Savages

25: Only the Wind

Merle's mouth opened and closed, her eyes flicking between Judit and Brock.

"I'm...I was...I was just..." she stepped backwards as she spoke, never taking her eyes off of them.

"Merle," Brock said, his voice small.

"No!" Merle raised her hand towards him, still stepping backwards. She bumped into the door and scooted around it. "I...Don't. I'm...I'm going."

Judit stood like a statue, her eyes fixed on the doorway Merle had just vacated.

What just happened?

The silence roared. It was totally unreal. Judit kept thinking she could go back in time, stop the last few minutes from occuring.

Of course that was impossible. Yet it seemed so achievable—like she was drowning, thrashing about, and the power of time-reversal was a life-raft that was bobbing beside her, brushing against her fingertips, promising her salvation.

The dark empty room stretched around her like an elastic band about to snap.

She couldn't bring herself to look at Brock. He was too close, and she wasn't sure she wanted to see him.

Eventually her eyes did make their way to his face—the way you can't help but look at a gunshot wound, even though you know you don't actually want to see the bloody, pulpy mess that used to be your leg—and her heart constricted.

He was staring into the middle distance, biting his lip. He looked pale, and wholly, absolutely, engulfingly desolate.

"I better go after her," Brock said, his voice heavy with desperation.

Judit didn't respond. She couldn't even move. She was struggling to process what this turn of events meant. She wasn't sure she even wanted to, that she wouldn't prefer not understanding anything else ever again.

She just wanted to go back in time. To an hour ago. To the summer. To Caledia. To Goldmay. Change the fate she'd written herself into, change the person she'd become.

Brock moved towards the door hesitantly, stopping when Merle whirled right back into the room, her movements unnaturally fast.

"I can't belive you." Merle started shouting straight away, her voice shaking, fists balled, attention fixed dead on Brock. "I licit can't believe you. I can't believe you would do this. I can't believe-"

Her voice broke and she dropped her head, rubbing her eyes with her clenched fist.

Lifting her face again, she went on forcefully. "You, of all people. I thought...I thought we were in this together. I thought you understood. We always said...we said we wouldn't do this. We're not like them. But you are. I can't believe you are."

Merle lifted both hands to her eyes, wiping away enraged tears, her voice uncontrolled, the pain evident.

"It's so skitting cheap, Brock. It's so skitting tacky. Lintie's just there, you know? She's just. Skitting. There." Merle guestured with an angry hand in the direction of her blackhouse. "And she's...I can't believe...Your child. You skitting monster."

Merle lunged towards Brock, hitting at him with fast moving fists. He ducked away, protecting his face, then as she continued to thrash at him he straightened, grabbing her wrists, his eyes wide, face despairing. Merle twisted her body against him, sobbing angrily.

"I skitting hate you. I hate that you would do this," Merle cried. "Not this."

"Merle, I'm sorry. Please. Please, stop," Brock said desperately, still wincing away from her thrashing fists, sounding like he might cry too.