World Alone - Lorde
Needless to say, it's been a sleepless night from the moment I woke, screaming as John nudged me into consciousness. It's hard to relax enough to drift off into a dream when you know for certain that dream will turn sour. But after how things played out, I would rather have stayed in that paralyzing nightmare than to hear John spit those words.
Azgeda, Azgeda, Azgeda… replays in my tired mind, John's voice sharp and spewing hate. His thin lips curling in disgust at the word - in disgust at me.
As he manages to quickly fall asleep after the dispute, I watch how uncomfortable he must be - neck bent forward without support, his back curved forward along the edge of the hard wall he uses as a lousy bed. I mean - he has no other choice. I only have one bed, only ever needed one bed.
I wonder what he's dreaming of. Is he back home, wherever that may be? Is he stuck down here in an exhilarating adventure in which he manages to break free from my prison? Or is he stuck in his own hell, as bad as mine, perhaps even more dreary than the bleak sky over Azgeda…
You certainly are Azgeda.
John sure has a way with words, especially ones that sting.
I shut out the guilt he's placed on me and decide to continue as if he's not here, as if I never had the pleasure of stumbling across him, as if I have the comfort of my solitude once again. And for the remainder of his sleep, however long or short that may be, I do have some solitude.
I begin by updating the tallied wall I've been neglecting. Grabbing the thick sharp stone from the floor, I secure it in the palm of my hand and place the tip deep into the crumbling wall. Soon, five tiny tally marks appear, symbolizing the past five days of my life - five long, hard, unexpected days with John.
Five days.
If he was truly involved with the woman of the mansion, perhaps something awful would have happened to me by now. And maybe John would stop begging to die.
It's getting harder and harder to believe the conspiracy I tell myself.
The pain and anguish in his dark eyes haunt me now. Maybe I am a truly awful person. Maybe he is telling the truth and I'm choosing to negate him. Maybe he really is suffering, inside and out, and I am the devil to him as the Queen was to me.
I need to get out of here. Grabbing a burlap sack, I tie it around my waist and head toward the exit. I cannot share these tiny quarters with a man who despises me just as I despise all those who've forced pain upon me. Before the guilt swallows me whole, I have a hand on the first metal rung and pull my fatigued body up into the cold, dark night.
John is sleeping anyway, but even when he wakes I will not be afraid to leave him there alone. The chains are tight and too short for him to reach knives, rocks, or anything else that may aid him in escaping.
It's been years since I let myself up into the forest at night. Who knows what is lurking around under the thick blanket of darkness that blinds my travels? I may be a fool to attempt a nighttime hunt and gather, so that's why I'll stay within sight of the boulder that marks my home. I've been meaning to gather some food from the trees and bushes that grow right above the hole. Some berries, an assortment of leaves, and even some insects that graze the forest floor.
I begin with the berries, checking the bush directly next to the boulder for any new growth I can harvest. My fingers gently brush against the thin twigs of the plant, focusing my vision on it in such complete darkness - the only source is the cloud covered moon - just enough to spot a decent patch of berries. I pluck them one by one until I hold a sizable handful and pocket them carefully, my hands stained blush red.
The night is eerily silent, no wind to rustle the leaves, no patters of paws over the brush, just my own rugged breath and soft footsteps as I scan the sky. No drones - and even if there are, I will hear them from miles away in this stillness. Even so, I work quickly, enjoying my time but eager to get back to safety.
I lift a large disk-like rock to reveal the bottom where countless ants and centipedes scatter. But in the center, a rather long slug sits still. I grab it, pinching with my nails until it's dead and pocket it. I do this again until I have about 7 - 4 for me and 3 for John.
Before I head back down, I pick enough leaves to fill the small burlap sack that hangs from my waist. I figure this total harvest will feed us for a day or two, but I will still need to come back up in the morning for fresh water.
With a hand on the boulder, I stop for a moment, lifting my head toward the sky. The moon slowly eases into view, the clouds moving like snails across the night sky. I feel the ghost of a hand on my shoulder.
If ever you feel lost, if ever you feel sad, if ever you need a sign to keep going - look at the heart on the moon. That's my heart.
My eyes glaze over the bright, blinding heart-shaped crater. I fight back the tears and allow the voice of my father play like music in my mind. Smiling once more at the symbol in the sky, I remove the boulder and duck inside.
When my vision finally adjusts to the dimly lit cave, John is not where I left him. He's a bundle under the sheets on my bed, laying on his side and dead asleep. While my eyelids flutter closed, heavy with the need for rest, I just stand and watch him. The candlelight is calm as it illuminates the curves of his body, the thin sheets rising and falling with his steady breath.
I step closer to find his face, buried against the side of the makeshift pillow: dead foliage encased in thick, itchy burlap. His lips are pressed closed, gently extended as he enjoys the pleasure of deep sleep. Just like a statue, beautifully crafted, lines accentuated by the soft light. Unmoving, serene, picturesque. Such an opposing sight from the anger he encompassed just hours ago.
I have a bad habit of watching John sleep. It's the closest I've felt to a human since I was young. He looks almost happy, tucked away there with his face relaxed and free from worry lines. When he's awake, however, the walls he builds around himself prevent me from entering his true character. Funny, since I do the exact same thing to block him out.
Maybe we've both lost too many people to be so dumb as to let it happen again.