::: CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR :::
The rain hit my eyelashes, spilling into my eyes. I saw -- through clouded vision -- Riddick's form getting further and further away and all I wanted was to inhale the raindrops and drown. Each splatter held endless possibilities in its glittering depths but only like water can they slipped through my fingers. Through the sheet of ice prickles Riddick kept on walking and I wondered if he would just leave me here. After all, what use was I now that I couldn't provide him with the creds? But I didn't want to let that happen (I didn't want to dilute myself any longer) . . . . Instead I allowed the rain to stab at my shoulders and trickle coolly down my face -- frosty tears -- as I ran after Riddick.
My shoes were making splashing noises on the ground, creating a tumultuous sound in the vast silence only rain can bring. My mind was clear -- except for the loud thunder of me chasing Riddick . . . something so familiar yet different. Licking my lips, I tasted air, water, madness, peace and . . . Riddick. The atmosphere was saturated with him like a tissue dipped in perfume. He was quickly becoming the thing I missed most . . . . And that was saying a lot given that I was surrounded and kissed by the sky's juice.
But he was relinquishing his hold on me and I was sure that I felt something warmer and slightly heavier than rain roll down my cheeks.
"Why didn't you just take the cred card?" I shouted at his wet back.
Forgetting to cloak myself, I had allowed my doubts to surface like a flood of insecurity. Was I or wasn't I more than just a payday?
He turned to me, black cloth sticking to him and illuminating him against the darkening backdrop. His eyes were silver moons and his lips a firm dot of stars, glistening moist.
"He would've called the police," he said softly and wiped some glowing stardust off his face. "I would be taken to Slam --" he continued, fixing me with his powerful gaze, " -- And you would be on your way back to the Shoc residence," he finished in a low tone.
There was hope. Maybe not on his face as he still looked conflicted and angry but his words swept away the rain and left nothing but clear faith that he did care. At least that was what my subconscious knew. I, however, regarded him with pure suspicion and shot daggers of questions with my eyes. Different versions of myself fought each other, scratching out signs of territory in blood, that only added to the pain residing in me. Bleeding on the inside . . . bleeding on the outside . . . but who could've seen with all the fucking rain washing the evidence away?
"No, but I just didn't expect to care." The words from before came back stronger than ever and inexplicable -- at least in the moment -- anger came plowing into me even through the liquid icicles. He didn't expect to care? So what? Did he want a fucking medal now? I just wasn't ready for the new gashes his statement would open, so I entertained the idea that he felt completely fucked because of his caring. Confidence had never been one of my strong traits and only by siring concepts and motives (chaotic complexity) could I fade into the background where that particular weakness could not be seen by Riddick's acute eyes.
So I just couldn't help myself, staring at Riddick's expectant face (what was it that he wanted?) and anxious stance, that I blurted out, "Don't blame me for trying to convince yourself of the lie and feeling disappointed when faced with the reality." A raindrop pattered unto my nose, destroying my look of defiance. But I just crossed my arms and waited for an answer.
In some shades of truth, I was aware that Riddick didn't blame me for his own selective blindness to the Shoc situation but it was easier for me to be carefully upset than insecure. What was wrong with me? Wasn't I glad that Riddick unconvinced himself of the lie and chose the facts and was willing to give up something important for his survival to help me? And a little voice inside me came to the surface, whispering proudly, 'you are glad and it's despicable.' It's words were harsh but my mind translated them correctly to playful and so my anger began ebbing away (discretely of course) and I took solace in my masterful ability to combine pain and pleasure.
Almost forgetting what I was doing just standing there in the rain, I heard Riddick's response.
"Kid, believe it or not, I do like you."
Riddick's answer seemed funny now -- like a black and white movie with no sound. Just a long forgotten picture in the whole scheme of things. My mind had taken a journey in the desert, methodically avoiding the delectable water and made it back alive -- I no longer needed Riddick to convince me of anything . . . . I had convinced myself.
The rain slowed down and the drops became quite visible now, beautiful orbs plunging from the heavens, purging me of all ill. I just smiled at Riddick and allowed myself to click back into commanding position with my sardonic words. "Oh joy. Now my life is complete."
Riddick, however, seemed slightly hurt by my harmless words (there just to complete the transition) and started walking again, albeit slower.
I worked hard to keep up with Riddick's long strides but puddles, his stunning quickness (even though he had slowed down somewhat) and the heavy cloak of emotion fitted around me was slowing me down.
Feeling comfortable enough to speak again (without having a breakdown), I slightly shouted, slightly moaned, "Riddick slow down! What do I look like, a dog? I can't keep following you around."
I had to abruptly stop because Riddick had just taken the opportunity to discontinue walking all together and I didn't want to be knocked over by bumping into that brick wall he called a back. He turned around to see where I was and stared very intently at me. I was waiting for some tense revelation but all he said very seriously was, "No, you look more like a cat -- sparkling green eyes . . . and . . . pointed teeth." Wow -- he had given that some thought apparently.
I frowned at his comment and tentatively poked a tooth with my tongue. "They're not overly pointy," I argued and mock pouted.
Riddick just laughed like alcohol on a wound and took a step towards me, allowing me to catch up. "Come on . . . . You're wet," he grunted as I came closer.
I wanted to point out that it was raining but I just crossed my arms and said, "So are you," allowing a smirk to fleet across my features.
We walked back to the shuttle in silence just enjoying the distorted view of the world, magnified by fabulous raindrops. Upon getting back to Riddick's ship, I was struck by the fact that I was so cold that my bone marrow had probably frozen. In our sopping wet clothes we trailed a slippery path to the dojo and sat on a bench. It was the room closest to the heating system so we figured it was our best bet to trick pneumonia.
I was feeling too polar to move so I just sat curled into myself on the bench while Riddick braved the chill, stood up and worked his shirt off, putting on a dry one and throwing me one too. Wanting to feel the dry material encasing me but also anticipating the escaped body heat when I unfurled myself, I feebly raised one arm, felt discouraged and put it back down. With that came a totally unexpected mewl from my throat -- hmmm, catty -- and Riddick proceeded to help me out of my sticky clothes.
I closely watched him as he pulled my shirt up, forgetting the glacial atmosphere. He kept his eyes trained on mine and I didn't know if it was my imagination or what but he seemed downright sheepish and skittish about allowing myself to be undressed by him, which was weird since he had seen me completely naked before. This seemed different though . . . Like he wasn't embarrassed about my nudity but concerned about my comfort level with him so close to me. But truly I didn't mind; I just breathed in his scent mixed in with the fresh dew of rain and took great enjoyment in studying his face. He lowered the oversized shirt down my body and stopped when the hem reached my knees. I unbuckled my jeans and sat back down, pulling them down and away from my body. Riddick just kinda stood there, watching me and holding a towel.
Not knowing if this was one of those awkward moments portrayed in "real life," I just stared at this oh-so-interesting puddle of water at Riddick's feet. He must have confused it for sadness because he said, "I'm sorry."
I sharply looked up at him. My gray matter completely iced I wasn't sure what he had meant.
"For trying to sell you," he added curtly . . . kind of sharply. Yummy.
"Very sorry?" I asked in an over pronounced sweet voice, batting my eyelashes.
Riddick looked at me with a smirk a mile long. "No, just regular sorry."
Ah, yes there he was.
I flicked his arm, feigning indignation. "Yeah . . . yeah, whatever you say, killer," I teased but my mouth felt dry as the word "sorry" kept running back and forth in my mind, leaving skid marks.
Looking down at his pants I pointed out, "You might wanna take those drippin' wet pants off before trying to act tough."
And with a huge, simpering grin thrown at Riddick over my shoulder, I left the room in search for some quiet to go along with my topsy-turvy thoughts.
The rain hit my eyelashes, spilling into my eyes. I saw -- through clouded vision -- Riddick's form getting further and further away and all I wanted was to inhale the raindrops and drown. Each splatter held endless possibilities in its glittering depths but only like water can they slipped through my fingers. Through the sheet of ice prickles Riddick kept on walking and I wondered if he would just leave me here. After all, what use was I now that I couldn't provide him with the creds? But I didn't want to let that happen (I didn't want to dilute myself any longer) . . . . Instead I allowed the rain to stab at my shoulders and trickle coolly down my face -- frosty tears -- as I ran after Riddick.
My shoes were making splashing noises on the ground, creating a tumultuous sound in the vast silence only rain can bring. My mind was clear -- except for the loud thunder of me chasing Riddick . . . something so familiar yet different. Licking my lips, I tasted air, water, madness, peace and . . . Riddick. The atmosphere was saturated with him like a tissue dipped in perfume. He was quickly becoming the thing I missed most . . . . And that was saying a lot given that I was surrounded and kissed by the sky's juice.
But he was relinquishing his hold on me and I was sure that I felt something warmer and slightly heavier than rain roll down my cheeks.
"Why didn't you just take the cred card?" I shouted at his wet back.
Forgetting to cloak myself, I had allowed my doubts to surface like a flood of insecurity. Was I or wasn't I more than just a payday?
He turned to me, black cloth sticking to him and illuminating him against the darkening backdrop. His eyes were silver moons and his lips a firm dot of stars, glistening moist.
"He would've called the police," he said softly and wiped some glowing stardust off his face. "I would be taken to Slam --" he continued, fixing me with his powerful gaze, " -- And you would be on your way back to the Shoc residence," he finished in a low tone.
There was hope. Maybe not on his face as he still looked conflicted and angry but his words swept away the rain and left nothing but clear faith that he did care. At least that was what my subconscious knew. I, however, regarded him with pure suspicion and shot daggers of questions with my eyes. Different versions of myself fought each other, scratching out signs of territory in blood, that only added to the pain residing in me. Bleeding on the inside . . . bleeding on the outside . . . but who could've seen with all the fucking rain washing the evidence away?
"No, but I just didn't expect to care." The words from before came back stronger than ever and inexplicable -- at least in the moment -- anger came plowing into me even through the liquid icicles. He didn't expect to care? So what? Did he want a fucking medal now? I just wasn't ready for the new gashes his statement would open, so I entertained the idea that he felt completely fucked because of his caring. Confidence had never been one of my strong traits and only by siring concepts and motives (chaotic complexity) could I fade into the background where that particular weakness could not be seen by Riddick's acute eyes.
So I just couldn't help myself, staring at Riddick's expectant face (what was it that he wanted?) and anxious stance, that I blurted out, "Don't blame me for trying to convince yourself of the lie and feeling disappointed when faced with the reality." A raindrop pattered unto my nose, destroying my look of defiance. But I just crossed my arms and waited for an answer.
In some shades of truth, I was aware that Riddick didn't blame me for his own selective blindness to the Shoc situation but it was easier for me to be carefully upset than insecure. What was wrong with me? Wasn't I glad that Riddick unconvinced himself of the lie and chose the facts and was willing to give up something important for his survival to help me? And a little voice inside me came to the surface, whispering proudly, 'you are glad and it's despicable.' It's words were harsh but my mind translated them correctly to playful and so my anger began ebbing away (discretely of course) and I took solace in my masterful ability to combine pain and pleasure.
Almost forgetting what I was doing just standing there in the rain, I heard Riddick's response.
"Kid, believe it or not, I do like you."
Riddick's answer seemed funny now -- like a black and white movie with no sound. Just a long forgotten picture in the whole scheme of things. My mind had taken a journey in the desert, methodically avoiding the delectable water and made it back alive -- I no longer needed Riddick to convince me of anything . . . . I had convinced myself.
The rain slowed down and the drops became quite visible now, beautiful orbs plunging from the heavens, purging me of all ill. I just smiled at Riddick and allowed myself to click back into commanding position with my sardonic words. "Oh joy. Now my life is complete."
Riddick, however, seemed slightly hurt by my harmless words (there just to complete the transition) and started walking again, albeit slower.
I worked hard to keep up with Riddick's long strides but puddles, his stunning quickness (even though he had slowed down somewhat) and the heavy cloak of emotion fitted around me was slowing me down.
Feeling comfortable enough to speak again (without having a breakdown), I slightly shouted, slightly moaned, "Riddick slow down! What do I look like, a dog? I can't keep following you around."
I had to abruptly stop because Riddick had just taken the opportunity to discontinue walking all together and I didn't want to be knocked over by bumping into that brick wall he called a back. He turned around to see where I was and stared very intently at me. I was waiting for some tense revelation but all he said very seriously was, "No, you look more like a cat -- sparkling green eyes . . . and . . . pointed teeth." Wow -- he had given that some thought apparently.
I frowned at his comment and tentatively poked a tooth with my tongue. "They're not overly pointy," I argued and mock pouted.
Riddick just laughed like alcohol on a wound and took a step towards me, allowing me to catch up. "Come on . . . . You're wet," he grunted as I came closer.
I wanted to point out that it was raining but I just crossed my arms and said, "So are you," allowing a smirk to fleet across my features.
We walked back to the shuttle in silence just enjoying the distorted view of the world, magnified by fabulous raindrops. Upon getting back to Riddick's ship, I was struck by the fact that I was so cold that my bone marrow had probably frozen. In our sopping wet clothes we trailed a slippery path to the dojo and sat on a bench. It was the room closest to the heating system so we figured it was our best bet to trick pneumonia.
I was feeling too polar to move so I just sat curled into myself on the bench while Riddick braved the chill, stood up and worked his shirt off, putting on a dry one and throwing me one too. Wanting to feel the dry material encasing me but also anticipating the escaped body heat when I unfurled myself, I feebly raised one arm, felt discouraged and put it back down. With that came a totally unexpected mewl from my throat -- hmmm, catty -- and Riddick proceeded to help me out of my sticky clothes.
I closely watched him as he pulled my shirt up, forgetting the glacial atmosphere. He kept his eyes trained on mine and I didn't know if it was my imagination or what but he seemed downright sheepish and skittish about allowing myself to be undressed by him, which was weird since he had seen me completely naked before. This seemed different though . . . Like he wasn't embarrassed about my nudity but concerned about my comfort level with him so close to me. But truly I didn't mind; I just breathed in his scent mixed in with the fresh dew of rain and took great enjoyment in studying his face. He lowered the oversized shirt down my body and stopped when the hem reached my knees. I unbuckled my jeans and sat back down, pulling them down and away from my body. Riddick just kinda stood there, watching me and holding a towel.
Not knowing if this was one of those awkward moments portrayed in "real life," I just stared at this oh-so-interesting puddle of water at Riddick's feet. He must have confused it for sadness because he said, "I'm sorry."
I sharply looked up at him. My gray matter completely iced I wasn't sure what he had meant.
"For trying to sell you," he added curtly . . . kind of sharply. Yummy.
"Very sorry?" I asked in an over pronounced sweet voice, batting my eyelashes.
Riddick looked at me with a smirk a mile long. "No, just regular sorry."
Ah, yes there he was.
I flicked his arm, feigning indignation. "Yeah . . . yeah, whatever you say, killer," I teased but my mouth felt dry as the word "sorry" kept running back and forth in my mind, leaving skid marks.
Looking down at his pants I pointed out, "You might wanna take those drippin' wet pants off before trying to act tough."
And with a huge, simpering grin thrown at Riddick over my shoulder, I left the room in search for some quiet to go along with my topsy-turvy thoughts.