Welcome back, my darlings.
She's fallen asleep in my lap again, the ever-present leopardskin draped over us both and making her seem even smaller than she actually is. I've gotten used to being Asha's portable bower in the past year, especially since certain concerts tend to make her pass out with an almost narcoleptic suddenness. She says she loves them because she can learn the instruments as she listens. All she has to do is watch and spend time in the heads of the performers, and by the end of a show she has the memories necessary to pick up the instrument and play. Even though I've seen her do it countless times by now, it always manages to surprise me. One concert a week for a little over a year equals a lot of instruments to be proficient in. Desmond arranged it so she has permission to check out any one she wants from the music building, but so far she has always returned them and gone back to my flute. I've never told her this, but I hope she always does that.
Today's concert started out like all the others. We showed up early, picked our spot on the lawn, and then walked up to introduce her to the musicians. This time the performers are a quintet of fourth-years.
“May I learn from you?” she asked the pianist. He stared at her, and then smiled. Everyone on the campus knows her by now—they know what she is even though her mannerisms no longer give her away. And they always say yes. No one ever tells her no, not even me. But she keeps asking, keeps being polite, keeps respecting their privacy. And so she learns, and they love her for it. Sometimes they even ask her to play with them at the end after people have left, which she always does with a childlike glee. Never nervous, always proud. But if a piano is present, or a harp, she always ends up curled in my lap, dreaming away as the music plays. She's tried everything to stay awake, but it never works, and so she never learns how to play. Today has proven no different.
“It is their minds,” she has tried to tell me. “When they play, they lose themselves, and all that is left is peace. It is relaxing.” Only Elene—Alina, now, since she has just entered her third year—seems to get it. I can't comprehend a genuinely peaceful mind. When I am open to others all I feel is turmoil, even from her. In her case it's other people's turmoil, though she is getting better at making sense of it. The instant the notes stop she is awake again, and happy. Sometimes I wonder if she is listening to the music in her sleep. It seems like she is, but she could be getting her memories of the songs from anywhere.
Despite her inability to remain awake for a good half of them, she still insists on attending the concerts. We have a set schedule: one concert, one night dancing, and one dinner out a week, all on the Fleet. To our fellow students we've become a public fixture. “There's the pretty Type Three,” the third-years will tell the new students, pointing us out in a crowd. “The man with her is kind of her bodyguard. He used to be a bastard, but she tamed him. Don't talk to him when he's alone, though.” The new student will stare at Asha and I then for as long as we remain in sight. Asha feels it every time, and will always turn and wave at them no matter how far away they are. Their paranoid responses are always funny to me, but not to Asha—she's genuinely trying to be friendly.
It is both amusing and embittering to see how much people's opinions of the two of us have changed. Between attacking Keven last year and spending so much time with her now most of them think I'm a decent guy. Most of them are wrong. But they are dead on about Asha, and I am glad that our time outside of Hanakawa has given her a chance to prove her worth to them. She still doesn't quite believe it, and I don't blame her. It has to be hard to become used to acceptance after a lifetime of being treated like a pariah.
The music lulls between songs and Asha makes a soft sound in her sleep. I rub her back gently and she sinks back under. These moments when she is asleep give me ample time to think, which is probably a bad thing. I've given up on not being close to her. After spending this much time around her, there's really no way not to be. Her openness is infectious. It doesn't matter who she is speaking to. Without trying, she can get them to tell her anything—things they wouldn't even tell themselves were she not there. Even though I know her, and I know what she is doing, it works on me too. And I hate her for it. Every time she does it I tell myself it is the last time. After all, Desmond and the Fleet made sure we could never really be truly open with one another. I can't be who she wants me to be knowing what I know about her. I've thought about telling her, of taking that burden away and telling myself I don't care about the consequences, but I do. If she knew she were a natural seeder it would break her heart. And I care for her too much to do that to her even though it would be the best course for us both. I want her to be happy, and so I am dishonest.
My hand runs over her hair and she stretches against me reflexively. Another familiar motion. Six months ago she started having nightmares and refusing to sleep. No one could figure out what to do. Not Desmond, not the doctors. After all, they can't put an empath on sleep medication any more than they can dose her with painkillers or sedatives. And so she remained stubbornly wakeful so she didn't have to face whatever dark part of her subconscious had decided to stop drowsing. I felt bad, but there wasn't anything I could do other than convince Desmond to give her a week off from our outings. After he agreed, I felt strangely free. Then Elene and Nanda cornered me in the cafeteria one day. Nanda's hair was greasy, limp, completely unlike his usual, and Elene had rings around her eyes so dark she looked like she had been abused. In a way, she really had been.
“You two look nice,” I said by way of greeting, and was given a pair of the most eloquent glares I have seen to date.
“You have to help us,” Elene replied, and Nanda nodded as he collapsed into a chair across from me.
“With what?”
“Asha is not sleeping.” Nanda's voice was hoarse, probably from singing. “I have tried everything, but she will not sleep. And so we do not sleep.”
“It's been three days, Reid.” At this, Elene broke down and started sobbing. I hate it when girls cry. I hate feeling useless.
“How am I supposed to help?”
“Sleep with her,” Nanda replied. He ran his hand down Elene's back comfortingly, but she did not stop crying. I shifted awkwardly in my chair.
“What?”
Elene giggled thickly at this and wiped at her eyes, clearly enjoying my confusion. “Remember when she was seeded?”
I nodded, then shook my head as I filled in the blanks on my own. “Oh, no. Hell no. Not again.”
She sighed. “Reid, please try. I can't do this anymore. We have finals next week and I don't have a brain and I need one...” her eyes started tearing again at those words, but Nanda managed to keep her calm. I was surprised he had the energy left to do it, but then again, he has spent several years with Asha. Next to hers, no one else's emotional breakdowns quite compare.
And so I learned how to get Asha to sleep. Nanda gave me pointers, warning me she is stubborn when she is tired, telling me to be firm, but I was unprepared. We ended up fighting and when I pinned her she began to cry. I did the only thing I could think of and hugged her silently. Only after an hour's worth of uncontrollable sobbing did she finally fall asleep in my arms. Since then, I get called over any time she has trouble sleeping, lying down and coaxing her to bed under Elene's watchful gaze. The first time I held her sleeping figure I felt an overwhelming desire to protect her, even stronger than what I had felt the night Keven seeded her. I still do. Every time she is asleep like this I want to keep her safe. But I also resent her for it. My attachment to her is making me weak. It is making me care about her, and her friends, and how I am doing in classes. It is making me want to pretend I am a better person than I am. And worst of all, she believes the lie. She thinks I am changing. And it makes me feel so fucking guilty that I keep trying because I don't want to let her down.
I almost gave up over the summer. They let classes out so students who wanted to visit home could, but she and Nanda stayed and worked in the refugee camps. I ended up going with her because she needed someone to help her focus, and Seamus was back with his family on Oceanus. Watching her with those people made me realize for the first time just how petty I am. For most people, I think that is supposed to encourage them to change and rise above their flaws. But no matter how hard I tried I couldn't, even though she kept giving me that happy smile that told me how proud she was of me.
I think that's when I started hating her. I can only stand being reminded of who I'm not for so long.
The music flows to a stop around us, and she stirs almost instantly, stretching into consciousness. The spots of the pelt enhance the already catlike motion of her spine. Her blue eyes open halfway, and she smiles at me.
“That was an excellent nap!”
I brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you want to thank the performers?”
She sits up and shakes her head. I can tell she is still very sleepy because she sways too much as she does it. I haven't seen the old Asha mannerisms for quite some time. Desmond keeps congratulating me on my good work, but I am not convinced what we are doing to her is good for her. I think she is skeptical, as well. Amita asked her a month ago why she still doesn't use contractions. Her accent has completely faded, and if her diction changed she would sound like a born Kiranese. Asha had looked at her for a few seconds too long in that way she has before responding “I do it to make sure I am still me,” and then walking out of the classroom and leaving me to say her goodbyes for her. We are still working on the finer social graces.
“No, because I did not end up learning from them.” Her tone makes it clear she thinks this answer should be obvious.
“Alright. Let's go, then. Do you want tea, or should I walk you home?”
“I think tea.” Another smile. I help her stand, and she smooths her shirt down over her hips.
“We'll have to go by my dorm room first, then. My backside is grass-stained.”
She tilts her head to look. “Yes, it is. Is mine?”
“I'd assume so.”
She shrugs. "I have the skin. No one can see my clothes when I wear it.”
She begins to fidget with her braid as we leave the concert lawn toward my dorm. She's started wearing her hair looser recently. Now her braid begins at her shoulderblades so her hair around her face falls softly instead of being pulled directly back. The other day I think I actually saw her in pigtails, which had to have been Elene's doing. She can't dress herself to save her life, but she loves “making Asha look pretty.” Typical empath. Now Asha has the braid pulled over her left shoulder and is stroking it gently. I have learned from experience this means she wants to say something but is worried it will make me angry. She's usually right.
“What, Asha?”
“Thank you for tonight.” Her voice is so soft I can barely hear it.
“Asha, I have told you a billion times now. I'm just taking you where they
tell me to.”
She stares down at the path and keeps messing with her braid. After a moment, she speaks again. “Why do you lie about it?”
“What.” My voice is icier than I planned, and she flinches.
“You lie. I can tell. You have picked every single outing we have gone on since the beginning. Why?”
“I don't want to talk about this.”
“I do.” Her voice has the stubborn cast of an Asha that has not slept. This is not going to end well.
“No, Asha.” I pick up the pace, but she adjusts her own smoothly to match me.
“Reid. Talk to me!” Her hand grabs my arm. I shrug it off and keep walking.
“I'm going home.”
“Good, because I am going with you.”
I shake my head. She grabs me again, but this time when I try to shrug her off she tightens her grip on my sleeve.
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“I don't want to have this conversation here.”
“Then we will have it in your dorm room.” Her eyes meet mine, and I am not sure I have ever seen her quite so angry. Her hands are shaking, and her eyes have a determined set that is perversely attractive.
“There's no point.”
“Reid!” Her voice is loud enough to attract stares from other students. If I don't get her under control now, every empath on the campus is going to know we are fighting within seconds and then Nanda, Elene, Bastian, and Seamus are going to be breathing down my neck, demanding to know what I did to upset her this time. I'm better off just getting the conversation over with.
“Fine.” I grab her wrist and haul her toward the privacy of my dorm room. I'm walking too fast—she can hardly keep up, but I am too angry to slow down and make this easy on her. Angry at me, Desmond, The Fleet. What the fuck am I supposed to say?
The door closes behind us, and she rounds on me instantly. “I do not understand you!”
“That's obvious.”
She blinks at me, clearly hurt, and I feel guilty. “Are we friends?”
“Yes,” I say without thinking. It would have been better if I had lied.
“Then why do you not admit you like being with me?”
“Because I don't want to, Asha! I don't want to like it, and I don't want to spend time with you!” My voice echoes in the confines of the room.
She shakes her head at me. “I do not believe you.”
“That makes you an idiot.”
“No, it does not. I learned to read body language from you.” Any other day, I would be pleased to hear this. “And you can shut me out, but sometimes I still catch glimpses. Usually when I am waking up.”
“Glimpses of what?”
She sighs. “What did Desmond do?”
“What?”
“He did something. Every time you think of being close to me your mind is full of him.”
“It's not Desmond.” I wonder if she can tell I am lying. I realize as soon as I wonder this is a mistake because my uncertain posture gives me away.
“Then what is it?” She takes a step closer and looks up at me challengingly.
“I am tired of being around you.”
My cheek tells me I have been slapped before the rest of me figures it out. True to form, the pain angers me instantly. I grab her arm and twist, but she moves with me expertly and side-steps out of my grip. I keep forgetting she spent the first eighteen years of her life as a hunter. A year in civilization hasn't softened her at all.
“What have I told you about hitting me?”
“Stop lying to me!”
“I'm not lying to you.”
She hits me again, harder this time. I reach out and shove her as hard as I can, but she knocks my feet out from under me while I am off-balance and we both land in my laundry in an unceremonious pile.
“Stop lying to me,” she repeats.
“Asha, I'm no—“ I start, but am cut off by another smack. I lunge for her and pin her against the floor—the only way I have managed to calm her down in the past, but this time she bites me. As new pain flares in my shoulder I'm acutely aware, as always, of her body against mine, stronger than it should be and alluringly warm. The faint smell of flowers emanates from her hair and fills my nostrils with each angry pant.
“Stop lying!” She says again, this time with tears in her eyes. “Why are you so afraid of being close to me?”
“Because I am afraid of being close to anyone, Asha!” The words are out of my mouth before I realize what I have said, and I wince once I hear what I have admitted to.
“I will not hurt you. I don't understand!” Her voice catches.
“Really? Because my cheek and shoulder say otherwise.”
Her eyes narrow at this, and she spits in my face without warning. As I lean back to wipe my face clean she hits me again. Next thing I know she's struggling against me as hard as she can, and we're fighting. Actually fighting. I'm not sure there's a reason to keep her pinned anymore but I'm too enraged to let her up. To let her win. If I hurt her it proves I don't care.
I lean in to bite her back, and as my teeth dig into her skin her nails rake along my back. She makes a little noise in the back of her throat and I realize at this point we're not fighting anymore. I bury my fingers in the loose hair behind her ears and pull her face to my own. Her lips meet mine with a willingness I am unprepared for. I've dreamt of kissing her more times than I care to admit, but it's completely different to have her warm and against me, pinned to my chest. In my arms. Her fingers tangle themselves in my hair and her eyes slide closed and that's it. I have her shirt off a few seconds later, and as I undo her pants she hauls impatiently on my own. Before I am sure what has happened we are naked on my floor, clothing scattered among my laundry.
She flips me over and straddles my thighs, as shameless as ever in her nakedness. There's no way to teach an empath modesty. This is hardly the first time I have seen her naked, but it is the first time I have felt her naked skin against mine. She's soft, lithe, eyes open, staring at me dazedly, running her hands and tongue over my skin as she explores how I feel against her. Within my mind, she is doing the same. I can feel her enveloping me, working around the kinks in my guard, trying to break in. I run my hands over her breasts and when my fingers brush her nipples I feel an echo of sensation in my own nerves.
Just when I feel like I can't take any more of her tongue she sits back up, gazing down at me with a for-once unreadable expression. I start to say something, I think, but her fingers cover my lips before I can get a coherent sound out. After she is sure I am going to stay quiet her hands move to the end of her braid. I watch, transfixed, as she undoes the tie, slowly freeing her hair. Once it is loose it falls around her and against us both in dark waves. The ends tickle my skin gently with the slightest movement of her body, eliciting shivers effortlessly. She pulls my hands toward her, guides my fingers into it. The flowery scent is stronger now. My fingers play through her hair with aching slowness, still not believing that I am actually being allowed to see it loose, let alone feel it. Even Nanda has never seen her hair unbraided. My hands reach her scalp. Her eyes slide shut, but her mouth is open. Breath harsh. I fixate on her expression and lose all patience as she licks her lips unconsciously.
I pick her up and move us to the bed. When her back hits the mattress she pulls me with her and soon I have her pinned again, this time with sensation instead of force. My tongue holds her captive against the bed as I taste her skin at the shoulders. At the stomach. At the hips. When my head falls between her legs she groans so loudly I am for a moment terrified someone will burst in. The feedback of sensation I am receiving from her mind grows stronger as my own hazes over. Her nails rake into my shoulders as I make her come, leaving me reeling. Before I am sure what has happened she has flipped me again, and as she bears down on me her hair envelops us both in its waves and the barrier between my mind and hers collapses. We lose all sense of time as we grind against each other, doing everything in our power to increase the feeling of desperation driving us.
It takes a long time for a year's worth of frustration to run its course. By the time we are finally done with one another, the sun is rising. She falls asleep in my arms, still naked, hair unbound, covered in my scent. My mind is still tangled in hers so I can feel how happy she is even through her sleep. I feel the same, for a while, until the afterglow fades and I realize exactly what it is that I've done to her.
I've just seeded Asha.
I'm no better than that deviant bastard Keven, and I'm not going to get the leniancy he received. Not now. When she comes to I'll lose her, lose Elene, Seamus, Caroline. Desmond will deport me before the night is over and I'll be alone back on the planet I hate the most in the universe with the man who made me what I am. I look down at her face, sleeping peacefully, and feel suddenly ill. Without waking her I slide from the bed and step into the shower, letting the water run over me and take the smell of her from my skin, but it doesn't change anything.
I think of her hair. Would she have taken it down if I'd seeded her? But why would she have—she was so aggressive. How could that be anyone but me? That scenario has come to me countless times since the first time I saw her naked in Hanakawa. Every movement, all of it.
But where was Elene? Seamus? If I'd really seeded her, wouldn't they have known? Nanda, too. The more time Asha and I spend together, the more unhappy he becomes. He's taken to looking for problems where none actually are so he can yell at me. Jealous. Where was he? Wouldn't he have broken down the door?
I stumble around, reaching blindly for my clothing. I need to get out of here. I need to think. I can't do that here with her still wrapped around my mind. My room smells too much like sex and all I want to do is bury my face in her hair and inhale, but I like her too much to get back under the covers with her. The door to my dorm slides open, and I leave her alone in my bed. I flee to the trees.
1 comment:
WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?! D:
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