The Chronicle Keeper (Formally - Destiny)

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE | aislin

I couldn't quite accept any of what Nolan had just shared with me. Or Lavinia's claim that her and I had been best friends. It all seemed too proposperous and possibly even staged. But what would cause anyone to claim to be my best friend? Unless they wanted something.... But what? I wasn't anyone special, and I sure didn't own anything worth squat.

"She's lying." I protested. "I've never even had a best friend to speak of besides. What does she want with me?" I asked, pleading with Nolan and then glancing to Aeneas for answers. Was there anyone who knew?

"It sure didn't sound like she was lying, Aislin." Nolan said gently. He wasn't trying to complicate things, I knew that, but I just couldn't take anymore of it.

Shooting to my feet, like a bullet, I made a mad dash for the doorless exit. Everything was becoming too much to handle and too painful for my memory to recall. I couldn't take it any longer. My feet carried me towards the tree-rooted stairs. I was surely going to be sick, as I felt myself become nauseated. It was my only escape to fresh air. Something I desperately needed at this moment.

Tears, like rain, leaked down my face. My chest felt like it had been crushed by a boulder as I scrambled up the unstable staircase. Once above ground, no sooner had I braced myself against the tree trunk I had just exited, and my stomach hurled acidic liquids all over the forest floor. The rancid taste tainted my tongue, but I had no water to rid the awfulness of it from my mouth. So I spit what was left on the ground.

How could I tell them? How could I bare to live another moment reliving that awful nightmare. Especially, of all things, telling it while I was fully awake. How could I tell them my only true friend in this world had been my mum? .... And they had killed her. At the horrid thought, my stomach hurled another onslaught of liquids as the picture of my mum, lying on the floor, entered my thoughts... and then the gunshot that had mentally and emotionally wounded me, resounded in my ears.

Pushing myself away from the tree that had held me up, I fell to my knees and cried. Wrapping my arms as tightly as I could around myself, I rocked back and forth, trying to find some comfort. But there was no comfort to be found with the weight of the boulder-like feeling still crushing my chest, threatening all my organs to explode inside. I could feel acid still bubble and gurgle in my stomach, threatening to come back up.

I don't know how long I stayed above ground. But as I surveyed the surrounding scenery, I realized the forest was growing dark quickly with night approaching. At least I had been given sometime to be alone. Being an introvert wasn't always easy. There were days I wish I had the strength to tell those around me how I really felt. Maybe it was a pride thing. There was just something I didn't like about feeling vulnerable.

Standing, with what little light was still left, filtering through the forest canopy, I decided it was finally time to make my way back down, underground, and join the boys again. It was a slow journey back down the unforgiving, tree rooted stairs. They wobbled with each movement I made, sending my stomach into my throat with uneasiness. I never did good in tight spaces. As I felt my body constrict itself, I just wanted this horrible day to done and over with.

Skipping the last few rooted steps to reach solid ground faster, the aroma of hot food filled my nose, sending a comforting message to my wired stomach. As I reappeared in the main room, Nolan and Aeneas were waiting for me with dinner ready. There was no table to sit at, but three fluffy cushions had been strategically placed in a triangle setting. Nolan had seated himself, but Aeneas remained standing, waiting, it seemed for me to sit, so that he might bring us dinner.

For how bare Aeneas's home was, it was simple and quite cozy. I found myself readily settling down onto one of the available cushions. When Aeneas brought over a hot bowl, a tid bit of disappointed filled me when I saw it was porridge. But I knew better than to be complaining. The porridge was hot, and the warmth was immediately welcomed by my chilled bones. For a few moments, I sat still, allowing the warmth that radiated off the bowl to warm my cold hands as well.