Only a Game (Olympus Drive Chronicles)

Chapter 32: Go to sleep

Metion

The boy goes to sleep, fitfully, on his bedroll. Big chocolate eyes closed and swollen with his pathetic tears. Soft face framed by thick black curls. He sleeps now, tossing and turning a bit like he'd sooner keep crying.

I try to keep working. I do. But it isn't long before I hear the telltale whistle of a wind that can't be in this concrete bunker, along with the fresh smell of cool ivy and newly spilt blood.

"Why don't you go to sleep as well?" I ask, softly, not looking up from my work.

"You know he's dying," she says, her voice rough and cracking, worse each day I think. "You're killing our boy."

"Don't you think I know that?" I turn a little. White dress stained with blood. Her copper eyes aren't there anymore. She's fading away. I don't know if this is real or my overactive, lonely mind trying to conjure her back. I don't know. I do know I have the boy alive to care for.

"Our beautiful boy," she says, stroking his smooth cheek. He seems to settle a bit at her touch.

"You can't take him. I won't let you," I say, rubbing my face.

"I miss him, and he misses me," dark hair hanging in clumps around her torn out face.

I don't say anything.

"I gave you this beautiful child. And what do you do? You're killing him."

"Again. I know that." I know he's not eating. Damn him. I lose him more every day I think.

"Let me take him home; where he can sleep."

"No. He stays with me now. If it were really you, you'd know that," I say, kneeling down by the boy's bedroll as well, on the opposite side.

"Please let me hold him again?" she holds out withered, shaking arms as I gather my son into them. Too light. But living and breath yet.

"No, you know the answer is no. Leave us," I say, sitting down on the sofa with Viktor cradled in my arms. His ankle bound and bloodied. What did that foolish boy do to himself? Foolish boy with a smile that could melt the world. He knows it's impossible to be cross at him. A cocky grin that rivals starlight in its beauty. God, he doesn't know it, soft face, thin lips, and those shining eyes. May their light never go out.

"No," she stands before me, drenched in her own blood which is now caked and dried and rotting off her. Staring at me with empty eyes.

"He stays with me. I'll look after him," I say, flatly, as I cradle him to me. He stops his twitching now and relaxes, face against my chest.

She doesn't say anything. She keeps staring at me. She will till dawn comes to banish her.

This happens almost every night.

She'll stand there for hours expecting me to yield to her. I will not. Finally when she goes I'll put him back to bed and he'll be none the wiser, my work however grossly interrupted.