Chapter Nine
ALEXANDER
I slid down to the floor and let out a sigh, thinking of what had just happened. She'd seen me. She knew what I was. I didn't know how I could do it again, see her again. The first time alone had been hard enough. The memory of her standing over me played again and again in my head. She hadn't screamed, or fainted, or rushed frantically out of the room. All possible emotions and scenarios I had thought of, and anticipated, hadn't taken place. She just stood there, eyes wide with fear, stood there like she was rooted to the floor, tense and shuddering. And as much as I wanted her to look away, leave and forget she had ever seen me; another part of me wanted her to stay. It had been so long since I'd spoken to any other human being besides Jonathan. I remembered how she had been able to at least make an effort at conversation, how her curiosity had somewhat overcome her fear, and it gave me hope. It had been our first true meeting, yes, but we had known each other longer than just that brief moment. Maybe I could help her remember; to think past this creature she was seeing and keep in mind the person she had talked with all those times online and in letters. If she could see me like that then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I closed my eyes in frustration, it shouldn't be like this! I shouldn't be trapped in my own house for God's sakes. If it hadn't been for that… no, I couldn't think of that now. Not with Sam here, I wouldn't. I wasn't completely isolated anymore, I wasn't completely alone. I just need to show her who I really was, it would be better then, it had to be.
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SAMANTHA
I walked slowly back to my room, completely dazed by what had just happened. What I had just seen. I wondered how I could be so calm, even now at this very moment I was in a house with a… a beast, a shiver ran up my body at the thought of it. No house could be big enough to make me comfortable with the idea of both of us being in it together. I think maybe I had gone into shock, and for that I was glad. I had the oddest feeling that I was watching all this unfold from a distance. But as I came closer and closer to my room I began to feel less like an observant spectator and more like the active participant I was. My legs began to weaken and I knew they wouldn't support me much longer. I stopped in the hallway I was in and leaned heavily against the wall, trying to take long deep breaths. I closed my eyes and ran a hand over the wood, feeling the texture and engravings carved into it. I focused on the feeling of it under my fingertips and tried to steady myself. This at least was substantial, there were no surprises or changes to this, and that feeling of regularity made me calmer.
I tried to run over what had just happened slowly, rationally, so as not to work myself into a complete panic. But thinking of the beast again-no, of Alex, if I was going to think of him with any humanity I had to think of him as Alex. Thinking of him again was difficult. He was so monstrous; everything about him was fierce and threatening. The mere memory of his voice made me shudder, it had been harsh and unused, and there was a constant growl in all his words that I had never heard in any other person's voice ever before. I could feel myself becoming nervous again and tried to focus on something less terrible, I tried to recall something, anything that hadn't inspired automatic fear in me. Then I remembered his eyes. They had been human, and for the brief moment when our two gazes had met I was able to forget slightly the other, more terrifying, features. I clung to that memory. As long as I could remember his eyes I could remember that he wasn't completely animal. I opened my own eyes now and looked down at my hand, which, it seemed, had moved from the wall of its own accord and was now curled into a fist by my side, nails biting into my palm. Stiffly I unclenched them and pushed myself away from the support of the timber. I could do this, I told myself feebly. You have to even if you don't want to, the tiny and annoyingly sensible voice in my head told me. You promised you wouldn't leave. I stopped short eyes growing wide as I remembered the last part of our conversation
'You're not leaving?' he had asked.
And my foolish response, 'No. No I'm not going to leave.' I cursed silently as I began to meander down the hall once more. Why had I said that? Because you're too polite for your own good. I grumbled to myself. It hadn't exactly been a promise, I reasoned as my feet took me into my own familiar hallway and down to my room. Nothing's really tying me down, I can still leave. But the idea seemed cowardly and shameful. I imagined myself slinking out into the night and catching a ride to the airport, my family's shocked expressions when I came home after only a week away. Then I thought of Alex, and what he had said, "You were my closest friend." and then more quietly to himself, "My only friend."
I imagined myself in his position: never going out into the world, never speaking to anyone, trapped in an empty building with nothing but my own thoughts to occupy myself. And then repeating that cycle: day after day, year after year. I shuddered away from the idea; I had experienced something of the sort over the course of this last week. I didn't think I would be strong enough to endure it on a long term basis and suddenly it wasn't fear that had me in its grip, but pity. I couldn't leave, all promises aside. It wouldn't be right, and I would feel awful for doing so. So I went into my room, took a shower, put on my pajamas and climbed into bed. He was still Alex, I had to try and see him like that.