I hadn't realized that I was pacing a hole in the floor. I had also picked back up an old and very nasty habit of mine and had chewed off my nails. I was tense as a wire and could feel the flesh trembling on my bones.
I had not known that I cared about him enough to worry myself halfway to the grave. Perhaps it was only natural – it would have been pretty heartless of me to be indifferent to whether he lived or died.
I was turning this into a drama – who had said anything about life and death. So he had gone missing for a longer time than usual – perhaps he was a workaholic who had decided to do the night shift as well. This was the second time he had not come back for the night. The events could have easily coincided.
That was what I tried to comfort myself with, but my mind was my worst enemy. Or was that my heart? Whatever it was, it made me conjure up all sorts of horrible images. Garen, lying amidst smoking debris and flames, deep red soaking the cracked, sooty concrete under him, icy white shards of bone rising from his flesh, dead eyes staring up sightlessly….Just like her – if he lived like she had, could he die like her?
"Enough," I said aloud. I couldn't think these things. Not now. That would only make things worse. It was just a stupid coincidence and I had to stop letting my imagination get the better of me. Yet I resumed my pacing.
Five minutes. Ten minutes. Ten minutes, thirty seconds. Ten minutes, thirty-five seconds…That was it. I was feeling crazy enough to go out and look for him. Just as I headed for the door, it opened. I heard but did not feel the sigh of relief escape me. I wanted to strangle him.
"Do you have any idea how worried I was? Hell, I thought you'd gotten yourself killed!"
"Oh, I have an idea," was his dry retort.
If I hadn't been so glad to see him back in one piece, I would have raged at him some more. Instead, I gave him a once over. He was covered from head to toe in soot. His once black, now ash-grey clothes were torn and drenched with sweat. His hair was in no better shape. His face was also coated with dirt. There were twin clean streaks down his cheeks.
"You were there. You were there when it happened, weren't you?"
He nodded. There were no words to convey what the gesture said. I didn't want to look at his eyes. Instead, I felt my innards suddenly become insubstantial, lost all dignity and self control and hugged him. It didn't matter that I did not know him. I might as well have known his life story.
He was stiff and unresponsive in my embrace. I could feel that he was looking somewhere beyond. I released him, eventually. It had been good while it lasted.
It dawned on me that he should have been back long ago – he didn't look injured to me; I doubted that he could have been caught under debris. Even if he had…I did a double take and saw the blood on his shirt and hands. There was a lot of it. My heart almost leapt into my throat.
"It's not mine," he sighed. I must have been very transparent for him to answer before I asked. Then the reason behind his absence occurred to me. There were still so many missing…I raised an eyebrow, disbelieving.
"You're not going back, are you?"
"I am."
"For stars' sake, don't be stupid…You're dead on your feet." He gazed at me intently, daring me to try and deter him.
"I know, Faith. But I must."
"Why? Have you no self-preservation? Why?"
"Because it's my duty. People are dying."
So, he had a hero complex as well…Duty - what is that, but an excuse to be too noble for your own good? I don't know what angered me, or what threw me off balance, but I ended up spewing another thoughtless comment in his face.
"Fine. You do that. Go on, but don't you come back and haunt me once you're gone."
He looked at me, almost sadly. I didn't know whether he was trying to make me feel guilty or was truly offended. Regardless, I felt like a bumbling fool. I blinked, and something changed.
I looked at him again, and saw him for what he was – weary and broken. I could see it on his face, in his stance, in his eyes…Yet he still found the strength to be selfless. I felt a sweltering wave of shame wash over me.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that…I just don't want you to get hurt."
He smiled bitterly, ironically, even.
"It's alright. I know you mean well."
He left only a couple of hours afterward. It could have been worse. At least I knew where he was.
oOo
I knew, vaguely, that he was a compassionate man. I could somehow tell that he was honorable, but his dedication surprises me. I am disgusted. Not with him. Someone once said that one who will not die for something is not fit to live.
I am not like him. I don't have a noble cause. I don't care about heroics. I don't put others before myself – my first priority is saving my own skin. Sometimes I even step all over everyone else. I don't venture beyond my own pathetic life.
The truth is that apathy is the only thing I love. If I drop all the masks, lies and deceptions, I don't really care about anything. No attachments, Lani. One area where I've outdone you. But you're dead.
Unworthy, whispers the ghost in my mind. I look within and see what I despise. Vanity. Frivolity. Spite. I don't know who I am anymore. I want to resent him again for making me feel this way, but I can't find it in me. I can only admire and envy him. I can't admire without envy. Just like…
She was so flawless that it hurt me. I could never meet her eyes. I felt like filth at the bottom of a crevice, but she never treated me as such.
oOo
A week passes surreptitiously, sneaking by so discreetly that I barely see it. I don't see much of him, but I respect that. I now wish I was there, with him instead of minding my own stupid business. He's not around much, but it kills me every time he comes back.
There is something sucking the life from him, like a leech draining his blood, slowly, gently, yet so, so painfully. Each time I see him, another fragment is ripped from him, and his face is greyer still. With each return, another shard of light leaves his eyes, and he looks a little deader.
It frightens me. There is a despair that clings to him like a mist. It permeates everything. It radiates from him and seeps into my pores. It clings to our clothes, to the curtains, to my hair... It withers all things - makes them fester and waste away. It crawls beneath my skin, through my flesh; so many icy tendrils brushing against my heart, threatening to reach my very core. There is a gloom about him that stifles everything. It blows out all candles.
The plant in his room is dying. He loves it. He talks to it in calm, quiet tones and waters it every day. I know that, by nature, he will not harm me in any way. I know that he has the best of intentions. Yet my instincts tell me to flee.
