“Tony?” I call softly. I know this is exactly what you’re not supposed to do--call out for people that you aren’t sure are actually there--but I’m desperate and so scared that I’m practically choking on my heartbeat.
A solid shadow materializes in the gloom before my bed. Even though it remains motionless, I somehow know that its intentions are malicious. And I know it’s not Drew, because the shadow isn’t that filled out. Instead of reassuring me, this just opens up other portals of horrible instances in my mind. I fight off the urge to jackknife in my bed and race for the door screaming. Instead, I grasp the knife in a hold that would successfully execute a downward plunge, should the need arise. I haven’t sharpened it lately, feeling that it wasn’t necessary, but now I feel like punching myself for my idiocy. I maintain my deep breathing, trying to feign sleep, but I can hear how shallow and forced it is. It’s useless, anyway. Whatever it is, it knows I’m awake.
I don’t know how long I lie there, breathless, motionless, the silence slowly eating away at my sanity, and my fear raising goose bumps and sweat on my clammy skin. The knife’s handle is slipping from my palm, too lubricated by sweat to stay in place.
Ríjez, I swear to God if that’s you…
And now it’s walking towards me.
I jump back, pressing my back against the wall, and brandish the knife. The shadow pauses and tilts its head, curiously or mockingly, I really don’t know. But it stays there, motionless yet again, only this time it’s close enough for me to hear its slow, deep breathing. It sounds like the Jeepers Creepers guy, and it sets my panic level to Hysteria--Do Not Approach, my heartbeat skyrocketing to the point that it’s a wonder I’m not convulsing, my pulse thundering in my ears as my vision tunnels. Blackness meets blackness, and I can’t tell shadow from definite form. There’s a sharp sound close by. It takes me awhile to realize that it’s my hitched breathing.
“Tony?” I eek out again. “Tony, I swear to God, if--”
“Don’t call me Tony.”
Relief hits me so hard that it’s like being smacked with a sack of bricks. Then enters the fury and mortification that come with being scared out of your mind for no credible reason. “You asshole!” I shriek in a half-whisper. “You had me terrified!”
He stays silent as my anger slowly fades back to numbing relief. I stash my knife back under my pillow and sit up, hugging my knees to my chest. “What do you want?” I ask, suddenly feeling as exasperated as my mom when she couldn’t get Jake to vacuum for the whole weekend.
My vision eventually adapts to the inkiness of the room so that I can see the minute shaking of Ríjez’s hands. He slowly comes forward and eases himself onto my bed. Now I’m feeling more awkward than anything; his posture--head hanging low, hands clenched tightly in his lap--tells me that this isn’t anything good. His next words confirm this: “I can’t do this, Vessa.”
I cock my head, confused at his forlorn voice. Can’t do what? I ask him this, and his answer tips my mind from its axis. “This.” He gestures widely at the ceiling, the room. “I can’t stay here any longer. I want out.”
“Hey, it’s not like I invited you in.”
My light attempt at humor is painfully ineffective. Ríjez turns his eyes to me. I inhale sharply, sobering immediately. There’s so much pain and sorrow and utter emptiness in his gaze that it’s a wonder he isn’t crying or begging me to put him out of his misery. Something in my heart tweaks, and I inch forward slightly to set my hand on his shoulder.
It occurs to me that throughout this whole ordeal--the whole three years, two months, and eight days--he has always been there for me. To cry to, to complain to, to argue about how insanely unfair all of this was to me. But I’ve never returned the favor. I lost my mom and my brother and friends; this man lost his wife and two sons and probably a whole plethora of loved ones that I’m not even aware of. I receive comfort but never offer any in return.
And suddenly, my heart is breaking, cleaving, in two for the abandonment this man must feel, the loneliness he must live with every day, and I drop my usual touch-me-not rules for just a moment and embrace him. His body is as tense as a drawn bow, and I fear that I just did the one thing to make it snap when his arms wrap around me and drag me impossibly closer. He’s quaking now, trembling like a leaf, and all I can think to do is rub his back, as if he’s a startled child, not a heartbroken man. Burying his face in my neck, he clutches me so tight that I’m sure he’s bruising my back, but I don’t dare pull away. There’s over three years of this to atone for. I make ridiculous shushing noises, as if that will help anything, but then I think that telling him to calm down is about as insensitive as it gets and I shut up entirely, still rubbing his back and stroking his hair.
We sit like that for what could have been days for all it mattered. However long it was, it certainly wasn’t long enough for Ríjez to cry himself out, but he slowly eases out of my grasp. He grasps my hand before it can return to my side and cups it in his own, lightly tracing his callous-tipped fingers over the lines on my palm. I’ve always been pretty sensitive there; I can’t tell if it tickles unbearably or if it simply feels too good to be proper, but I ease it from his grasp anyway. He turns his shark-like gaze to mine. The pain is still there, as well as the loneliness, but something else has also taken residence; a desperate yearning. Shifting to face me fully, he grasps my hands in his again so that it’s impossible for me to ignore what he says next. “I can’t stay here anymore, Vessa. As soon as I can, I’m leaving. And I want you to come with me.”
I feel like this sentimental statement should make me feel overwhelmed with emotion, but the only feeling occupying my brain right now is confusion. My brow creases in a frown. “Andy would never--”
“Andy isn’t God, kiddo. He’s not some divine creature who has any power over us. He can’t keep me here,” he says confidently. “And he can’t keep you here, either.”
“But he can keep us safe,” I argue, trying to pull my hands from his warm hold. It really isn’t proper. “Do you remember what it’s actually like out there?” I certainly do; the scars decorating my body tell more than my words can.
“And how long do you think this place will last before it falls too? It’s happening everywhere, Vessa. This place is strong now, but give it a month or two, hell, maybe even a few days, and it could be nothing but dust and death. We have the chance to leave now and survive while we still can.”
This renders me speechless for a moment because I can’t argue with that. No place is safe. Not forever. But where else could we go? Living on our own had been terrible. Could we really go back to that? And for how long? The limited resources we had been able to live off of are no doubt gone by now, and we had been on the brink of starving by the time Andy found us and took us in. What could we do for that? Jesus Christ, was there no end to this? Would we ever live normal lives again?
My heart sinks to my stomach. I turn away before Ríjez can see the hopeless tears welling in my eyes. But he knows my moves too well and simply turns my face back to his with a strong hand cupping my jaw. “We’ve made it before, kiddo. We can do it again, by our own rules. Not Andy’s.”
Not Andy’s…The thought is a welcome one. I wouldn’t be sent off to kill while needlessly putting myself in danger. I wouldn’t be threatened and smacked around because of my weaknesses. I wouldn’t have to be Mella’s little guinea pig. I wouldn’t be confined to a schedule or have my supper taken from me or be harassed by perverts.
I look back up to Ríjez, my mouth set in a firm line. I don’t know what to say, so I just utter the first thing that comes to my mind: “Don’t call me kiddo.”
There is an incredulous pause on his part, and then his face cracks in a grin and he’s laughing, really laughing, and the sound is so joyous and carefree and wonderful that I can’t help but add my own chuckles to the mix. His arms come back around me and enfold me in a bear hug that could rival my dad’s. We’re both shaking, but this time it’s with the effort to conceal our jubilation instead of our sobs. I can’t remember a feeling so glorious.
He kisses my forehead, still laughing, then calms the noise to a quiet chuckle. I’m still giggling a little, feeling like a recovering drunk who’s had their first shot after a year of miserable sobriety, and expect Ríjez’s arms to loosen so I can ease away. They don’t. He clutches me tighter, palms wide on my lower back, and his lips brush my skin when he says, “You really are something, Vess.”
I’m content in his arms for a few moments, but the close proximity, while wonderful and welcome at first, is starting to make me feel awkward again. I try to lighten the situation with my usual sarcastically-spoke “well, duh!” comment, but it doesn’t have the desired effect. His arms stay wrapped around me, and now they seem more of a cage than a protective barrier. Subtlety isn’t working, so I go with Plan B: Blunt as a Board. I open my mouth to tell him to back off a little…but it seems that my mouth is otherwise occupied.
Ríjez jerks away, looking panicked and embarrassed, maybe even a little flustered, while boiling blood shoots up my neck and settles hotly in my cheeks. My hand flies up to cover my mouth, and I try to choke out an apology, which is stupid because he made the move, but it feels like the right thing to do. Immediately, my brain churns with everything wrong about this situation; how he is much older than I am, how he’s acted more like a father to me than anything intimate, that neither of us is emotionally stable enough to do something like this. I stutter, but nothing coherent comes out.
Then his lips are back on mine, and coherency really doesn’t matter anymore.
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So, I'm going to be gone for six-ish weeks and will have minimal computer access during that time. However, I'll try to update as soon as possible because the next chapter should be...interesting. ; ) Hope you enjoyed!