Chapitre 4: CHAPTER 2
Song of the chapter: On My Way ~AlanWalker
Chapter: 2
*******
PERSPECTIVE: Aizea - The girl that hears after dark
*******
At first all of this sounds no different than a simple wild wolf's howl. Then it's get's wilder - more like the enraged and aggrieved howl of a wolf that has just lost its mate. However, the tone changes soon as more and more howls join in, which first resound as sixteen separate howls and then turns into a livid cacophony that chills my bones right to the core of the marrow.
I dare not sit up, although my curiosity burns harder than the previous night - this is the daily routine. And my apprehension and curiosity - a strange combination - escalate every night, just like Andre's suspicion.
A singular howls echoes throughout the town and maybe even someway into the misty forests - Andre's cry of despair and rage. His shifter is aggrieved that I am something that he can't quite figure out, or maybe he's livid at me for distancing myself from him. Obviously he understands what I'm doing. I'm drawing myself more and more into my own cocoon of apparent solitude - actually, safety - and turning down his approaches. No girl in Zaayes would dare do that, ever. But, I know that I'm not just another 'normal' girl in Zaayes.
The strange foreboding and suspicion creeps into my veins again, and the skin-crawling howl is followed by another that rips through the sky, and even through my heart. It does shatter my heart every single night to hear him vent out the grief. But the sheer rage outweighs the grief only increases my determination to survive.
Yes. I want to survive through all of this, more than anything else, and maybe one day find some solution to this nightly terror. But, who am I? Just an exception to every rule in Zaayes.
I let out a quiet sigh, as my acquired reflexes are given way, ahead of my fear, my curiosity, my suspicion and another strangely intense feeling that coldly creeps up from the apex of my heart - I have no idea what it is - and I close the book aside, falling asleep on my stomach.
I stand facing the misty forest - the wind whistling through its misty depths calling out to me in a dangerously alluring tune. The wind is cold and it makes me shiver. I let my teeth sink into my lower lip, as I slowly raise my hands up to rub my upper arms. But, before I reach up to touch myself, he does. The warmth of his touch sends tiny sparks racing across the thin barrier of my skin and all throughout my body. I turn around, and the amber eyes - that almost glow golden - catch my hesitant gaze. They are intense, but more so than Andre's ever can be. In a different way. They glow with an overwhelming amount of love and beneath that, shine his wit, his exceptional intelligence, his devotion, his care, his bravery and all those things that I love him for. "Adelfí psychí mou", he whispers, with such adoration that I almost melt in his arms. His soft whisper echoes through the wind, as the heat from his body crosses the negligible barrier of fabrics between us and warms me up. His hands skim up and down in a regular, soothing motion on my upper arms and I feel my whole body relax. The howls have long faded away in the background, and all I hear is the soft murmur of the wind against the leaves, the steady thump pf our hearts beating in synchrony with each other, and his even breathing that in turn accelerates mine - in sweet anticipation, not apprehension. "Se agapó", he whispers again, against the shell of my ear. "What does that mean?", I whisper back, my curiosity getting the better of me. He chuckles - a silky sound that resonates through my own heart, and automatically twitches up the corners of my own lips. "All in perfect time, prinkipissa mou.", he replies softly and I pout at him. His terribly handsome grin only broadens, but the heavy air of mystery that blankets him doesn't dissipate. "Now, what does that mean?", I ask again, in yet another futile attempt to know what that endearing that he uses to address me daily, actually means. "In perfect time, in perfect time.", he murmurs back. I narrow my eyes. "So, are you ready to come along, tonight, prinkipissa?" I shake my head vehemently. He sighs. "So, it's a no again.", he whispers dejectedly. And then suddenly, his warmth begins to recede from around me. "The next night, prinkipissa mou.", he murmurs alluringly, as he darkens away from my vision.
As usual, I am the first to wake up in the morning, the remnants of the nightmare-cum-dream still lingering at the back of my eyelids, the warmth of his touch still causing the skin of my upper arms to tingle pleasantly. I try to recall his scent. It always soothes me when I am usually wary and distressed in the first hour of the morning.
He smells of rain, a bed of cosmoses, freshly fallen pine needles and... home. I know that's such a strange thing to say. How can a person smell like 'home'? And, that too some stranger from my dreams, when I am lying in my own bed at my own home. But as I am thinking it through again, it does feel odd to call this place my home. If it is indeed my home, why don't I ever fit in? Why don't I have a shifted spirit of my own too? Above all, why don't I even want to have a shifter spirit of my own and become like the rest of them? Is it because somewhere deep down, once the sun is down, I do resent them?
Oh no... Stop thinking along those tracks Aizea!, I sharply reprimand myself.
Honestly, I need to admit that reprimanding myself works better than being reprimanded by someone else. Shaking my head in order to clear my weirdly wild running thoughts, I carefully creep out from underneath my dear soft blue quilt and step out of my warm bed.
The touch of the chilly floor on my soles gives me the uncomfortable pins-and-needles sensation. I flinch slightly, before determinedly pressing my foot even harder on the ground and letting the other foot join it. I stand up shakily, and slowly, very carefully tiptoe my way to the door. I peek outside through the tiny peep-hole and when I spot no one other than the pinkish rays of the early morning sun, I open the door softly and trudge my way to the washroom.
Once inside, I lock the door, flick on the light and stare at the wide grey eyes on the mirror. The fear that I am so used to seeing in them is lesser in magnitude than the previous morning and the wayward determination that has recently started creeping it's way into its apparently disturbed depths has grown just a bit - just a bit more than yesterday morning.
I sigh. I want to survive all this mess; I really do. But I truly don't know how.
I am absolutely confused. Should I say 'yes' to the achingly handsome in my dreams? Who is he? Is he even real? What good can ever be waiting for me in those misty, dark forests?
And... What did he call me, again? 'Adelfí psychí mou'. What does that even mean? Above all, do I have any way out of... everything... if I don't take his hand? I am just going to die and waste away if I don't - and that's frankly the last thing that I want.
But, what if he is from the Land of Wudes? One of their evil forces? Can I even betray this family that has brought me up with such care and put my safety before their own?
Evelyne...? Even, Andre...?
I want to band my head against the mirror, or maybe the washbasin is a better choice. I hate this part of the morning. Facing my own reflection, my own questions and then failing to answer them.
"Aizea!", Melinda's shrill but groggy call fortunately breaks my reverie of absolute overthinking. I quickly brush my teeth, use the toilet, get freshened up and hurry out. Melinda is in a night gown and is grim and grave as she retrieves the box of cereals from a kitchen shelf. I don't even speak a word or try to make eye-contact as I take the bottle of milk out of the small refrigerator and pour the milk in a container and putting it on boil.
This is the daily drill and I know it to perfection. Don't talk with anyone in the early morning. Don't even make eye-to-eye-contact. You never know you is already standing at the tipping point and what may set them off. I don't even dare sigh in exhaustion, as I finally take the boiled milk down from the fire and holding the bowl with a kitchen-cloth, pour the milk out into the five bowls that Melinda has already arranged in a row.
Their bowls already had the cereals. But, Melinda always let me do my own things; probably because she knew that I may have my own opinion about something that I may very probably be not be able to express to them - atleast in these hours. I in fact liked this little freedom of decision for myself.
But as I pour out my cereal in my bowl that already contained the milk, my curiosity suddenly spikes up like never ever before, and I peek up from behind the curtain of my golden-brown waves of hair, at Melinda and immediately my eyes are caught by hers.
Oh NO!
What I see, makes me want to tremble and make a run for the hills.
How ironic!
Her usually soft chocolate-brown eyes are not only tinted with red, but blazing. Not blazing with anger or desperation. But with hunger. A strange strange kind of hunger, or thirst, whatever you call it, that seems to be in war with her determination - her determination to keep the promise that she had once made - the promise to keep me safe. The red also seems to be a bleed of regret and sheer thirst; and the longer this heart-shattering moment lasts, the sharper her intensely hungry or thirsty or whatever gaze , tries to pierce into my eyes... into my very soul.
I almost shudder, but actually don't. I will not fall weak. My anger always fuels my strength and my fear always fuels my anger. I was scared to death just a second back, but right now, I am livid, as a sense of betrayal seeps bitterly into every pore of my body. Why was she staring like that at me? As of she was famished and she would rather have me than the bowl of milk and cereals waiting on the table. Honestly, it was so very creepy.
I quickly pick up my bowl and fish a grab from the cutlery holder and race to my room like my very life depends on it - because I really think it does. But then I remember a rare advice that the stunning man from my dreams had once given me - Never turn your back on an animal while you decide to flee it. Turn your back on it only when you know for certain that you are all set to run so far away from its lair that it can never lay a claw on you again.
He mostly never said anything significant to me other than calling me certain endearments in some foreign language and extending his palm to me, for me to take his hand to wherever he supposed to take me. But, there were nights when he said an extra sentence or two. I recognized those as survival tips but never understood why he told those things to me.
Now, suddenly the realization dawns on me. He knows something that I don't. And, he knows that I will need to fight for survival in this place that I called home.
I set the bowl on my bed-side-table, take a deep breath, clutch the unwashed spoon tight and head out to the washing-sink. I pretend to not notice Melinda who's still standing where I last saw her and wash the spoon, feeling her gaze burn holes into my back all the while. Washing cutlery before eating is a disciplinary protocol. I do all this acting absolutely relaxed and comfortable, and then head back to my room with an impeccable mask of calm.
As I finally sit and start eating the warm and milk-soaked cereals, I start having an uneasy feeling. I feel unsafe, very very unsafe in my own home. Over everything, I don't even feel like I'm at home, and my regret to have not taken his hand last night grows more than yesterday morning.
The rest of the days flows by just as usual. I go to school. I manage to find Evelyne before she pounces to "hug" me. But then things begin going downstream, again. Andre's as-blue-as-the-sea eyes lock on me and they almost bore into my soul with the burning intensity of his suspicion. "Looks like whatever was troubling your sleep has finally left you alone, Aizea.", he says instead of the regular morning greeting. I almost stutter but quickly catch myself while answering, "Thanks, Andre. I feel better." I actually do feel better.
Yesternight, the dream lasted a bit longer. Time in my dreams and in the real world is very different. Sometimes, just a short while there stretches althroughout the night, sometimes vice versa. The first case is the more preferable case scenario for me.
I smile, and try to make my fake smile look as real as possible; and Andre thankfully falls for it, flashing me a brilliant smile of his own in return. His suspicions seem to have lessened a bit, if only just a tiny bit, and I'm grateful to whoever is up there - if there's anyone at all - for that. The less I'm suspected, the longer I get to make up my mind.
We attend the daily sermon and then head to our first class, together. Just as everyday, Evelyne approaches the seat right next to me as soon as I am seated, but a strong arm grabs the edge of the desk from behind, blocking her way. Both her and my eyes immediately skid to find Andre. His blue eyes are fixed on me, so intense with concentration and a varied array of emotions that it scares me.
Why does this day have to be getting just so much better and better, huh?
Evelyne frowns deeply, her green eyes looking at me questioningly. I shrug, mirroring her confusion.
Deep down, I probably have a feeling that I know why Andre is doing what he is doing. But, I am just too petrified to admit that.
Maybe, I am too emotional as well.
"Andre?", I question him softly, as he settles in the seat right next to me, the folded up sleeve of his uniform shirt giving way to fair, mildly tanned skin, that lightly brushes against my hand. Very tiny, almost negligible, tingles run up my skin. My stupid body can't even understand just how dangerous feeling even an ounce of draw towards Andre is, for me. I gulp soundlessly, and begin to move my hand away, when his hand grabs mine.
His hand isn't soothingly warm, like him, but a scorching hot. I don't even know why I am comparing their touches in the first place, though.
But, it is harsh! Like, really harsh. So not like Andre. I wince slightly, before looking up into a pair of scorching blue eyes, which right now resemble a blazing summer sky infinitely more than the cool sea.
My heart skips a beat, but not in the good way.
____________
Cadeaux
-- Cadeau
reçu État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone