I Am Who? - Book 2

Chapter 13 - Strangers?

By the time I had eaten my dinner and retreated to the tent, the sun had just dipped below the horizon, and Martimus was long gone. I realized as I looked at David's peacefully sleeping form I had forgotten to ask anyone how he was doing, and I mentally cursed myself for being so caught up in my own feelings. Sitting beside him, I watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, taking a certain comfort from the consistency of the movement.

Looking at him helped distract me from everything I had just learned. Thinking about it all hurt—not in an emotionally painful sort of way but in a "I don't know what's going on or what I'm supposed to do" way. I buried my head in my hands, raking my fingers through my hair. I knew David would follow me and help me as long as he still drew breath, but I felt desperately alone.

Now that I took the chance to confront reality, I found my mind trapped halfway between my terrifying dreams and the damning authenticity of the world around me. I didn't know what to think or believe anymore, and I found myself still clutching desperately to the one, clear goal in my life: to find my father and get the answers I sought.

The horrifying truth of the matter was, though, that despite my best efforts, my objective seemed to be slipping further and further from my grasp. Every time I tried to chase it down, a million blockades rose before me, cutting me off. Was it my fate to spend all my energy on a wild goose chase that could only end when they destroyed me as they had my mother?

A tear escaped my eye, slipping down my cheek unhindered. It was getting harder to breathe in the quiet, stuffy atmosphere of the tent, and I pressed my fingernails into my scalp and gritted my teeth against the wild impulse to bolt out of the tent and keep running until I was too tired to go any further. As much as I longed to find out who I truly was, a part of me wanted to leave everything and everyone behind and start a new life without the shadows of my past—known and unknown—hanging over me.

I sucked in a ragged breath as my mind kept returning to the stained snow and mutilated figure. Swallowing the bile rising in my throat with some difficulty, I tried to prepare myself mentally for sleep. I had no idea what was going to come my way next, and I would be better able to face it if I were rested, but the thought of lying down to face the conjuring of my subconscious was almost more than I could bear. The memories of the blood and misery I had witnessed in my last dream were still too fresh to allow me to rest now.

No, I needed to get out of here. The walls of the tent, that may at one point have seemed comforting and protective, were nothing more than another prison, closing around me and threatening to crush me entirely. I was going to go insane if I sat in this place for another minute. Rising unsteadily, I stumbled toward the tent flap, pushing into a world of darkness.

I must have sat inside the tent for more than an hour—though it hadn't felt nearly so long. Perhaps, that would explain my need for oxygen. I hardly recognized the change in the outdoors, however, as I gasped for air, driving the hysteria back one breath at a time. I was safe; it was going to be okay.

As an unstable sort of calm settled over me, I realized how chilled the air had become. Goose flesh sprang to life on my body, and I shivered, wrapping my arms about myself. I hadn't realized how crisp it would be out here, but despite the discomfort I felt, the frigid air still wasn't enough to drive me back into the stifling atmosphere of the tent.

If I sat by the fire, the heat would counteract the chill, and staring into the flames might calm my restlessness. The thought of comfortably waiting for the arms of exhaustion to take me propelled me forward. Rounding the tent, I stopped mid-step, my cheeks flushing with heat in spite of the cold.

Kotaro was seated on one of the logs by the fire, his bare back facing the flames as Martimus wrapped a bandage over his shoulder and around his chest. His shirt was bunched around his wrists, and he was staring at the ground, face impassive despite the fact that he must be in pain. I couldn't turn away from the sight even as embarrassment washed over me.