T. Oso (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
campkilkare) wrote2008-12-27 07:50 am
campkilkare) wrote2008-12-27 07:50 am
Entry tags:
zora/alice, 7 of 7, for now
I woke up before her for once. She was sleeping the way I'd seen people sleep in hospitals, sometimes; the body simply shuts everything down in favor of S L E E P. Something just short of a coma.
I had time to think about what came next; I made a sandwich with tuna salad I had bought and ate it while I did, and while I watched her. At this point, any reasonable person would have questions to ask. I don't know if 'reasonable' is the word for twenty-two and halfway in love already, but still, I was curious. (Not frightened, although maybe I should have been. Only curious.) But if I really was--
It seemed to me then that if I wanted to know, the worst thing I could do was ask. Because she would not answer. A door would shut, and I would be on the wrong side of it. I could ask if I wanted--if I wanted to make a point of principle, that if she was going to ask me to be here she owed me an explanation--but if I did that I would kill all my answers. If I wanted to know, I needed to not ask, I decided. Just wait. Pay attention.
We're getting there, Alice had said. We were learning each other, not with questions, but bit by bit. I watched her sleep, and learned a little more.
I had never seen anyone wake up that way. There was no in-between. She was asleep, then she was awake, and there was no confusion over where she was or who was in her room, either. She was just awake, and smiling at me. As she sat up, The Lord, who was sleeping by her feet, darted off. They never really liked each other, but sleep was an undeclared peace.
"What time is it?"
"After four," I said. I was sitting on top of the covers, dressed, and I didn't even have a book or anything; it was obvious I'd been watching her sleep.
"I need a shower." She rolled out of the bed, and I could see things I hadn't been able to before. She was dirty, and battered--bruises like dark stains on her skin. She moved stiffly. There was a weal like a rope burn under one breast, and it looked like her wrist was burned, around the tattoo. Char-colored. When she came out of the shower, wearing one towel and carrying two I'd left on the floor, she already moved more fluidly, however, and the darkness on her wrist had washed away after all. She dropped the towels into a hamper, and picked up one of my sweaters off the floor with her toes. I tended to wear them baggy--still do--and it fit her well enough for the purpose. "Ahhh."
She beamed at me. "Hello." Whatever had brought her home wrapped in darkness had been slept away or washed away or maybe stroked away by my hands. "Are you starving? We can order something."
"I bought groceries," I said, and she nodded.
"I'll cook something." Spoken like a woman who had seen my kitchen.
I followed her into the kitchen, and perched on a chair to watch. She put two chicken cutlets in a saucepan with red wine, and began to cook them; she added things as she went to make a sauce. I don't think she was working from a recipe. She didn't know what I had bought. She was just making it up as she went along. She was humming a song, something I didn't know, and I was sure that was the first time I'd heard her do any such thing. Improbably, she seemed to be in a fantastic mood.
"Sorry I slept the day away," she said. "I have to work third watch tomorrow, too. So I won't be home until midnight." The way she said home manifestly included me.
"That's the dangerous one, isn't it?"
"Well, it's the busy one." She cut up a mushroom while we talked; her hands were a blur. I didn't understand how she didn't cut herself. "I have three days on that, then another two days off. Twenty-four in five, that's the rule. Overnights are long shifts, because the second half of the third watch is the busiest." My head swam.
"That's all right," I said. "I have to go back to my apartment tomorrow anyway." I watched her, and she didn't turn. If she had, to give me the puppy-dog eyes or say anything at all, I suppose everything would be different. But she just went on humming, and reached back to tug the hem of the sweater back down. It kept creeping up.
"To bring more clothes over, I mean," I added. "And my hairdryer. Yours is terrible. Some of The Lord's stuff."
It's funny how we get old. Some of the best decisions of my life would horrify me, if my children made them.
I crossed the kitchen floor and leaned my head against her arm. "I'm in a lot of trouble, aren't I?" I said. I don't remember how my voice sounded, but I wasn't frightened. Never frightened.
Alice spooned up some of the sauce. "Try this," she said. "It's delicious."
It was, too.
I had time to think about what came next; I made a sandwich with tuna salad I had bought and ate it while I did, and while I watched her. At this point, any reasonable person would have questions to ask. I don't know if 'reasonable' is the word for twenty-two and halfway in love already, but still, I was curious. (Not frightened, although maybe I should have been. Only curious.) But if I really was--
It seemed to me then that if I wanted to know, the worst thing I could do was ask. Because she would not answer. A door would shut, and I would be on the wrong side of it. I could ask if I wanted--if I wanted to make a point of principle, that if she was going to ask me to be here she owed me an explanation--but if I did that I would kill all my answers. If I wanted to know, I needed to not ask, I decided. Just wait. Pay attention.
We're getting there, Alice had said. We were learning each other, not with questions, but bit by bit. I watched her sleep, and learned a little more.
I had never seen anyone wake up that way. There was no in-between. She was asleep, then she was awake, and there was no confusion over where she was or who was in her room, either. She was just awake, and smiling at me. As she sat up, The Lord, who was sleeping by her feet, darted off. They never really liked each other, but sleep was an undeclared peace.
"What time is it?"
"After four," I said. I was sitting on top of the covers, dressed, and I didn't even have a book or anything; it was obvious I'd been watching her sleep.
"I need a shower." She rolled out of the bed, and I could see things I hadn't been able to before. She was dirty, and battered--bruises like dark stains on her skin. She moved stiffly. There was a weal like a rope burn under one breast, and it looked like her wrist was burned, around the tattoo. Char-colored. When she came out of the shower, wearing one towel and carrying two I'd left on the floor, she already moved more fluidly, however, and the darkness on her wrist had washed away after all. She dropped the towels into a hamper, and picked up one of my sweaters off the floor with her toes. I tended to wear them baggy--still do--and it fit her well enough for the purpose. "Ahhh."
She beamed at me. "Hello." Whatever had brought her home wrapped in darkness had been slept away or washed away or maybe stroked away by my hands. "Are you starving? We can order something."
"I bought groceries," I said, and she nodded.
"I'll cook something." Spoken like a woman who had seen my kitchen.
I followed her into the kitchen, and perched on a chair to watch. She put two chicken cutlets in a saucepan with red wine, and began to cook them; she added things as she went to make a sauce. I don't think she was working from a recipe. She didn't know what I had bought. She was just making it up as she went along. She was humming a song, something I didn't know, and I was sure that was the first time I'd heard her do any such thing. Improbably, she seemed to be in a fantastic mood.
"Sorry I slept the day away," she said. "I have to work third watch tomorrow, too. So I won't be home until midnight." The way she said home manifestly included me.
"That's the dangerous one, isn't it?"
"Well, it's the busy one." She cut up a mushroom while we talked; her hands were a blur. I didn't understand how she didn't cut herself. "I have three days on that, then another two days off. Twenty-four in five, that's the rule. Overnights are long shifts, because the second half of the third watch is the busiest." My head swam.
"That's all right," I said. "I have to go back to my apartment tomorrow anyway." I watched her, and she didn't turn. If she had, to give me the puppy-dog eyes or say anything at all, I suppose everything would be different. But she just went on humming, and reached back to tug the hem of the sweater back down. It kept creeping up.
"To bring more clothes over, I mean," I added. "And my hairdryer. Yours is terrible. Some of The Lord's stuff."
It's funny how we get old. Some of the best decisions of my life would horrify me, if my children made them.
I crossed the kitchen floor and leaned my head against her arm. "I'm in a lot of trouble, aren't I?" I said. I don't remember how my voice sounded, but I wasn't frightened. Never frightened.
Alice spooned up some of the sauce. "Try this," she said. "It's delicious."
It was, too.