eyes are bright and there’s lines of tears and snot leaking into her quivering mouth. She looks like a distressed muppet. She lets out a garbled sound and falls into your arms, head on your shoulder, the heat of her breath on your neck. You shift your arms a bit and wrap them first on her bare back, then over your own hands, then hesitantly back to her back. Holy shit she’s soft. She’s draped over you like liquid, arms and chin nestled in the nooks of your body like she belonged there. She starts crying, her whole body shaking in your arms. You squeeze her gently, trying to stabilize her like a splint, trying to absorb her quaking movements. Her choking gasps move through you both, every spasm as she loses control. It’s so intimate. “Oh God, oh God.” She whimpers, clinging to you like your shirt to your skin, like a demented koala. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” You feel hot beads of tears roll down your chest under your clothes. And there she goes, choking and shaking and gasping, naked, soft, and wet, holding you like you are life itself. It feels insanely indecent. When was the last time you held someone like this?
“Thank you so much. Really.” She looks up at you, and it’s like you can look straight into her soul. There’s fear, exhaustion, gratitude. “I don’t know what I would have done without you. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” She moves her hand from her crotch and, Jesus Christ. She looks… grateful. Fuck. You feel this sudden, immense, almost uncontrollable hunger. You turn red and turn away. “It’s all fine. I’m just glad you’re safe. I will never do anything to you. No one will ever hurt you again. I promise. Let me get you some clothes.” You streak off to the closet, hear a gurgling whimper. Fan-Pei is shaking uncontrollably, naked and covered in tears and snot and who knows what else. She looks like she’s short-circuiting. “Really?” She croaks out, like she’s heard it a thousand times and is hoping against hope that this time it’s true. “Really.” You say, passing her fresh, dry clothes. “Everything you’ve been waiting for is here. Everything you deserve is here. Welcome to your new life. You made it.”
