Q U A T R I È M E
- Dim Aldebaran -
I.
It should have been a shock; and though their eyes widened and wept with the simultaneous confession, declaration, and denouncement of life, they were not surprised.
They had all known it was coming, all along; and somehow, only she had acted, and she had—saved him.
Artemis' lips twisted. That—child at his bedside with the red-rimmed eyes, that variable, that—interference, guided by mere intuition—
Of course.
He closed his eyes against a world of white; and against the contrived humanity of the insanity ward.
"You're welcome," Juliet whispered in reply.
She couldn't bring herself to hold his hand.
II.
It wasn't the literal that bothered her. That had been taken care of, with nurses and doctors and—
She closed her eyes, and opened her heart: "Artemis, please…"
He'd only answer her with silence; silence, that strange and empty silence of the lies redundant.
She had seen them, the lies, suspending the broken man within the broken mirror, woven in a shroud to veil the shattered mind, she had seen them and there was no going back, now…
Her eyes opened; his back was turned.
At times, she wondered whether it was mercy, or spite.
Regardless, she was always grateful.
III.
It was an unspoken condition that the door would remain open at all times.
But how she'd flit into the room! how she'd chatter and expect it all to be the same… it hurt at first, this open door, but then hurt turned into anger and he was quite alright with anger.
He kept his back turned away from it, of course.
He kept his back turned away from them all.
…but sometimes the slave to himself, chained before the open door, the very Prometheus, slipped the words: "Thank you."
It was the only confession he would allow himself, now.
IV.
"This doesn't change anything, you know—" She watches his hands. "This."
"I never said it would."
He won't stop thinking; she wants to reach down and touch her hands to his, but she doesn't, she can't… "You never say a lot of things, you know."
"I'd rather not get into this."
She folds; he doesn't notice. "Thank you, then." She smiles; he doesn't look, so he'll never see the edge to it. "Again."
—pause. "You're… welcome."
She knows he doesn't mean it anymore; but she replies in turn.
It's all she can do not to close the door behind her.
:i:
All for the af100 prompt of 'thanks'; individually for the drabbles100 prompts of: 'white', 'thanksgiving', 'writer's choice', and 'missing'. All are exactly 100 words, for a total of 400 words. Title translates to 'fourth'. These are posted together because the four are (obviously) linked.
Gratitude towards Gumbutt, who lent me a pencil when I needed it most; and doubly so, for giving me one with no eraser.