Johann felt as if the bedsheet was about to absorb him, them, and initialize a strange process of metamorphosis that would culminate in something majestic, maybe a butterfly or a mockingbird... maybe just a moth.
If ever given a choice, he would be interested in becoming a dragon. In the idle hours of his adolescence the idea had taken form in his mind, like the most realistic of his fantasies, the bloodless one: how he would create a shelter in a faraway mountain, could be a cave, deep in the snow -the Swiss Alps offered a good environment to grow up a legend such as that- and simply exist, in a different nature that would offer him a more interesting experience than the one of being a member of humankind, either as a leader or an outcast. A dragon would become a fine leader of men. It ought to be the laws of nature.
He wouldn't mind being that one. For once the idea of leadership shone suggestive, bemusing even. The absolute tyranny of it -beyond any laws of men. Dragons had transcended from the collective imagination for no other objective than domination, why should he offer anything different?
Once upon a time, Johann had surrendered to those others' desires, embracing the intoxicating fantasy of growing up to unleash a tyranny upon the earth. That had been the sole purpose of his childhood and, it proved an interesting time. More than any posterior adulthood anyway.
In such an exultant state of mind, he protectively embraced her -if there were wings, he would simply cover her- and decided to close his eyes, tightening that grip meant to protect, submit. Surprisingly, his conscience drifted away, rapidly. His deeper, much slower respiration accompanying hers now.
Alcohol indeed helped him to fall asleep... only to wake up minutes later.
The metamorphosis now complete, but instead of a monster or a dragon, he remained the same, becoming at most a simple snake. He closed his tired eyes again, concluding that trying to properly sleep the night off had been a mistake, and neither the absinthe nor her company were enough to ease his mind up to the deadly boredom that preceded somnolence.
Being human instead of a dragon was an utterly disappointing experience.
Looking at the chaos of dark blond hair in front of him, his attention parted from the nature of dragons to more mundane topics meant for mediocre humans.
Like solitude. Dragons couldn't feel any, he was sure, but people...
He ought some thoughts to that species he currently belonged to, at the expectation of transcending anytime soon.
Johann remembered that once he had felt something at the touch of another living creature -human or animal-, an emerging sensation of safety, calmness, that could culminate in the feeling of being loved. It had been a long time ago and so much had changed in the meantime. Now he was unable to wrap his mind around that idea, the link between the action -not sleeping alone-, and the reaction -safety, a home. A family.
There had to be a hidden variable, love among others, to explain such irrationality. Love was the spiritual counterpart of a shield, he recalled, against society, laws of nature, the entire universe, a source of immunity and strength. The reasons behind had always escaped his mind, though. Being his experience so scarce, the only source of information left was other people and despite being able to question others in that pathetic performance he designed and perfectioned over the span of years, of questioning its philosophical foundations, he soon discovered that his underlying logic -or lack of experience- proved to arise serious suspicions he couldn't risk anymore. And Anna was damaged enough not to serve as an alternative, staying in some intermediate position between him and them, all the rest. He wasn't certain she was able to love either.
He felt suddenly eager to understand if solely the connection between physical proximity and love. Which was yet another topic in which he had the least of experiences.
Johann had been hugged, kissed, cuddled, by Anna, mother, and some others who came later. He had tried both its innocent and more sexual counterpart. His reaction had varied, from the vague pleasure extracted during the early stages of his childhood -coming from those who represented his family back then- to an alarming sensation of repulsion that was followed by some sort of anger attack, one that few had survived. An experience closer to be traumatic than passable, regardless of how consensual the situation was on his own terms. At other times, all he had been able to experience was indifference.
While the experience of physical violation was foreign to him, compared to the memories of its psychological counterpart (regardless of any suggestion he might have made), he found himself being similarly triggered at any attempt of physical intimacy, concluding that either lust or love became equally repulsive at his eyes. He had tested them both extensively, on several stages of his life until being satisfied with his knowledge. His opinion was not important, though, as he was mostly interested in the relaxation that invaded the body in front of him as soon as his arms had surrounded her. He should ask her anyway, in case she could shed light on the matter.
No one should ever feel safe after being embraced by a monster. She was no exception, nor had any rational reasons to do so.
Neither humans proved a safe choice.
Another body could barely offer any protection against most damage, surely not against bullets. Flesh shouldn't feel safe, because it wasn't, and making that mistake could end one's life, in such an unexpected and predictable way.
Physical intimacy was not an expression of love, not a direct one. Intimacy should never be understood as an expression of love, but of many possibilities from which love was just one. Psychological intimacy, though... it was indeed an expression of love. He was sure of it.
Now two bodies lied under the sheets, in a random bedroom within a meaningless mansion. Her body stayed so close to his that he could feel the soft movement of her torso, the deep breathing of the sleep, her back leaning against his chest, and his arm surrounding her waist.
In his mind the image of kittens lying side by side. Safe and soft.
Anna's body was warm, surprisingly thin -more than his anyway-... and that was all. Now his body hugged hers and all he felt was the strangeness of it all.
Anna couldn't make him feel safe, she was too tiny, seemed too frail. Not even the fantasy was a viable course of action.
Anna couldn't offer warmth, yet he needed none, it was a summer night after all.
And Anna couldn't offer love. Nor he required any.
Then, what was the point of that performance of siblings' innocent love? What was he expecting to achieve?
Johann sighed, disappointed with his mortality and what was much worse, bored. He knew how to be stealthy, though, enough to get out of bed, already giving up of thinking about falling sleep and what was worse, about love. There was so much to ponder about, all those interesting topics that arose after their conversation that night, starting with what exactly he had told her, and the real knowledge she had derived from his nervous exposition.
He was disappointed with his own lack of talent to offer her a proper exposition on the matter of his existence. He had predicted that the alcohol combined with the events leading to that very moment could have some effect on his state of mind, yet reality had surpassed any expectation in such a miserable way, offering her the most mediocre version of himself.
Anna had probably pitied him, being the last emotion he had ever wanted to trigger. It was so unsettling.
She might be thinking he had exposed himself without a second thought, but he had planned that conversation for weeks, starting toying with the idea months before. She could have already estimated his deplorable estate, there was so much he couldn't hide on a daily coexistence. She was being nice and brave with him and he had considered paying her back with that desire of hers to understand him better, whether it represented morbid curiosity or a real desire to add some sense to the figure of her brother.
Anna was going to keep the secret anyway and if she didn't, he couldn't care less. Johann had never desired to expose himself to anyone but either feared it. How much of him was made public was defined by the further purpose of that information being vox populi. Most of the time possessing a certain level of humanity was required and thus his usually private nature.
His steps didn't perturb the absolute silence of those corridors, moving like a ghost in what was now his territory. Yet a drunk phantom.
He couldn't help but want to know about her thoughts on that topic: him. She had seemed utterly perturbed, she really considered him completely insane and that certainty scratched his mind -he equally wanted to know her thoughts on him, on herself, from her own perspective. See himself under a different light-. He might be even crazier. And then she turned so sweet and kind, a disappointing yet predictable reaction. He had begged for a merciless interrogatory and all he had been offered was a warm embrace for his soul, then his body.
Absinthe had been a curious experience, though. He was back at seeing those black lines appearing on the walls as he passed -he hadn't seen them since his adolescence-, like claws following the path. They used to turn bigger, like corruption expanding through the walls, to the ceiling... finally the floor. Sometimes required just a couple of minutes, others lasted for weeks. Absinthe was indeed triggering his imagination, like a desperate artist, uninspired.
Taking a look over that green bottle still lying on the kitchen counter he turned around, following again the corridor towards those unknown rooms with a clear goal in mind, the outside world.
Johann was going for a walk.