::: CHAPTER NINE :::
In three nights, I hadn't slept. Riddick was leaving soon. I heard him tell Imam that the transactions had cleared and if everything went accordingly, he could get a ship and fly out. A look of reluctance crossed Imam's solemn face. For a moment, I knew he internally questioned whether it was right to let the convicted murderer just leave. I jeered at Imam -- as if he could stop him.
Insomnia was quite fulfilling in many degrees of self-torture. It made me feel light -- almost weightless. Through the fog and haze, my mind worked slower, yet the answers seemed clearer. Shapes were distorted, and when I moved my hand in front of my eyes, it had a trailing blur of color following it. Slow motion overtook my life, and I could see everything happening simultaneously. I no longer believed the people who said sleep-deprivation makes you feel incoherent and sluggish. Sometimes I felt the need to lie down and as soon as my head would touch the pillow, I was overcome with a variety of sensitivities -- the blood pumping through my body, the whirring in the back of my throat, and numb points at the tips of fingers and toes. This alone kept me awake for hours.
Riddick was the only one who noticed. Said nothing but was aware. Since our encounter, I took the liberty of staying out of his way. The loss of his skin at night though was unbearable. My body shook sometimes, remembering his steady breathing and imperceptible movements of trying to inch away from me. Even his sleep self knew to be on alert.
It was late afternoon, and Imam had gone out to the city's center to buy food. Riddick was reading a book in the corner, where it was darkest. I was lying on the bed with one arm slung over my eyes protecting me from the outside light that was seeping through the tiny, microscopic holes in the curtains. The ankle of my right leg was rotating in slow circles, the only sign that I was awake. My other hand was on the lower part of my stomach, moving up and down with each breath.
Inhale . . . exhale . . . inhale . . . .
The mix of quiet and tiredness, along with Riddick's presence rendered me helpless. I fell asleep.
The dream was outlandish. I was riding in an elevator, alone. Not surprising. The elevator represented dread for me. Its ascending motion was nauseating. It wouldn't stop. The destination was the seventh floor, but it never stopped. There were only nine floors. I jabbed at the buttons, hoping the elevator wouldn't break through the roof and sail through the unsupportive air. I shut my eyes tightly and prepared for impact. It never came. The elevator came to a halt between the eighteenth and nineteenth floors, floors that didn't even exist. The metal doors opened and revealed to me embers falling from the what looked like caverns, dusty smoke swirling through the red landscape, and canyons so deep the eye was only met with darkness. This was hell -- personified. And clearly it was the only stop I could get off on.
The first thing I felt were cold hands clutching my upper arms. They were my hands. My spirit must have searched for comfort in itself because of the dream, not realizing it was but a frosty reptile with ice running through its veins. The second thing I felt was Riddick hovering over the bed, looking at me. I kept my eyes closed and saw light taking over every crevice inside my eyelid. It was night, and I knew the room's lights were off but nonetheless I was forced to open my eyes in order to escape illumination.
As soon as I did, Riddick grabbed my wrists, uncrossing my arms, and pulling me up on my knees -- bottom half of my legs awkwardly positioned. I sat back with Riddick still holding tightly to my wrists. For a surreal moment, I thought this was his way of comforting me.
"Riddick, it's okay. It was just a nightm --"
"Shut up."
This was unexpected. I said the only thing that came to mind.
"Where's Imam?"
Riddick smirked at what I imagined to be my very apathetic face. On their own accord, my hands twisted trying to pull out from Riddick's inhuman grasp.
"Calm down." His tone held no space for argument.
My body relaxed, and I allowed my weight to distribute to the bed, making Riddick strain trying to hold me up. My eyes peeled the darkness away and saw a bundle on the floor near the door . . . no not a bundle . . . a suitcase. Is he going now? I thought.
Suddenly Riddick let go and instantly my fingers wrapped around the bruised skin on my wrist. The chill helped.
He was acting very strange -- pacing and looking at little knick-knacks scattered about. Mostly just invaluable things I had placed around deliberately trying to give the aspect of a well-adjusted teen's room. Still delirious from my short, stressful sleep, I couldn't focus on what was happening. My center directed me though.
It told me to pick up the heavy cherub decoration on the night stand table. I held it in my hands, staring at the twinkling eyes surrounded by chubby, rose cheeks. It was smiling up at me, and I quickly turned it over. The bed squeaked as I stood up on it. Riddick was sweeping his arm under a drawer to retrieve something. His head and body were bent low, as I crept to the edge of the bed. Raising both arms high above my head, I was about to smash the angel unto his head.
My arms came down and the swoosh of air was loud to paranoid minds, I realized too late. Riddick's right hand shot up, knocking the "weapon" from me. His left hand was still searching for something. He didn't even bother turning around.
Finally, after pulling out what looked like a new shiv, he tilted his head to where I sat sulkingly on the bed hugging a pillow. Who he was trying to fool, I didn't know. My expression turned into an ugly sneer, and I bit out a sharp-edged sentence.
"If you're gonna kill me, do it . . . just stop fuckin' staring."
My skin was liquefying and my organs were dissolving. I was sure that my carefully built layers were disappearing and soon Riddick's gaze would be scrutinizing a pale green luna moth instead of a flesh and blood girl.
Why was he staring at me like that?
It was unnerving to say the least. I felt like a color cube, with all the hues scattered -- no pattern. This caused my back to arch and for the moment I was a cat -- eyes squinted and claws ready for attack. Riddick fluidly stood up. Shiv in hand, he walked towards me, and I threw the pillow aside, getting on my knees and planting my palms forcefully on the bed, as if that could keep me from flying off. My body, however, disagreed. Thinking I was about to be bled, I lunged at Riddick, going straight for the jugular -- naturally. After all, I had become a vampire by not sleeping at night. As my teeth were about to sink in, Riddick's hand grabbed a fistful of my short hair and yanked back. I fell in a heap on the floor, my top teeth scraping my tongue. Instead of his blood, I tasted mine.
His booted feet stepped right up to my bare toes. He looked down at me in disgust.
"What the fuck was that?"
He touched his long fingers to his neck and shook his head in an amused fashion.
"Did you just try to bite me?"
My only response was a snarl.
He squatted on his haunches and his hand went around the back of my neck, nails biting in.
"I asked you a question."
I just tilted my head, allowing my neck to crack in his hand. This gave me a sense of power. No way was I answering.
His face lit up without a smile, and I got a panic-filled sensation that he no longer required an answer because he was ahead of the game. Some piece of information that I was missing was allowing him to loosen his grip and unfurl his brows. Before I could decipher his changing body language, he pulled me off the floor and directed me towards the door with an unfeeling shove. In other circumstances, I would have reveled in his loss of control and allowance of baser qualities. He stepped up behind me and whispered in my ear.
"Don't draw any attention. You're coming with me."
He is taking me with him?
He opened the door, picked up the suitcase, and clutched my upper arm. It surprised me that my sick dream of going with him was actually coming true, and I didn't even have to coerce him into it.
The only question that remained was why.
In three nights, I hadn't slept. Riddick was leaving soon. I heard him tell Imam that the transactions had cleared and if everything went accordingly, he could get a ship and fly out. A look of reluctance crossed Imam's solemn face. For a moment, I knew he internally questioned whether it was right to let the convicted murderer just leave. I jeered at Imam -- as if he could stop him.
Insomnia was quite fulfilling in many degrees of self-torture. It made me feel light -- almost weightless. Through the fog and haze, my mind worked slower, yet the answers seemed clearer. Shapes were distorted, and when I moved my hand in front of my eyes, it had a trailing blur of color following it. Slow motion overtook my life, and I could see everything happening simultaneously. I no longer believed the people who said sleep-deprivation makes you feel incoherent and sluggish. Sometimes I felt the need to lie down and as soon as my head would touch the pillow, I was overcome with a variety of sensitivities -- the blood pumping through my body, the whirring in the back of my throat, and numb points at the tips of fingers and toes. This alone kept me awake for hours.
Riddick was the only one who noticed. Said nothing but was aware. Since our encounter, I took the liberty of staying out of his way. The loss of his skin at night though was unbearable. My body shook sometimes, remembering his steady breathing and imperceptible movements of trying to inch away from me. Even his sleep self knew to be on alert.
It was late afternoon, and Imam had gone out to the city's center to buy food. Riddick was reading a book in the corner, where it was darkest. I was lying on the bed with one arm slung over my eyes protecting me from the outside light that was seeping through the tiny, microscopic holes in the curtains. The ankle of my right leg was rotating in slow circles, the only sign that I was awake. My other hand was on the lower part of my stomach, moving up and down with each breath.
Inhale . . . exhale . . . inhale . . . .
The mix of quiet and tiredness, along with Riddick's presence rendered me helpless. I fell asleep.
The dream was outlandish. I was riding in an elevator, alone. Not surprising. The elevator represented dread for me. Its ascending motion was nauseating. It wouldn't stop. The destination was the seventh floor, but it never stopped. There were only nine floors. I jabbed at the buttons, hoping the elevator wouldn't break through the roof and sail through the unsupportive air. I shut my eyes tightly and prepared for impact. It never came. The elevator came to a halt between the eighteenth and nineteenth floors, floors that didn't even exist. The metal doors opened and revealed to me embers falling from the what looked like caverns, dusty smoke swirling through the red landscape, and canyons so deep the eye was only met with darkness. This was hell -- personified. And clearly it was the only stop I could get off on.
The first thing I felt were cold hands clutching my upper arms. They were my hands. My spirit must have searched for comfort in itself because of the dream, not realizing it was but a frosty reptile with ice running through its veins. The second thing I felt was Riddick hovering over the bed, looking at me. I kept my eyes closed and saw light taking over every crevice inside my eyelid. It was night, and I knew the room's lights were off but nonetheless I was forced to open my eyes in order to escape illumination.
As soon as I did, Riddick grabbed my wrists, uncrossing my arms, and pulling me up on my knees -- bottom half of my legs awkwardly positioned. I sat back with Riddick still holding tightly to my wrists. For a surreal moment, I thought this was his way of comforting me.
"Riddick, it's okay. It was just a nightm --"
"Shut up."
This was unexpected. I said the only thing that came to mind.
"Where's Imam?"
Riddick smirked at what I imagined to be my very apathetic face. On their own accord, my hands twisted trying to pull out from Riddick's inhuman grasp.
"Calm down." His tone held no space for argument.
My body relaxed, and I allowed my weight to distribute to the bed, making Riddick strain trying to hold me up. My eyes peeled the darkness away and saw a bundle on the floor near the door . . . no not a bundle . . . a suitcase. Is he going now? I thought.
Suddenly Riddick let go and instantly my fingers wrapped around the bruised skin on my wrist. The chill helped.
He was acting very strange -- pacing and looking at little knick-knacks scattered about. Mostly just invaluable things I had placed around deliberately trying to give the aspect of a well-adjusted teen's room. Still delirious from my short, stressful sleep, I couldn't focus on what was happening. My center directed me though.
It told me to pick up the heavy cherub decoration on the night stand table. I held it in my hands, staring at the twinkling eyes surrounded by chubby, rose cheeks. It was smiling up at me, and I quickly turned it over. The bed squeaked as I stood up on it. Riddick was sweeping his arm under a drawer to retrieve something. His head and body were bent low, as I crept to the edge of the bed. Raising both arms high above my head, I was about to smash the angel unto his head.
My arms came down and the swoosh of air was loud to paranoid minds, I realized too late. Riddick's right hand shot up, knocking the "weapon" from me. His left hand was still searching for something. He didn't even bother turning around.
Finally, after pulling out what looked like a new shiv, he tilted his head to where I sat sulkingly on the bed hugging a pillow. Who he was trying to fool, I didn't know. My expression turned into an ugly sneer, and I bit out a sharp-edged sentence.
"If you're gonna kill me, do it . . . just stop fuckin' staring."
My skin was liquefying and my organs were dissolving. I was sure that my carefully built layers were disappearing and soon Riddick's gaze would be scrutinizing a pale green luna moth instead of a flesh and blood girl.
Why was he staring at me like that?
It was unnerving to say the least. I felt like a color cube, with all the hues scattered -- no pattern. This caused my back to arch and for the moment I was a cat -- eyes squinted and claws ready for attack. Riddick fluidly stood up. Shiv in hand, he walked towards me, and I threw the pillow aside, getting on my knees and planting my palms forcefully on the bed, as if that could keep me from flying off. My body, however, disagreed. Thinking I was about to be bled, I lunged at Riddick, going straight for the jugular -- naturally. After all, I had become a vampire by not sleeping at night. As my teeth were about to sink in, Riddick's hand grabbed a fistful of my short hair and yanked back. I fell in a heap on the floor, my top teeth scraping my tongue. Instead of his blood, I tasted mine.
His booted feet stepped right up to my bare toes. He looked down at me in disgust.
"What the fuck was that?"
He touched his long fingers to his neck and shook his head in an amused fashion.
"Did you just try to bite me?"
My only response was a snarl.
He squatted on his haunches and his hand went around the back of my neck, nails biting in.
"I asked you a question."
I just tilted my head, allowing my neck to crack in his hand. This gave me a sense of power. No way was I answering.
His face lit up without a smile, and I got a panic-filled sensation that he no longer required an answer because he was ahead of the game. Some piece of information that I was missing was allowing him to loosen his grip and unfurl his brows. Before I could decipher his changing body language, he pulled me off the floor and directed me towards the door with an unfeeling shove. In other circumstances, I would have reveled in his loss of control and allowance of baser qualities. He stepped up behind me and whispered in my ear.
"Don't draw any attention. You're coming with me."
He is taking me with him?
He opened the door, picked up the suitcase, and clutched my upper arm. It surprised me that my sick dream of going with him was actually coming true, and I didn't even have to coerce him into it.
The only question that remained was why.