::: CHAPTER NINETEEN :::
Click. Whirl. Click. And so it began. The lights snapped on and reality fled to the background. All that remained was the unholy white reverberated by the steel, clean and dirty at the same time. I was waiting outside of Riddick's door, anticipating him coming out and trying to kill me. No doubt he would know that this had been my doing. Funny, I wanted him to try to do exactly that. I needed him to hurt me, lose all control, and in the process screw himself over. Dehumanization always came at a price and even though the consequences would hurt like fuck for me, I was prepared to endure just for his destruction. Self-destruction had always been my talent anyway.
It should be easier for him to hurt me, if he can't see me, I thought.
Riddick's door opened, tentatively, and the first thing I saw was his bare chest and low hanging pants. My mind was a wandering fool, starved for water . . . or whatever. I quickly shut it off.
My eyes moved to his face and noticed his eyes were shut -- tightly and securely. Definitely not blissful anymore. That was what the son of a bitch deserved. Anxiety, not joy. He thought he was strong, he better start acting like it.
Riddick didn't bother closing the door as he moved in my direction. He knew where I was standing. His steps were slow but his arms were hanging loosely at his side. It was quite a feat for him to be pained but look casual at the same time, I mused. For the moment, I was glued to that spot on the floor, mesmerized by Riddick's somber walk towards me. My body chilled to the bone and clammy sweat started forming droplets on my upper lip. Just what I needed -- salty sweat that he could probably smell that would bring him to me. Moth to the flame. Erratic thoughts whizzed through my head.
The floor was spinning and my heart was turning inside out. Seeing Riddick gliding -- yes, gliding -- to me couldn't get anymore frightening. And yet, I wasn't supposed to move . . . . I had to let him mar me in order for my plan to be successful. I knew that his inner monster was just waiting for a reason so it could resurface. I was that reason.
Riddick's voice drifted over me, stabbing me with a thousand needles. Glass. Cut. Fear.
"Jack, I can feel you."
I started breathing through my mouth. More air, I needed more air. "Yeah, but you can't see me," my voice cracked.
His lips curled into a vicious smirk. "Don't need to."
I squeezed my eyes so tightly that I thought tears would spring free. I desperately wished that I couldn't see him. Not the other way around. Try hard as I might, I couldn't keep it together and just wait for him; I twisted my body and ran in the opposite direction. Swallowing excessively, I came to a stop and turned my body to see if Riddick was behind me.
He was.
It seemed like he had gained some equilibrium and was walking much faster. I was officially in a slasher flick. Panting and rubbing the back of my neck, I ran into the room on my left. The right side never attracted me.
Foam was swelling my brain, as I clicked the door closed. No lock. Riddick was going to get in -- no other way around it. I looked around the room, wanting to see the place where Riddick would be shedding blood. What if he killed me? Sure, I wanted him to revert back to eviler ways, but was I really prepared to die for it? The decision was all ready made though -- how could I back out of this? Plus dying was better than enslavement. So yes, I was ready to die . . . as long as every shred of Riddick's humanity did too. Yet, I was hoping -- never praying -- that he would just hurt me a lot.
Riddick walked into the room, while I was straining my body into the corner, trying to mold into the steel. Beautiful, untarnished steel. Steel that was now gleaming from the disgusting lights, not a crevice of darkness anywhere. I just didn't belong in this world -- this bright, gloating world, were shadows were banished. Did that mean I would soon be banished too? Must have -- I was worse than a shadow; I was the epitome of dark. Staring at Riddick's form actually made me feel better -- at least I wasn't the only one who didn't belong in this existence. He looked as much out of place as I did. His bronze skin was out-shimmered by the lights and his expression was wounded by the denial to open his eyes. At least I wasn't alone. I let a ghost of a smile pull my lips upwards, and I knew exactly how Riddick felt. If I was lost in the glow, so was he. If the light burned me, it burned him too. And if I felt vulnerable, so did he. The smile slipped to a dark shadow at my feet. Riddick was close enough to touch me.
His hands reached up and flitted by my face; I recoiled. I shot out of the corner, around to Riddick's back. Before I could turn completely to stare at his back, he had all ready done a 360 and was facing me dead-on. It was like his eyes were open. So eerie . . . so dreadful . . . so beautiful. He once again reached for me, but I kept moving away from him. It was a deadly waltz . . . black shadows roaming the sun's surface. We were unwelcome to the ball, but we just kept on dancing.
I started pulling things off shelves, hoping to trip Riddick's graceful steps. But instead I tripped. Got up. Tripped again. I was awkward and dazed. The desire to claw my eyes out to get the light away was infuriating. The itch spread throughout my whole body and ugly red splotches appeared. The blood was coming to the surface . . . . I guess it knew it would be leaving my body soon. As soon as Riddick captured me.
It felt like hours but it had only been minutes. The exhaustion of dodging Riddick's grasp was making my body want to lull into the fetal position. I hadn't looked directly at him for a while now and when my eyes glanced accidentally at him, I was overwhelmed with his tired presence. He looked . . . wasted . . . vulnerable. It was scary. I had never seen him like that before. The incapability of sight must've really affected him. Was he going to keel over? Had I gone too far? He looked like he was dying. I wanted to make him angry in an inhuman way, but this just made him seem more human. The vulnerability made him weak in a sickening way.
Disturbed by his openly changing demeanor, I involuntarily moved a step closer to him. His head whipped in my direction like he hadn't known I was there. He was off balance that he was actually displacing where I was. His breathing was ragged and he had one hand on the wall, supporting himself. What the hell was wrong with him? I needed him to be mad and kick the shit out of me, not all trembling and fatigued. Now I knew why he had gotten a shine-job in Slam -- not being able to see must've been torturous.
Apparently not being to see also brought back memories for him because he leaned against the wall and shut his eyes even more tightly; little creases were appearing. His voice was hoarse, "Jack."
I gulped and rolled my shoulders. "What?" The question sounded accusing. I didn't know why. Like he was the one ruining my plan or something.
The sentence started off softly but raised in crescendo. "Turn off the fucking LIGHTS!" he roared.
I winced from the words. For a second, I actually wanted to ease his pain and maybe turn off the light, but I just couldn't give in. "I can't," I whispered.
His voice took on a warning tone. "Do it."
Shaking my head no, I went towards him. "I can't." It was a mantra. "Sorry," I mouthed. I hoped he didn't hear that.
I couldn't turn off the light, but I could aid him a bit because for a second I related . . . being alone did hurt. Warily I approached him and slowly raised my arm to touch him. He seemed to flinch but it could've just been my imagination. Whispers flooded my mind and scared me with foreboding. I shushed them and laced my fingers through Riddick's. His other hand came up and tightened around my throat, but there was no drive behind it so he squeezed once . . . twice . . . and then let go. Leaning closer to him, I felt heat radiating off him. Pulsing, horrible heat. He detached from the wall and used me for support instead. He had lost all sense of direction. The silence was filling the room with empty tension. I just had to say something.
Nothing came to mind, however, except, "I'm here."
Riddick grunted as if acknowledging me was too threatening to his existence.
I pulled him to my room and sat him on the corner of my bed -- his muscles shifting and relaxing as I let go of him. Shuffling to the other side, I dug my hand under the mattress and produced Riddick's goggles. I didn't know exactly how to give them back. What should I say? Here, I just found these laying around? I didn't think that would work.
I went to stand in front of him and lowered my face level with his. I studied every line on his face. He was . . . interesting. However, he seemed a little nervous about my close inspection and warm breath washing over him so I stopped. Tugging at his arm, I brought up his hand, palm up. Distractedly, I noted he had a very long life line, like me -- this was no time for palm reading though. I gingerly placed his goggles in his hand, along with my fate, and then I stepped back.
Riddick growled, a little bit more energized and slipped the goggles on. He raised his head to my probably ghastly white face and his goggles creepily reflected the light. Sick as it sounded, I willed him to hurt me. My plan couldn't have been a complete waste of time, especially since I was running out of that precious commodity.
Riddick rose from the bed, as if the weakness from before had never existed. Had he been faking it? Somewhere deep in me though, I knew he hadn't. I was nervous; it was obvious.
"Guess you never saw who was sneaking behind you in the dark this time, huh, Riddick?" Not funny. Vaguely aware of that.
Being slammed against the wall for a second time did not make it less shocking or painful. My blood must have bubbled in my veins and my bones must've shook from the impact. Do it . . . do it . . . do it . . . come on, Riddick, I know you want to, my mind screamed. A slap . . . a punch . . . something . . . make me fear your name, Richard B. Riddick. Hurt me to hurt you. Let those feelings of rage out, you know you want to, I sent telepathic messages to him. Take your frustration out on me . . . yes, me . . . who stole your goggles and turned on all the lights. Exposed you . . . deliberately, cruelly, and maliciously hurt you. Don't see the real reason, Riddick, just know that I'm crazy.
"Do it," I said. The words were a reflection . . . an echo. Hadn't he uttered the same ones a few minutes ago? I was losing it. His brow furrowed, and he looked like he might seriously damage me for a moment. I begged me to just do it . . . to just let go. I've let it all go -- why couldn't he? If he didn't, I failed . . . simply lost everything. I would be shunned to the pirates, while he went on -- all controlled and superior. Couldn't have that.
Riddick squeezed my shoulders tightly, and I was sure he was going to break bones. I couldn't see his eyes, but I was sure the dangerous glint was there. My eyes? They were probably puffy and red . . . hurt from the suffocating lights. There was a buzzing around Riddick . . . . A ferocious rumble threatening to escape his lips. He was going to do it. I welcomed it, reluctantly . . . but still it was a welcome.
My eyes closed of their own accord, as if that could somehow block out the impending pain. Turning my face away, I waited for the blows. They never came. I blinked my eyes open and Riddick looked conflicted. With a sharp growl, he shook me and pushed me against the wall some more; he was so close to letting go . . . Why wasn't he? Finally, he slammed me once more, forcing me to struggle and then just walked out.
Just walked out.
I ran to the door but when I tried to open it, it was locked. Banging my fist against it just seemed desperate so I didn't do that. I slipped down to the floor and touched my cheeks. Finding wetness there didn't surprise me. Nothing surprised me anymore.
As I was crawling back to stability, the lights flickered and then went off . . . completely. That was zero capacity. Silent and wonderful. Riddick had locked me in my room and submerged me in absolute darkness? That was the number one way for me to feel comfortable fully digging out of my shell. Did he really want to awaken the shriveled, slimy thing that was me? God, he didn't know what he doing. I'll go crazy in the dark, I thought. No, crazier.
And now two days later, here I was -- stuck in the room dripping inky black, blending into the background . . . so effortlessly.
Like I said before, three more days until Zemi. Three days. Not one. Not two. But three. Easy? Nope.
Three days . . . enough time for something to go wrong.
Click. Whirl. Click. And so it began. The lights snapped on and reality fled to the background. All that remained was the unholy white reverberated by the steel, clean and dirty at the same time. I was waiting outside of Riddick's door, anticipating him coming out and trying to kill me. No doubt he would know that this had been my doing. Funny, I wanted him to try to do exactly that. I needed him to hurt me, lose all control, and in the process screw himself over. Dehumanization always came at a price and even though the consequences would hurt like fuck for me, I was prepared to endure just for his destruction. Self-destruction had always been my talent anyway.
It should be easier for him to hurt me, if he can't see me, I thought.
Riddick's door opened, tentatively, and the first thing I saw was his bare chest and low hanging pants. My mind was a wandering fool, starved for water . . . or whatever. I quickly shut it off.
My eyes moved to his face and noticed his eyes were shut -- tightly and securely. Definitely not blissful anymore. That was what the son of a bitch deserved. Anxiety, not joy. He thought he was strong, he better start acting like it.
Riddick didn't bother closing the door as he moved in my direction. He knew where I was standing. His steps were slow but his arms were hanging loosely at his side. It was quite a feat for him to be pained but look casual at the same time, I mused. For the moment, I was glued to that spot on the floor, mesmerized by Riddick's somber walk towards me. My body chilled to the bone and clammy sweat started forming droplets on my upper lip. Just what I needed -- salty sweat that he could probably smell that would bring him to me. Moth to the flame. Erratic thoughts whizzed through my head.
The floor was spinning and my heart was turning inside out. Seeing Riddick gliding -- yes, gliding -- to me couldn't get anymore frightening. And yet, I wasn't supposed to move . . . . I had to let him mar me in order for my plan to be successful. I knew that his inner monster was just waiting for a reason so it could resurface. I was that reason.
Riddick's voice drifted over me, stabbing me with a thousand needles. Glass. Cut. Fear.
"Jack, I can feel you."
I started breathing through my mouth. More air, I needed more air. "Yeah, but you can't see me," my voice cracked.
His lips curled into a vicious smirk. "Don't need to."
I squeezed my eyes so tightly that I thought tears would spring free. I desperately wished that I couldn't see him. Not the other way around. Try hard as I might, I couldn't keep it together and just wait for him; I twisted my body and ran in the opposite direction. Swallowing excessively, I came to a stop and turned my body to see if Riddick was behind me.
He was.
It seemed like he had gained some equilibrium and was walking much faster. I was officially in a slasher flick. Panting and rubbing the back of my neck, I ran into the room on my left. The right side never attracted me.
Foam was swelling my brain, as I clicked the door closed. No lock. Riddick was going to get in -- no other way around it. I looked around the room, wanting to see the place where Riddick would be shedding blood. What if he killed me? Sure, I wanted him to revert back to eviler ways, but was I really prepared to die for it? The decision was all ready made though -- how could I back out of this? Plus dying was better than enslavement. So yes, I was ready to die . . . as long as every shred of Riddick's humanity did too. Yet, I was hoping -- never praying -- that he would just hurt me a lot.
Riddick walked into the room, while I was straining my body into the corner, trying to mold into the steel. Beautiful, untarnished steel. Steel that was now gleaming from the disgusting lights, not a crevice of darkness anywhere. I just didn't belong in this world -- this bright, gloating world, were shadows were banished. Did that mean I would soon be banished too? Must have -- I was worse than a shadow; I was the epitome of dark. Staring at Riddick's form actually made me feel better -- at least I wasn't the only one who didn't belong in this existence. He looked as much out of place as I did. His bronze skin was out-shimmered by the lights and his expression was wounded by the denial to open his eyes. At least I wasn't alone. I let a ghost of a smile pull my lips upwards, and I knew exactly how Riddick felt. If I was lost in the glow, so was he. If the light burned me, it burned him too. And if I felt vulnerable, so did he. The smile slipped to a dark shadow at my feet. Riddick was close enough to touch me.
His hands reached up and flitted by my face; I recoiled. I shot out of the corner, around to Riddick's back. Before I could turn completely to stare at his back, he had all ready done a 360 and was facing me dead-on. It was like his eyes were open. So eerie . . . so dreadful . . . so beautiful. He once again reached for me, but I kept moving away from him. It was a deadly waltz . . . black shadows roaming the sun's surface. We were unwelcome to the ball, but we just kept on dancing.
I started pulling things off shelves, hoping to trip Riddick's graceful steps. But instead I tripped. Got up. Tripped again. I was awkward and dazed. The desire to claw my eyes out to get the light away was infuriating. The itch spread throughout my whole body and ugly red splotches appeared. The blood was coming to the surface . . . . I guess it knew it would be leaving my body soon. As soon as Riddick captured me.
It felt like hours but it had only been minutes. The exhaustion of dodging Riddick's grasp was making my body want to lull into the fetal position. I hadn't looked directly at him for a while now and when my eyes glanced accidentally at him, I was overwhelmed with his tired presence. He looked . . . wasted . . . vulnerable. It was scary. I had never seen him like that before. The incapability of sight must've really affected him. Was he going to keel over? Had I gone too far? He looked like he was dying. I wanted to make him angry in an inhuman way, but this just made him seem more human. The vulnerability made him weak in a sickening way.
Disturbed by his openly changing demeanor, I involuntarily moved a step closer to him. His head whipped in my direction like he hadn't known I was there. He was off balance that he was actually displacing where I was. His breathing was ragged and he had one hand on the wall, supporting himself. What the hell was wrong with him? I needed him to be mad and kick the shit out of me, not all trembling and fatigued. Now I knew why he had gotten a shine-job in Slam -- not being able to see must've been torturous.
Apparently not being to see also brought back memories for him because he leaned against the wall and shut his eyes even more tightly; little creases were appearing. His voice was hoarse, "Jack."
I gulped and rolled my shoulders. "What?" The question sounded accusing. I didn't know why. Like he was the one ruining my plan or something.
The sentence started off softly but raised in crescendo. "Turn off the fucking LIGHTS!" he roared.
I winced from the words. For a second, I actually wanted to ease his pain and maybe turn off the light, but I just couldn't give in. "I can't," I whispered.
His voice took on a warning tone. "Do it."
Shaking my head no, I went towards him. "I can't." It was a mantra. "Sorry," I mouthed. I hoped he didn't hear that.
I couldn't turn off the light, but I could aid him a bit because for a second I related . . . being alone did hurt. Warily I approached him and slowly raised my arm to touch him. He seemed to flinch but it could've just been my imagination. Whispers flooded my mind and scared me with foreboding. I shushed them and laced my fingers through Riddick's. His other hand came up and tightened around my throat, but there was no drive behind it so he squeezed once . . . twice . . . and then let go. Leaning closer to him, I felt heat radiating off him. Pulsing, horrible heat. He detached from the wall and used me for support instead. He had lost all sense of direction. The silence was filling the room with empty tension. I just had to say something.
Nothing came to mind, however, except, "I'm here."
Riddick grunted as if acknowledging me was too threatening to his existence.
I pulled him to my room and sat him on the corner of my bed -- his muscles shifting and relaxing as I let go of him. Shuffling to the other side, I dug my hand under the mattress and produced Riddick's goggles. I didn't know exactly how to give them back. What should I say? Here, I just found these laying around? I didn't think that would work.
I went to stand in front of him and lowered my face level with his. I studied every line on his face. He was . . . interesting. However, he seemed a little nervous about my close inspection and warm breath washing over him so I stopped. Tugging at his arm, I brought up his hand, palm up. Distractedly, I noted he had a very long life line, like me -- this was no time for palm reading though. I gingerly placed his goggles in his hand, along with my fate, and then I stepped back.
Riddick growled, a little bit more energized and slipped the goggles on. He raised his head to my probably ghastly white face and his goggles creepily reflected the light. Sick as it sounded, I willed him to hurt me. My plan couldn't have been a complete waste of time, especially since I was running out of that precious commodity.
Riddick rose from the bed, as if the weakness from before had never existed. Had he been faking it? Somewhere deep in me though, I knew he hadn't. I was nervous; it was obvious.
"Guess you never saw who was sneaking behind you in the dark this time, huh, Riddick?" Not funny. Vaguely aware of that.
Being slammed against the wall for a second time did not make it less shocking or painful. My blood must have bubbled in my veins and my bones must've shook from the impact. Do it . . . do it . . . do it . . . come on, Riddick, I know you want to, my mind screamed. A slap . . . a punch . . . something . . . make me fear your name, Richard B. Riddick. Hurt me to hurt you. Let those feelings of rage out, you know you want to, I sent telepathic messages to him. Take your frustration out on me . . . yes, me . . . who stole your goggles and turned on all the lights. Exposed you . . . deliberately, cruelly, and maliciously hurt you. Don't see the real reason, Riddick, just know that I'm crazy.
"Do it," I said. The words were a reflection . . . an echo. Hadn't he uttered the same ones a few minutes ago? I was losing it. His brow furrowed, and he looked like he might seriously damage me for a moment. I begged me to just do it . . . to just let go. I've let it all go -- why couldn't he? If he didn't, I failed . . . simply lost everything. I would be shunned to the pirates, while he went on -- all controlled and superior. Couldn't have that.
Riddick squeezed my shoulders tightly, and I was sure he was going to break bones. I couldn't see his eyes, but I was sure the dangerous glint was there. My eyes? They were probably puffy and red . . . hurt from the suffocating lights. There was a buzzing around Riddick . . . . A ferocious rumble threatening to escape his lips. He was going to do it. I welcomed it, reluctantly . . . but still it was a welcome.
My eyes closed of their own accord, as if that could somehow block out the impending pain. Turning my face away, I waited for the blows. They never came. I blinked my eyes open and Riddick looked conflicted. With a sharp growl, he shook me and pushed me against the wall some more; he was so close to letting go . . . Why wasn't he? Finally, he slammed me once more, forcing me to struggle and then just walked out.
Just walked out.
I ran to the door but when I tried to open it, it was locked. Banging my fist against it just seemed desperate so I didn't do that. I slipped down to the floor and touched my cheeks. Finding wetness there didn't surprise me. Nothing surprised me anymore.
As I was crawling back to stability, the lights flickered and then went off . . . completely. That was zero capacity. Silent and wonderful. Riddick had locked me in my room and submerged me in absolute darkness? That was the number one way for me to feel comfortable fully digging out of my shell. Did he really want to awaken the shriveled, slimy thing that was me? God, he didn't know what he doing. I'll go crazy in the dark, I thought. No, crazier.
And now two days later, here I was -- stuck in the room dripping inky black, blending into the background . . . so effortlessly.
Like I said before, three more days until Zemi. Three days. Not one. Not two. But three. Easy? Nope.
Three days . . . enough time for something to go wrong.