Author's Notes: Another chapter. What else is there to say? Please read and review.
He awoke in a daze. He was soaked in sweat; the mattress dug into his aching back. His breathing was heavy and labored and his pulse was racing. He shifted his gaze around the small room, the unfamiliar surroundings doing little to break the terror. He sat up, his bare feet hitting the wooden floor hard. This was all alien to him, some unreal dream. It wasn't a dream. He closed his eyes, the heat doing little to alleviate the discomfort he felt. He swallowed a gulp of air. The humidity made the oxygen that he swallowed burn his lungs. His head was swimming with thoughts of death, yet he knew he wasn't going to die. He held onto the cheap cotton mattress and took slow small breaths. He finally opened his eyes again. He recognized the forms of simple furniture though the dull moonlight. He wanted to pull his fragile body off the bed and to get away from the cell. Yet his body was being reluctant. His legs did not move on his command. He was stranded. A mind without a body. His hand reflexively moved to wipe away the beads of sweat that started to stream down his temple. He was slowly regaining consciousness. He tested his leg again, it seemed to move. The other one did as well. Yet he sat there. He was breathing normally; the air still burned his lungs. He was in stillness, the world seemed to stop moving. He heard the chirping of crickets in the distance, but that too came sparse. He could have heard the rays of moonlight had he tried. He heard another sound, low and subdued. It was close, extremely close. He pushed his body off the bed, regaining his balance. Each step seemed to be a great accomplishment for him. The wood was hard against his bare feet; it had been left unsanded and unfinished. His feet hit the floor in an even balance, emitting a small slap with every step. He slid open the wooden doors and entered the hallway; still following the gentle sound he heard earlier. It was louder now, he could almost trace it with his finger.
His journey led him to an open door. He knew who it inevitably was. He had never seen her cry; she had been so strong before. A lot of things had changed, things he was not fully aware of. He paused at the edge of the doorway. He leaned on the doorframe. The cool wood hit his skin like fire on ice. It was a split second of relief, but it helped him retain his sanity. He peered into the room, it was twice as large as his, but it also had twice as many occupants. He saw her immediately; his senses seemed to pull her out of any situation. She sat in a large wooden rocking chair. By the indents and shredded pieces, he knew it was old. The floorboards creaked with every time she pushed herself back. Her right leg was curled up to her chest. Her left foot was the one pushing off the floor. He saw her shaking body with every sob. She was attempting to stifle them. It was no use. Her body seemed to cave in. Her shoulders were hunched in, her hands wiping away the ever growing stream of tears. He saw her face in a different manner in the moonlight. The tears seemed to whisk away all hope from her face, and he was left with a simple pained face. It made her dark olive skin look almost ghostly. She was a pallid gaunt figure. He watched her rock back and forth, the only comfort she seemed to have.
A fit of coughing escaped from the corner of the room. A tiny airway gasping for a minuscule amount of oxygen. He looked back at the spectral shadow on the chair. Her hands whipped away the rivers, and she stood up. He leaned in closer against the doorframe, watching her take a meticulous gait toward the ailing girl. The uneven panels of wood began to dig into the bare skin on his back; he ignored the sensation and continued to focus on the image in front of him. Her hands pushed the thin layer of sheets from the tiny form. She sat down on the bed, placing the child's head onto her lap; she positioned her head on her thighs, opening her airway to give her more oxygen. With every gasp, he could see the fear prevail more and more on her face. After an eternity, the girl started to breathe normally again. He watched the woman's hands run over her hair, pushing strands back. She whispered memories to ease both their fears. The little girl sat up, and the woman took her into her arms. The little girl's head found a comfortable spot on her shoulder and she closed her eyes. The woman stood up, supporting the little girl by her thighs. She looked invincible at that moment. The diminutive arms wrapped tightly around her petite frame. She held the girl securely, taking gentle steps back and forth. He watched her; he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. She was meant to be a mother. So many years she lied to herself; let her fears control her destiny. He watched her gaunt hands run up and down the little girl's back, lulling her into a peaceful slumber. He watched her place a sequence of kisses along the girl's head and cheek. She pulled her body up, but her arms were tiring. She gave up and placed the sleeping form on the bed, another feather-light kiss on her forehead. She took the sheet and pulled it over her body; she fixed the pillow so her head was leaning back, letting her breathe a bit easier. She sat down, taking the girls frail hands into her own. She pulled them into her lap, running her thumb over the tiny fingers. She closed her eyes, taking in a few deep breaths; she seemed to be meditating, yet he knew she was forcing herself not to cry.
"I love you, Kara."
Her voice echoed through the empty house; it seemed to be so loud and so unheard at the same time. It hung in the air, he could almost reach out and touch the vibrations as they moved farther and farther away from the room. She placed a kiss on the little girl's forehead, and started back toward her window seat. He watched her gracefully resume her position, almost unaltered. Her cheeks were red from the salty tears, and her body shook. But she still looked heavenly. An angel on earth. The gentle scintilla of the lunar wonder on her figure reminded him of the past. He had spent endless nights just watching her sleep. Her chest would rise with every breath; her blonde hair would pan out against the creme-colored pillows. He could almost feel her body next to his, the cold winter nights they spent in each other's arms. He could see through the pellucid white shirt she wore. He was drawn to her, in every way possible. He saw the curves under the thin material; he could almost feel his hands running over her body again. He remembered her soft skin; it always smelled of lavender. He could distinguish where her breasts began to form; how his hands used to run over them and caress her nipples under the covers. It had been a game they played; it never failed to make her smile. It was all a distant memory; he had to let his past go. They would never go back to the people they had been before. It was a waste of time wishing to replay the past.
Her hollow brown eyes met his; her pain fused through his body. He could almost feel what she was going through. He broke away; the first time he ever had. She was always the first one to crumble; but not anymore. He pushed himself to look up at her, but she had gone back to looking at the world of the dead through her window. He stood up and headed back to his room. There was no use in wanting to return to her. She had made it painfully obvious. They lived in two different worlds.
He awoke in a daze. He was soaked in sweat; the mattress dug into his aching back. His breathing was heavy and labored and his pulse was racing. He shifted his gaze around the small room, the unfamiliar surroundings doing little to break the terror. He sat up, his bare feet hitting the wooden floor hard. This was all alien to him, some unreal dream. It wasn't a dream. He closed his eyes, the heat doing little to alleviate the discomfort he felt. He swallowed a gulp of air. The humidity made the oxygen that he swallowed burn his lungs. His head was swimming with thoughts of death, yet he knew he wasn't going to die. He held onto the cheap cotton mattress and took slow small breaths. He finally opened his eyes again. He recognized the forms of simple furniture though the dull moonlight. He wanted to pull his fragile body off the bed and to get away from the cell. Yet his body was being reluctant. His legs did not move on his command. He was stranded. A mind without a body. His hand reflexively moved to wipe away the beads of sweat that started to stream down his temple. He was slowly regaining consciousness. He tested his leg again, it seemed to move. The other one did as well. Yet he sat there. He was breathing normally; the air still burned his lungs. He was in stillness, the world seemed to stop moving. He heard the chirping of crickets in the distance, but that too came sparse. He could have heard the rays of moonlight had he tried. He heard another sound, low and subdued. It was close, extremely close. He pushed his body off the bed, regaining his balance. Each step seemed to be a great accomplishment for him. The wood was hard against his bare feet; it had been left unsanded and unfinished. His feet hit the floor in an even balance, emitting a small slap with every step. He slid open the wooden doors and entered the hallway; still following the gentle sound he heard earlier. It was louder now, he could almost trace it with his finger.
His journey led him to an open door. He knew who it inevitably was. He had never seen her cry; she had been so strong before. A lot of things had changed, things he was not fully aware of. He paused at the edge of the doorway. He leaned on the doorframe. The cool wood hit his skin like fire on ice. It was a split second of relief, but it helped him retain his sanity. He peered into the room, it was twice as large as his, but it also had twice as many occupants. He saw her immediately; his senses seemed to pull her out of any situation. She sat in a large wooden rocking chair. By the indents and shredded pieces, he knew it was old. The floorboards creaked with every time she pushed herself back. Her right leg was curled up to her chest. Her left foot was the one pushing off the floor. He saw her shaking body with every sob. She was attempting to stifle them. It was no use. Her body seemed to cave in. Her shoulders were hunched in, her hands wiping away the ever growing stream of tears. He saw her face in a different manner in the moonlight. The tears seemed to whisk away all hope from her face, and he was left with a simple pained face. It made her dark olive skin look almost ghostly. She was a pallid gaunt figure. He watched her rock back and forth, the only comfort she seemed to have.
A fit of coughing escaped from the corner of the room. A tiny airway gasping for a minuscule amount of oxygen. He looked back at the spectral shadow on the chair. Her hands whipped away the rivers, and she stood up. He leaned in closer against the doorframe, watching her take a meticulous gait toward the ailing girl. The uneven panels of wood began to dig into the bare skin on his back; he ignored the sensation and continued to focus on the image in front of him. Her hands pushed the thin layer of sheets from the tiny form. She sat down on the bed, placing the child's head onto her lap; she positioned her head on her thighs, opening her airway to give her more oxygen. With every gasp, he could see the fear prevail more and more on her face. After an eternity, the girl started to breathe normally again. He watched the woman's hands run over her hair, pushing strands back. She whispered memories to ease both their fears. The little girl sat up, and the woman took her into her arms. The little girl's head found a comfortable spot on her shoulder and she closed her eyes. The woman stood up, supporting the little girl by her thighs. She looked invincible at that moment. The diminutive arms wrapped tightly around her petite frame. She held the girl securely, taking gentle steps back and forth. He watched her; he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. She was meant to be a mother. So many years she lied to herself; let her fears control her destiny. He watched her gaunt hands run up and down the little girl's back, lulling her into a peaceful slumber. He watched her place a sequence of kisses along the girl's head and cheek. She pulled her body up, but her arms were tiring. She gave up and placed the sleeping form on the bed, another feather-light kiss on her forehead. She took the sheet and pulled it over her body; she fixed the pillow so her head was leaning back, letting her breathe a bit easier. She sat down, taking the girls frail hands into her own. She pulled them into her lap, running her thumb over the tiny fingers. She closed her eyes, taking in a few deep breaths; she seemed to be meditating, yet he knew she was forcing herself not to cry.
"I love you, Kara."
Her voice echoed through the empty house; it seemed to be so loud and so unheard at the same time. It hung in the air, he could almost reach out and touch the vibrations as they moved farther and farther away from the room. She placed a kiss on the little girl's forehead, and started back toward her window seat. He watched her gracefully resume her position, almost unaltered. Her cheeks were red from the salty tears, and her body shook. But she still looked heavenly. An angel on earth. The gentle scintilla of the lunar wonder on her figure reminded him of the past. He had spent endless nights just watching her sleep. Her chest would rise with every breath; her blonde hair would pan out against the creme-colored pillows. He could almost feel her body next to his, the cold winter nights they spent in each other's arms. He could see through the pellucid white shirt she wore. He was drawn to her, in every way possible. He saw the curves under the thin material; he could almost feel his hands running over her body again. He remembered her soft skin; it always smelled of lavender. He could distinguish where her breasts began to form; how his hands used to run over them and caress her nipples under the covers. It had been a game they played; it never failed to make her smile. It was all a distant memory; he had to let his past go. They would never go back to the people they had been before. It was a waste of time wishing to replay the past.
Her hollow brown eyes met his; her pain fused through his body. He could almost feel what she was going through. He broke away; the first time he ever had. She was always the first one to crumble; but not anymore. He pushed himself to look up at her, but she had gone back to looking at the world of the dead through her window. He stood up and headed back to his room. There was no use in wanting to return to her. She had made it painfully obvious. They lived in two different worlds.