A Tainted Sunrise
He had knocked on my door, his fingers rapping insistently. In turn I had thrown off my covers, and slipped into sweat pants and an old Rutger's t-shirt, my sister's, and shuffled, bleary eyed, to the door. When I opened it Ben was standing outside dressed in jeans in a t-shirt. His shirt was untucked, and one of his sleeves was half rolled up. Wearing an eager smile he looked so boyish, so close. For a moment I wanted to touch him to see if this was just some spirit that had appeared on my doorstep I had heard of stranger things. I reached out a hand, but then saw his eyes narrow in curiosity and knew this was the same Benjamin Linus that ruled our little community with a fist like liquid steel. And it was this, fist, that man, who had come to knock on my door. "What is it Ben?" I asked sleeply.
"There is something important I think you should see." Normally when he says things like this I worry. But there is no distance in it, like when the first woman died. Then he had stood aloof and un-present. Now, as he grabs my hand and tugs my out into the green, shoeless, he is very much here.
"Ben," I say startled and begin to laugh, "what are you doing?" I grab for the door knob but it's already swung shut out of my reach.
"I told you Juliet there's something you should see," his voice is almost breathless as he drags me across the green, past the swingset and around the maze of uniform little yellow houses. Our little community looks like a model railroad village in the first bursts of light, with details magnified until they look bleary and plastic. He tugs me past them, insistently.
"Ben," I protest weakly, "I didn't know you were one for medieval torture this early in the morning, you're killing my arm," I say softly, joking.
He continues tugging me and turns around, and I see those eyes again. And I remember that jokes like that usually aren't funny around him, because he is capable of anything. In some scary part of my mind I wonder if maybe has tortured someone this early in the morning.
The houses and dying concrete sidewalks have evaporated into a wide clean green field. And over the field, oh my god, over the field…
"It's beautiful isn't it," he says proudly, desperately, urgently, pulling me down to sit next to him against a tall softly mossed rock.
I fall against him with a light thud, leaning against him quietly, my eyes wide trying to take it in. I shiver a little bit in the morning cool and he rubs my shoulders and I smile a little.
In front of me the sky is painted, little bursts of life crosshatched against long streams of pale purple light. It is so new, so clean against a usually dirty imperfect sky. The clouds frame the light not disguise it and it spills onto us, over us. I bask in it, and I see him smile in my peripheral vision. It is a happy smile but not quite like his usual smile, it is a secure smile, the smile of a man confident where he is and who he is with.
Look at what I own he says, look at the things that I can give you Juliet. This what this all is, I realize dimly leaning away. He has no real appreciation for the sunset for any of this, the moment. Even this romanticism it is just an ends to a means, to keeping me here.
Of course he noticed the little x's I had in the corner of each day in the calendar. And he, he who appreciated the classics, and inside things, human things, things that were more complex than light arrayed against a backdrop, how could I expect him to understand. I sighed.
"What's wrong," he said severely, his eyes narrowing and his hand squeezing me to him, closer.
"Nothing Ben," I say lazily and begin to pry his fingers off of my arm. "I've got to get dressed, I may lose all credibility if I go prancing around shoeless." I say archly and press a small kiss to his cheek. "Thank you this is beautiful."
But he does not let go. I stop breathing, he knows, he always knows what I'm thinking. Every time that I gain an inch of knowledge about him, he is aware of it. And he can't even tell me, can't even just discuss this with me. Well we will discuss this, something about the sunshine makes me want to clean up all of our frayed edges. "Ben, today is the day I'm supposed to go home."
He relaxes, this was an expected faux paux, not the new dangerous light he had seen in my eyes. "Juliet, you're work here is not done. It won't be forever, just a couple more months." I wonder if he really believes this, that it will really only be a few more months. No I think he knows, I think he knows that he's going to extend it as long as he can. But it can't be forever, that is not his style, there has to be a reason and in a couple of months, weeks even my work will either be complete or impossible.
"I miss Rachel Ben, I miss going to nightclubs and dancing horribly but not caring because there is no one I know there, I miss eating chili at this great little Mexican place down the block, I miss having friends that don't eat the same place I do, live the same place I do, experience the same damn everything I experience." I want to cover my mouth to stop this stream of profanities that is issuing forth. I meant for him to reveal himself, not for me too. But he wins, he always wins. He gets my emotions and what do I get, a manipulated sunrise? I wait for his reply expecting something between condescension and anger, but his face is gentle and he tugs me closer to him again and I do not resist.
"Juliet Rachel is /fine/; she's going through /her/ pregnancy fine." He begins to stroke my hair, and it feels so good, so comforting. It shouldn't but it does. He is the cause of these frustrations how can he dissipate them so quickly in turn. He smiles wistfully, "and as for the little Mexican restaurant, why don't we have Mexican tomorrow in honor of you." Then he improvises, I can tell because of the way I see his lips purse a little and his eyebrows raise. Even then it says, look I'm straying from the script Juliet all for you, always for you. "And while I can't say I'm a fan of the bump and grind, and I didn't know you were either, I could always add some songs to your collection."
I want to tell him it isn't about that, those little things. But he's trying he really is, and maybe it will be enough. He just wants me here, and I do want to be here really I do, but I don't know if it will work out. I don't know completely how much I'm ready to sacrifice for him. I think he already knows, I see it in the way his eyes seem to twinkle in reverse. He already knows the ending and is as secretive about it as ever.
I sigh. "Ben I'm sorry you do something really nice for me and here I am blathering," I pull away, and this time get as far as standing up. I wonder if he knows that I'm not completely sincere I just need some time away from him, a second to collect back the pieces of myself, my life that he has stolen. By now the sun is half lidded and dulled by clouds instead of furnished with them. We are yellowed in the light and it isn't flattering to either of us.
"Let me walk you home, we still have the debate from the book club to finish," he says archly. He must be aware of what I'm trying to do, he must know, how could he move so perfectly in alignment against every part of me that does not fit within /us/ if he didn't. I grab his hand to pull him up and his hand snakes around my waist. I don't protest because it feels good, firm and right.
He will allow me these little debates over book-clubs, Mexican restaurants and sunsets but he will always win the big battles. We walk off into the new born light and I wonder how much of a chance I ever had.
