::: CHAPTER TWENTY :::
Laying on my bed with my eyes closed, made absolutely no difference. Dark was dark. Eyes opened and guess what it would be? Yep, dark. Eyes closed and at least darkness was a choice. One of the few I still had the power to make. Pathetic.
Choice was after all what had brought me here. Sure, Riddick was the one who had kidnapped me, but I was the one who left home in the first place. With good reason, yeah. Reason and choice . . . sometimes they didn't mix well. I just thought that a change of location would make me less insane . . . boy, was I wrong. It probably would have done that . . . if I hadn't met insane Riddick. Insane and insane made quite a team. Friction and competition was fun in theory but put me and Riddick in a cage, and it wasn't exactly a friendly challenge. I noticed, don't think I didn't, that while I went to extreme measures to shake Riddick, all he had to do was stare at me, and I dissolved into floaty mist.
Soothing as being alone and in the dark was, I still thought about him. Why couldn't I stop? Who was he? And yet I could answer that question. Riddick was strength, magnetism, confidence, edginess, and danger all wrapped up in me -- audacity, charm, intuition, and secrecy. So we did click. Like freaks in the dark.
I almost unleashed an anguished groan. What I wouldn't have given to be home right then. But then again if I was, I wouldn't have ever met Riddick. He who was my end was also a glimmer of hope for me that I wasn't the only one who enjoyed solitude in wide strokes. Comforting, I supposed it was.
Physically, I was just a wisp . . . so fragile, but inside I had seen my share. Share of pain, loss, and bitterness. My whole life I was the odd one amongst this suffering. That was a big question mark. I was unaffected and yet blame was always shoved my way. Here, eat this pain my life told me. Digest it and absorb it. So it wasn't my fault that now even my bones ached. I had swallowed enough . . . so I fought Riddick. And I lost. Obviously Riddick had swallowed a lot more misery than me. His bones were iron.
I stroked my cheek, pretending it wasn't me. Feigning I was actually something worth touching.
Forget that. I twisted unto my stomach and hugged the pillow around my face. I breathed in the cottony smell and was instantly upset about the fleck of reality that generated from the pillow. I threw it away and bounced slightly on the bed. Big sigh coming from me emanated all around the room and made my skin warm. Frustration . . . I needed to get the hell out of this room. Pinching the top of my nose, I slid off the bed unto the floor. At least it was cooler down there.
What could I do? I practiced sniffling . . . I tried whistling . . . I experimented with kissing. Boring. I wanted to cry from the lack of activity. It was numbing me. Giving me reason to let go of sanity. It was a bitch of a choice.
My brain was itching and buzzing and not letting me sleep. I lay on the hard bed and dropped my thoughts to low volume, wishing for a few hours of peace. I was falling asleep, enjoying the distorted feeling it gave me, and forgetting my worries for a while, when I heard a creak. I hadn't heard anything in two days so I bolted up in bed. Breathing heavy all ready, I swore my heart was lodged in my throat, killing me. Calm down, it's only you and Riddick on the ship, I told myself. Yeah, Riddick. Not relieving.
The door to my room slowly opened and it let in all the living atmosphere from the other side. It made me nauseous. I fixed myself up, quickly scrambling to a sitting position and calming my breathing. As always, I couldn't deal with Riddick or anyone for that matter seeing me distraught. On the other side of the door was also dark . . . . Riddick must've shut down light-power all throughout the ship. Lucky him . . . he must love the freedom the blackness gives him. I couldn't quite see him, but I did sense him. He wasn't angry anymore. But I was still afraid to hear him speak, of hearing pity in his voice. I dropped my eyes and hoped against hope that he didn't make me feel any worse than I did in that finite moment.
"Made dinner. Want some?"
I let a tiny smile appear, as I looked down at my lap. Riddick's voice had held not even an ounce of pity. Lovely. When I turned my head up to him though, I made sure no smile was there. Quickly I nodded an unobtrusive yes and waited for him to bring some to my room. When he stepped away though, leaving the door open, I was slightly confused.
I heard him from down the hall though. "Come on, Jack."
Almost jumping away from the bed as if it was a shark, I practically skipped to the door. Then it hit me. I didn't have a shine-job . . . couldn't see where I was going.
"Um, Riddick, where are you?" My voice sounded unsure and unused.
"Right here." He appeared out of nowhere and guided me to the kitchen, sitting me in a chair. I had a feeling that was the only time he had pulled out a chair for anyone. And even then . . . it was only because I couldn't see the damn thing.
Sitting in the dark, not knowing where Riddick was made me uneasy, but the smell of food was overriding my concern. Not eating for two days can do that. I didn't dare ask for light though. Don't know why . . . guess I felt like I didn't deserve it.
Just as I was fidgeting in my chair and resisting the urge to bite the skin around my nails, a tiny light flickered on. It illuminated the table I was sitting at and gave off enough of a glow so I could see Riddick walking back in. I should've said thank you, but I didn't know how. So I just sat there. Moment passed and Riddick gave me a plate of chicken with mashed potatoes. Inhaling deeply, I followed him with my eyes as he sat down across from me, like he had done before, with his own plate of food. I had to keep it together. To do that I picked up my fork and hesitantly poked at the chicken.
Riddick was staring at me. I could feel his eyes penetrating my exterior expertly. He had all ready picked the lock and was now staring straight into my mind. The dim light in the room was just eerie now and gave the illusion of a cemetery at night. But who was living and who was dead in this room?
I couldn't stand the shattering silence. "Thanks for dinner," I managed to squeak out. I wasn't even sure if it was audible.
A clashing of steel against steel could be heard from Riddick's plate. Then his rumbling voice. "Tried to keep it poison free . . . just for you."
Gulp. Choke. Cough. Not funny, Riddick, I thought. His hand reached over the table and patted my back almost aversely. A wicked laugh escaped my dry lips. "Well, you still haven't given me something to drink . . . so there's still a chance."
He let out a short quasi-laugh before pouring some water in my glass. I trusted him . . . . I think. I gulped it all down. Nope, no deadly poison . . . just pure water. Welcomed and cool against my throat . . . . I noticed Riddick watching me swallow. Uncomfortable. But catching his eyes with mine, I let the silver calm me. Because the silver was not cloudy it came easily. Placid and untroubled . . . so relaxing . . . almost wandered in and unified with the color. I wanted to be the glow in his eyes. Maybe I was?
"More water?" No mockery in his voice.
Contact was broken but not pulverized. His lips held my interest now. I licked my own and nodded for more water . . . or at least that's what I think I was nodding for.
This time I sipped . . . didn't want to make it disappear. Irrational . . . like water was my lifeline or something. Oh, well, I guess it was. My physical one, anyway. No conversation existed in the empty space between Riddick and me. Maybe because all the dialogue was in my head, figuring how to make things logical again. Couldn't think for long though because Riddick directed a question towards my fuzzy brain.
"What do you miss most about being on the ground?"
Too bad my brain was occupied right at the moment because before thinking I blurted out, "Rain." My eyes widened, and it was strange that I shared that. It meant that not even T2 had taken that away from me.
However, Riddick seemed to accept this answer. "You like the rain?" I think he seemed genuinely interested.
"Um, well . . . yeah, it has this sound . . . ." I bit my bottom lip. "It crackles . . . with this new energy. I dunno . . . it's hard to explain." Looking in Riddick's direction, delicately frowning, I begged my brain to come up with something more coherent. I sighed. This was hopeless. "It's the only time I feel steady."
"Probably 'cause while the rain is chaotic you get the chance to feel less . . . ."
"Chaotic," I finished for him. My lip twitched in half disbelief. "Yeah, you're right." And he was right.
"What do you miss?" I just had to ask.
The answer came much too quickly and starkly. "Nothing." Riddick's voice sounded hard . . . firm . . . and yet strength was not present.
I understood. What was there to miss from Slam . . . the dark? . . . the dampness? . . . the death? No, he was right.
Again.
There was nothing to look back on. And everything for him to forget.
Suddenly, I was dead exhausted. Without meaning to, I whispered to myself, "I'm so tired."
"So sleep," Riddick snidely said. He sounded irritated.
I snapped my eyes to him. "It's not the kinda tired I can sleep off."
His eyes ran to mine. I could actually hear his thoughts processing information, weighing words . . . trying to figure me out.
Did I give him too much information? Hell yeah . . . and it felt good.
Laying on my bed with my eyes closed, made absolutely no difference. Dark was dark. Eyes opened and guess what it would be? Yep, dark. Eyes closed and at least darkness was a choice. One of the few I still had the power to make. Pathetic.
Choice was after all what had brought me here. Sure, Riddick was the one who had kidnapped me, but I was the one who left home in the first place. With good reason, yeah. Reason and choice . . . sometimes they didn't mix well. I just thought that a change of location would make me less insane . . . boy, was I wrong. It probably would have done that . . . if I hadn't met insane Riddick. Insane and insane made quite a team. Friction and competition was fun in theory but put me and Riddick in a cage, and it wasn't exactly a friendly challenge. I noticed, don't think I didn't, that while I went to extreme measures to shake Riddick, all he had to do was stare at me, and I dissolved into floaty mist.
Soothing as being alone and in the dark was, I still thought about him. Why couldn't I stop? Who was he? And yet I could answer that question. Riddick was strength, magnetism, confidence, edginess, and danger all wrapped up in me -- audacity, charm, intuition, and secrecy. So we did click. Like freaks in the dark.
I almost unleashed an anguished groan. What I wouldn't have given to be home right then. But then again if I was, I wouldn't have ever met Riddick. He who was my end was also a glimmer of hope for me that I wasn't the only one who enjoyed solitude in wide strokes. Comforting, I supposed it was.
Physically, I was just a wisp . . . so fragile, but inside I had seen my share. Share of pain, loss, and bitterness. My whole life I was the odd one amongst this suffering. That was a big question mark. I was unaffected and yet blame was always shoved my way. Here, eat this pain my life told me. Digest it and absorb it. So it wasn't my fault that now even my bones ached. I had swallowed enough . . . so I fought Riddick. And I lost. Obviously Riddick had swallowed a lot more misery than me. His bones were iron.
I stroked my cheek, pretending it wasn't me. Feigning I was actually something worth touching.
Forget that. I twisted unto my stomach and hugged the pillow around my face. I breathed in the cottony smell and was instantly upset about the fleck of reality that generated from the pillow. I threw it away and bounced slightly on the bed. Big sigh coming from me emanated all around the room and made my skin warm. Frustration . . . I needed to get the hell out of this room. Pinching the top of my nose, I slid off the bed unto the floor. At least it was cooler down there.
What could I do? I practiced sniffling . . . I tried whistling . . . I experimented with kissing. Boring. I wanted to cry from the lack of activity. It was numbing me. Giving me reason to let go of sanity. It was a bitch of a choice.
My brain was itching and buzzing and not letting me sleep. I lay on the hard bed and dropped my thoughts to low volume, wishing for a few hours of peace. I was falling asleep, enjoying the distorted feeling it gave me, and forgetting my worries for a while, when I heard a creak. I hadn't heard anything in two days so I bolted up in bed. Breathing heavy all ready, I swore my heart was lodged in my throat, killing me. Calm down, it's only you and Riddick on the ship, I told myself. Yeah, Riddick. Not relieving.
The door to my room slowly opened and it let in all the living atmosphere from the other side. It made me nauseous. I fixed myself up, quickly scrambling to a sitting position and calming my breathing. As always, I couldn't deal with Riddick or anyone for that matter seeing me distraught. On the other side of the door was also dark . . . . Riddick must've shut down light-power all throughout the ship. Lucky him . . . he must love the freedom the blackness gives him. I couldn't quite see him, but I did sense him. He wasn't angry anymore. But I was still afraid to hear him speak, of hearing pity in his voice. I dropped my eyes and hoped against hope that he didn't make me feel any worse than I did in that finite moment.
"Made dinner. Want some?"
I let a tiny smile appear, as I looked down at my lap. Riddick's voice had held not even an ounce of pity. Lovely. When I turned my head up to him though, I made sure no smile was there. Quickly I nodded an unobtrusive yes and waited for him to bring some to my room. When he stepped away though, leaving the door open, I was slightly confused.
I heard him from down the hall though. "Come on, Jack."
Almost jumping away from the bed as if it was a shark, I practically skipped to the door. Then it hit me. I didn't have a shine-job . . . couldn't see where I was going.
"Um, Riddick, where are you?" My voice sounded unsure and unused.
"Right here." He appeared out of nowhere and guided me to the kitchen, sitting me in a chair. I had a feeling that was the only time he had pulled out a chair for anyone. And even then . . . it was only because I couldn't see the damn thing.
Sitting in the dark, not knowing where Riddick was made me uneasy, but the smell of food was overriding my concern. Not eating for two days can do that. I didn't dare ask for light though. Don't know why . . . guess I felt like I didn't deserve it.
Just as I was fidgeting in my chair and resisting the urge to bite the skin around my nails, a tiny light flickered on. It illuminated the table I was sitting at and gave off enough of a glow so I could see Riddick walking back in. I should've said thank you, but I didn't know how. So I just sat there. Moment passed and Riddick gave me a plate of chicken with mashed potatoes. Inhaling deeply, I followed him with my eyes as he sat down across from me, like he had done before, with his own plate of food. I had to keep it together. To do that I picked up my fork and hesitantly poked at the chicken.
Riddick was staring at me. I could feel his eyes penetrating my exterior expertly. He had all ready picked the lock and was now staring straight into my mind. The dim light in the room was just eerie now and gave the illusion of a cemetery at night. But who was living and who was dead in this room?
I couldn't stand the shattering silence. "Thanks for dinner," I managed to squeak out. I wasn't even sure if it was audible.
A clashing of steel against steel could be heard from Riddick's plate. Then his rumbling voice. "Tried to keep it poison free . . . just for you."
Gulp. Choke. Cough. Not funny, Riddick, I thought. His hand reached over the table and patted my back almost aversely. A wicked laugh escaped my dry lips. "Well, you still haven't given me something to drink . . . so there's still a chance."
He let out a short quasi-laugh before pouring some water in my glass. I trusted him . . . . I think. I gulped it all down. Nope, no deadly poison . . . just pure water. Welcomed and cool against my throat . . . . I noticed Riddick watching me swallow. Uncomfortable. But catching his eyes with mine, I let the silver calm me. Because the silver was not cloudy it came easily. Placid and untroubled . . . so relaxing . . . almost wandered in and unified with the color. I wanted to be the glow in his eyes. Maybe I was?
"More water?" No mockery in his voice.
Contact was broken but not pulverized. His lips held my interest now. I licked my own and nodded for more water . . . or at least that's what I think I was nodding for.
This time I sipped . . . didn't want to make it disappear. Irrational . . . like water was my lifeline or something. Oh, well, I guess it was. My physical one, anyway. No conversation existed in the empty space between Riddick and me. Maybe because all the dialogue was in my head, figuring how to make things logical again. Couldn't think for long though because Riddick directed a question towards my fuzzy brain.
"What do you miss most about being on the ground?"
Too bad my brain was occupied right at the moment because before thinking I blurted out, "Rain." My eyes widened, and it was strange that I shared that. It meant that not even T2 had taken that away from me.
However, Riddick seemed to accept this answer. "You like the rain?" I think he seemed genuinely interested.
"Um, well . . . yeah, it has this sound . . . ." I bit my bottom lip. "It crackles . . . with this new energy. I dunno . . . it's hard to explain." Looking in Riddick's direction, delicately frowning, I begged my brain to come up with something more coherent. I sighed. This was hopeless. "It's the only time I feel steady."
"Probably 'cause while the rain is chaotic you get the chance to feel less . . . ."
"Chaotic," I finished for him. My lip twitched in half disbelief. "Yeah, you're right." And he was right.
"What do you miss?" I just had to ask.
The answer came much too quickly and starkly. "Nothing." Riddick's voice sounded hard . . . firm . . . and yet strength was not present.
I understood. What was there to miss from Slam . . . the dark? . . . the dampness? . . . the death? No, he was right.
Again.
There was nothing to look back on. And everything for him to forget.
Suddenly, I was dead exhausted. Without meaning to, I whispered to myself, "I'm so tired."
"So sleep," Riddick snidely said. He sounded irritated.
I snapped my eyes to him. "It's not the kinda tired I can sleep off."
His eyes ran to mine. I could actually hear his thoughts processing information, weighing words . . . trying to figure me out.
Did I give him too much information? Hell yeah . . . and it felt good.