Alternatives

Chapter 20:Confessions

Alina nearly fell over in her hurry to open the door, and saw him standing there, looking like a complete mess.

She wanted to shout at him because she had specifically asked him not to do this and now he's done it again and she almost lost her mind waiting for him and wondering what in the world happened. What the hell came over him to disappear for three entire days? What has he been doing? Where has he been sleeping?

Having taken just one glance at him, it was clear to her that he probably hadn't slept much since he left. The small part of the skin around his eyes that was not covered by the mask was puffy and colored with dark purple circles. His hair was disheveled and he seemed to be a little bit unstable on his feet. At first, it looked like he was drunk, but looking into his eyes Alina saw that they are completely lucid, except…

Frenzied. Panicked. Desperate. He looked like a man preparing to be executed. He watched her intently, and she blinked in confusion.

What in the hell? The sight was so disturbing that her anger dissipated immediately. If she didn't know him, she'd be terrified at the sight; he looked like a madman escaping from an asylum. She realized he must have hidden somewhere isolated for three days; otherwise, someone would have called the police upon seeing him. She'd seen people with this look before, and it meant trouble.

But it's my Erik. He's home. Alina didn't feel afraid when she looked at him; she could barely feel anger at that first moment. The only thing she felt was the need to hug him and ask him if he was alright.

"Are you alright?" she asked numbly, and the question rang absurdly through the silent room.

He didn't answer, just stood there, breathing as if he had just run a thousand miles. Alina realized it would be best to get him inside and safe and make sure he didn't do something even stupider. He seemed close to collapsing already.

"Please, come in. I've been waiting for you to come back." She moved aside so that he could pass.

He stood still for another moment, and she was halfway deciding to just grab his sleeve and pull him inside, but thankfully, he snapped out of it and quickly entered, his movements seemingly twitchy, jerky, more ghost-like than before. Alina closed the door behind him, suddenly wishing the door had several more locks.

He shrugged off his coat and threw it on the chair wordlessly, turning to look at her. His shirt was hanging off of his emaciated frame – looking slightly more emaciated than usual, or is my mind playing tricks on me? – wrinkled and dirty and slightly tattered. It was the one Alina had bought for him months ago – simple, white, with no embellishments, made exactly for him. Alina had bought it out of curiosity, to see if he would wear something that isn't black if it suited him well; he wore it all the time, and, well, now it was probably ruined. Life's futility is summed up in one object. I should put it in a museum as an exhibit and title it "I tried".

"Sit down. Drink this tea, all of it –" she gestured at the table – "and wait until I make you something to eat."

"We need to talk", he said. His face was hidden behind the mask and his tone hollow, but his eyes were flickering with fear.

"Oh, we do need to talk", Alina replied through her teeth. "And we will, soon enough. But not until you've done something rational for a change. I will talk when I'm convinced you can still act like you've got some sense left in you."

Curiously, that did produce an effect. Erik seemed to become aware of how insane he looked and sounded, and he obediently sat down to pour himself some tea. Alina quickly sliced some bread, added a few things, and put them in front of him; just butter and jam because she had no idea how his starved stomach would react to anything hard to digest.