Alive
By: Aviantei
16 mph
It takes me several moments to recognize what's happening before my eyes—except that's a lie, and I notice right away. I lived in that sea of gray for years, so of course I recognize it. The several moments are instead spent on a fierce denial that this could possibly be happening, that the color could just vanish just like that.
I blink several times, as if I can reverse what's happening, cast it off as the sleep in my eyes not letting me focus. But no matter how I look, how I stare, the reality is still right before me: Alexander, Jan, Dew, and I are all crammed together in a ridiculous group selfie, looking faintly buzzed by the unrestrained smiles on our face, Dew's peace sign blurred because he hadn't put up his hand long enough. It would be great, if it weren't essentially a black and white photo, my skin an almost sickly off-white, Alexander's hair and eyes that I know are beautiful shades of brown and green lost in the shades of gray that I can't deny.
It makes me feel sick enough that I toss my phone to the floor, dissatisfied with the flimsy sound that happens when it smacks into the carpet.
Which turns out to be a poor decision because doing so gives me an eyeful of my room, which also happens to be drenched in grays, like I'm watching real life through some stupid augmented reality setting that lets you see everything the way it would appear in some movie from the last century. Except I don't need any fancy technology to accomplish that; no, sir, I can see the world just like that, all on my own.
I try to trick myself that it isn't happening by taking a shower, since most of my bathroom's décor is white anyways, but the shampoo and bodywash bottles give it away. I can't see color anymore, I can't see it, that beautiful world is gone.
You spoiled, spoiled brat. Who do you think you are, acting like you can enjoy yourself, just like that?
Once I've finished up my shower, the reality of it sinks in; that color is just a dream I'm not aloud to have, and I better get back to work if I ever expect to glimpse it again.
I'm not proud of the fact that I almost break down and call Alexander that morning, but I hold back the urge until our next scheduled day. I'm so out of it that I don't even plan an activity; I just want to get to him, be by his side, see if that changes anything.
Alexander, unlike anyone else I've encountered in this world, is always somehow able to give me the world in color, right from that first glimpse of the red of his riding suit amongst the sepias of the Team Velshtein hanger.
From the outside, his house matches all the other identical houses up the street—all the way down to the painfully gray colors they appear in. I try to ignore it, focusing on making my way into the kitchen, to make coffee like usual. Pretend like it's normal, pretend like I'm okay and enjoying myself.
I've had years of pretending, anyways.
If I listen hard enough, I can hear the sounds of the shower from down the hall. I finish assembling our respective coffee-milk-sugar ratios before Alexander arrives, though the water's stopped running from down the hall. Half of me feels an unfamiliar flush of interest at the memory of the taxicab a few days ago, but it's too wrapped up in my anxiety over whether I'll be able to see him in color again, as if he'll dye the world around me in full hues. I don't even bother to touch my coffee, instead pacing hastily across the kitchen floor, my socks slipping on the linoleum, making me feel even more unsteady.
"Morning, Kirsten," Alexander says, not even sounding surprised anymore. I'm a part of his routine now, someone he doesn't mind slipping in the door while he's around. He even gave me a key to save me the trouble of picking his locks every morning.
You're just tired, I try to tell myself. The spots of gray come by all the time; you should be used to it by now.
It's that pathetic reassurance that stops me from screaming when I turn around and face Alexander to see that he's in black and white, too. Same dark, baggy button up, still slightly damp dark hair. "Morning," I say in response, mustering up a fake smile and pivoting back towards my spot at the kitchen table. "Coffee's ready." Unlike the rest of my plans for the day. Why the hell didn't I think of something to do? It would have helped me from feeling like a fish out of water.
"Thanks." Alexander sits across from me, cradling the mug in his hands but not taking a drink yet. I'm left with a jumble of thoughts pounding relentlessly against the sides of my skull: Why can't I see him in color anymore? Does he remember anything from when he was drunk? What does he want out of me? What am I going to do so he can't tell something is wrong? "Okay, Kirsten, I know you don't like serious talk, but will you hear me out for a few minutes?"
I'm so relieved for the chance to not be in charge of the conversation that I immediately nod. "What is it?"
"I've been thinking…about our deal." I take a drink from my coffee cup so he can't see the beginnings of my frown. Not that he's looking directly at me, anyways. For all my teasing, I don't think I've ever seen him look so awkward. Like there's something he's hesitating to tell me. "I mean, I know I already said that I don't plan to turn you into the cops anytime soon—or at all, really. But I was still thinking that…" He trails off.
I put my cup down with a thunk, trying not to grimace. My awful mood has not only blunted my sense of color; I can't even properly appreciate the taste of Alexander's way too fucking expensive coffee beans. "I didn't know you were such a pansy," I say, unable to put the full sarcastic bite into it. Not because I don't want to tease him, but because I'm absolutely terrified of what his next words might be.
"Right, this isn't like me." Alexander takes in a calm breath and finally looks up at me. "I really appreciate what you've done. Like I said on the track: you were right, and I was bored. But you helped me a lot and just…" There's that hesitant look again, and I regret practically downing half my mug of coffee; even with a ton of creamer, there's too much acid rolling around in my stomach. "I don't think I could ever think things were boring again. And that's what you wanted to accomplish, wasn't it?"
Oh, so this is what this is.
I don't know I expected otherwise.
Fine then, we'll play it your way.
I cross my arms and go into business mode as quickly as I can so I can get this farce over with. "So that's it, then? Mission accomplished?" Alexander stares at me, his mouth hanging open uselessly, too stunned to even try to think of a convenient excuse. "Well, congratulations. You no longer get to live your life like an absolute stick in the mud. Seriously, congrats."
Lucky fucking you.
"Kirsten—" he says, but he doesn't even know what he's going to say next. Fortunately for him, I can guess.
"Don't worry about it," I say, waving my hand in a dismissive gesture. There's no point to this little game if it isn't working out in my favor anymore. I'd rather get it over with than torment myself with the faintest possibility of color. "I held up my end of the deal, and you held up yours." I force myself to say the next words, ignoring the bitter taste they leave in my mouth. "We can call this whole mess off and not worry about feeling any guilt over it."
He grimaces. "That's not what I was going to say."
"Wasn't it?" He doesn't come back with an immediate counter to my challenge. "You should know by now that I dislike tedious things. I don't have time to waste beating around the bush when I could be doing something productive with my time." Something that's enough of a thrill that the world explodes into color, like a massive, vibrant paint spill. "Besides, you only have so much longer left in your precious off season. Surely you have better things to do with your time than mess around with some stranger."
The unpleasant grimace quickly turns into an agitated scowl. Good, let him get pissed off. That'll make this break a whole lot easier. Who knows, a shouting match might be worth some good adrenaline. "You're not a stranger to me, Kirsten."
I let out a laugh, ignoring how spiteful it sounds. "Are you sure about that?" I ask, trapping him in a stare so he can't look away, even though it hurts to see those green eyes a muted shade of gray again. "You wanna tell me exactly how much you know about me? I mean, what you really know about me." It's a trick question, because I haven't told him jack shit.
Alexander's competitive nature flares up as he stares me down without a shred of hesitation. "I know plenty about you, Kirsten. Not everything, but enough to know that you don't really mean what you're saying. So what's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" I snort again, dismissing his words as a lucky shot in the dark. "That's an easy one, Cunningham:
"You piss me off."
The words come out much harsher than the first time I said them, back in the Velshtein hanger. I only had a fraction of frustration in me then than I do now. Because before he was just a rich guy who couldn't even bother to appreciate how good he had it, only dwelling in boredom.
Now he's someone who's figured it out and has found that beautiful and fulfilling world while I—
I'm just stuck in this damn sea of gray.
The jealousy is almost enough to make me nauseous, but I swallow it down and stand up. "Like you said, I did what I wanted to accomplish. I got you off my back." His gaze follows me, but I don't bother to look at his face. "So I'll get out of your way. No harm, no foul."
"Kirsten," he says again, my name mixed with the sound of the scrape of his chair against the tile floor.
reaches out for me, catching onto my wrist. I didn't expect him to actually grab me, which is why I can feel his palm against my skin. Of course, he doesn't expect me to seriously resist him, so his grip is weak, and I slip away just as easily. If it weren't for the fact that part of the reason why we were in this whole mess was because I was avoiding the police, I would've gone for it and broken his wrist. Tends to work like a charm when you want to cut people away from you.
"Play time's over, Cunningham," I say, not even bothering to give him a taunting smile. If I do, he'll think there's a chance. "So just give it up and know when you've lost, kay?"
He goes to say something, tries to catch my hand again. But it's already in my pocket as I head for the door, and I'm throwing his spare house key at him the next second. It makes a satisfying smack against the front of his shirt before starting a clattering racket against the floor. I'm gone before the echoes of the sound can even fade.
The gray landscape indistinguishable in my tunnel vision, I run down the street and away from his house. Not that I need to bother. He isn't following me.
So just give it up and know when you've lost, kay?
"Oh don't worry," I tell myself, "I'm well aware that I've lost."
[Author's Notes]
It just wouldn't be an Avi fic if I didn't pull in a pile of angst. Let's go wild! Or maybe just be angsty. That works, too.
This is another one of the sequences I first drafted out when I was concepting this story, so it was unavoidable. I think there's one more sequence that's been in the works since then? That'll be coming up soon.
For those of you that are curious, I've managed to figure out the final pacing for this fic, so all that's left is to draft it. Though I've already mentioned that the end is nigh, it's approaching ever closer from the production end.
Next chapter is next Saturday! Please look forward to it!
-Avi
[08.19.2019]
