Uncertain Memory

Elle didn't find the couch of Ludger's apartment comfortable, even when Rollo came up to snuggle next to her. She didn't sleep well on it and crossed her arms and frowned as she stared at it. Ludger had put a pillow on one end of it and put several neatly folded blankets out for her to choose from, but even with those comforts, she still wasn't happy about it.

Ludger was walking over with another clean sheet when he noticed her front. "Something wrong?"

"I don't want to sleep on the couch," she pouted.

"Do you need more pillows?"

"I just don't like it."

Rollo chimed in with a meow, as though he was agreeing that the couch was far inferior to a proper bed. Ludger glanced to the door to his room with a hint of guilt betrayed in his expression. He was getting progressively easier to sway to her wishes each day.

"Would you rather sleep in my room?" he asked.

Elle crossed her arms and closed her eyes for a moment. "I guess that'd be better."

"Alright, I'll get it ready for you," he said as he turned to walk back toward the linen cabinet.

"Change all the blankets!" she called after him. "I don't want them smelling icky like your perfume!"

"Cologne," he corrected tiredly.

"Same same," she said as she picked Rollo up in her arms.

Rollo looked up at her and gently batted at one of her pigtails, though it was a harmless gesture without claws extended. It reminded her fleetingly of her father's old cat, though that pet had been so old by the time that she was born that he didn't try to play often. After Ludger was finished with the blankets, she inspected the room before bringing Rollo up on the bed with her.

"Goodnight, Elle," he said as he stood in the doorway, with his hand over the light switch.

"G'night," she said as she climbed up.

He was halfway out the door, on his way to the couch, when she noticed something was amiss.

"Hey, wait!"

"Hmm?" he asked, pausing.

"Where can I put my hat?" she asked, pointing at his nightstand with a front. "That's all full of junk."

"I'll hang it up on the closet," he said as he walked over and held his hand out for it.

She took it off but held on to both sides, reluctant to hand it over. "Are you gonna forget where you put it?"

"You can watch me put it on a hook right up front," he said with a smile.

She started to hold it out before she stopped. "Are your hands clean? I don't want my hat to get dirty!"

"I won't mess your hat up, don't worry," he said, oddly patiently.

She gave it to him reluctantly, watching as he walked over to the closet in the corner to hang it on one of the open hangers. She didn't like that it was up higher than she could reach, but there didn't seem to be much point in complaining more. Ludger bid her for a second time goodnight and turned the light off before retiring to the couch.

It was hard for her to fall asleep in an unfamiliar room, even with Rollo's familiar, warm presence beside her. She peered over the edge of the bed against the wall and frowned when she saw a sock poking out from under it; Ludger's cleaning wasn't as thorough as he claimed it to be. She rolled back over on her back and stared up at the ceiling, wishing she felt sleepier than she did.

When she was alone, it was harder to keep her mind away from the home she was torn from. Her mind strayed to her father, someone so central to so many of her memories prior to boarding that ten o'clock train. When she thought of him, she tried to focus on all of the good memories, when he was cooking dinner for them, or playing with her, or reading to her.

She closed her eyes and tried to focus on that image of him standing at the stove with the apron she'd gotten him for father's day tied around his waist, busy preparing meals just the way she preferred them. As much as she tried to make herself focus on that, flashes of another memory kept appearing in her mind with painful clarity.

She could remember it too well, looking at him facing away from her, his body tossed and jerked to and fro as bullets buried themselves into him, blood splattering over the ground. She had seen him fall to his knees before the boat was too far from the shore for her to still see him.

She opened her eyes and rested her head on Rollo's fur, staring at the numbers on the digital clock as she tried to push the memory from her mind. She truly, truly believed that her father was amazingly fast and strong and had dealt with the soldiers just like he did with the ones who threatened them inside the house, but she still hated the memory. As much as she had faith in him, she knew that she couldn't tell the others about what had happened. They wouldn't be confident like she was.

She tried to think of another recent memory she had of him, but that same one kept returning. Her father's head jerking back, his knees collapsing under him, the sound of gunshots echoing even after the boat made it impossible for her to see the shoreline. She shook her head quickly, but it did nothing to rid her of the memory. She held on to Rollo tightly, who made a small sound of protest.

Even when she closed her eyes to try falling asleep faster, that site wouldn't leave her be. He was there in her memories with blood painting the ground beneath his feet as red as the lake would be at sunset.

While I wrote this, I was in class listening to a documentary about coral reefs and eggs from something that pop out, float higher into the water, "prepackaged with sperm." The more you know ~*.

The one line where Elle's thinking of not telling the others about what happened to Victor is referencing something interesting that I noticed in the game with her. She's confident that her father is alright, even if it's just denial that she's sure he'll somehow be okay in Canaan, but she never mentions that last time she saw him to the group.

The prompt for this one was last memory.

I apologize if there are any weird errors, it's late. :'D I started to type reflection instead of expression at one point and just wondered what was wrong with me.