The Long Journey Home

21: We are full of wounds but still standing

[ Chapter notes: TFATWS 1x06 ]

Ok. She's up to use the bathroom again. A little more water in the glass and... another few bites of food on the plate. She hasn't noticed yet that he's halfway refilled the platter once already. Or she's not offering comment. And – ok – still time to look up a few more things from that site. Wh-what are they watching again? He's about tapped out on trivia.

Shit. There's the bathroom door. Nothing to see here. Just been sitting watching zombies lope after the protagonist that clearly should have died already. Yep. Didn't do anything. 

          Through the years you've tried just about every method you could think of to try to successfully find, or avoid, sleep. Somehow distraction by way of movie-marathon had never occurred to you. As dawn arrives you realize -- you're hooked. Groaning over horrible scene cuts, hiding your face and peering through your fingers at the ick that is over-the-top or so incredibly fake you can't keep watching for fear it'll send you to fits of laughter, laughing right along with the man pointing out plot holes large enough for a tank to roll through. It's fantastic. When the scenery stirs something dark within you he's just as quick to offer up a random bit of trivia to pull you out of the moment.

          And then you realize: Enhanced. Better than average. Better than most.

          His rattled off trivia is more than him trying to enhance the movie watching experience. You've turned this method of distraction from the things going on in his head, morphed it into another job for him. He's likely monitoring your heartbeat, listening to your breathing as well as whatever is playing out on the screen, and acting accordingly. After your outburst regarding zombies and memories he's spent the rest of the night speaking up and redirecting.

          You feel a pang of guilt for turning what should be a relaxing, enjoyable experience into work. But -- shit. If he's monitoring you -- however he's doing it -- he'll pick up on that spike, too. You try to cover by exhaling and shifting to dig your phone from where it's gotten wedges between the sofa cushion and the armrest. You'll pretend disbelief of the trivia he's been rattling off -- which really isn't as much pretend. Some of it has to be made up. There's no way it's all accurate...