What's Said in Silence

Sera-X

He's staring. 

He's not. He's just sitting there, writing on his notepad. 

He's staring. 

It doesn't matter if he is or isn't. I'm doing my job and he's doing his. 

I stirred the pot of pasta continuously. It had been a few days since our... encounter in the living room. He had spent the first two days holed up in his room, not even coming out for dinner. On the second day, I had a mental tug-of-war with myself for a few minutes before deciding to fix him a plate anyways. I had knocked on the door and set the plate down on the floor in front of it. I had started walking down the hall when I heard the door creak open and turned to see his arm-unpainted- reach out and pull the plate into the room. 

Today is the third day, and he came out on his own. I guess my olive branch of bringing him dinner had convinced him that I wasn't ashamed of what happened, a little embarrassed but not ashamed and that he shouldn't be either. If he wasn't ashamed then he must've changed his mind about me. I tried to ignore the pang in my chest caused by the latter. The thought of going from being desired so fiercely by him to not even being on his radar hurt more than it should have.

There were worse things in life. 

That was true. I had survived much worse. If he did change his mind I could get over it in a matter of days. Yet, stupidly, I didn't want him to change his mind. I had been given compliments before, but the way Vessel gave them was entirely different.

...even oblivion couldn't compare to the depths of my insanity...

I replayed the scene in my head for the millionth time. Every time I did, the ache between my thighs grew stronger. I had never been the type to be controlled by my hormones or urges, but he's changed all that with just a few words. What has this man done to me.

The pasta was done, so I strained the water out of it before adding in some Alfredo sauce.  I decided to pick an easy meal tonight due to the mental exhaustion I've been through the last couple of days. Vessel didn't seem to mind when I put a bowl of it in front of him. At least I don't think he did, he didn't say otherwise. He simply set his notepad down and began eating.  

I didn't sit down, instead I leaned against the counter beside the stove with my bowl cradled in my hand. I chewed slowly, it wasn't bad but certainly not the best thing I'd ever made. Against my own will, my eyes kept drifting over to the masked man across the room. I couldn't help but feel that I might have stirred up trouble, and I had no one to blame but myself. 

"Our conversations are enthralling." He said with a chuckle. I pressed my lips together in a tight line. It was an attempt at a joke, possibly his version of trying to lift some of the suffocating tension we've created, but I couldn't find the humor in it. Sometimes, I really wished I could speak.

You can, you just won't. 

There are reasons for everything. Even though it had been long enough, I didn't trust anything that might come out. The reminder of that damned text I received sent a chill down my spine. He might be closer than I thought and no matter how quiet I was he still might find me. I wasn't sure what terrified me the most: Him finding me or what he'd do once he did- or rather what he'd make me do.

My eyes flickered to Vessel and a wave of sadness washed over me. I had only known him for mere weeks now. Yet, the thought of reverting back to the person I had been forced to become or him finding out about it made me want to vomit. I could try to tell myself it's because I was scared of getting fired, but I knew it was more than that. 

We both hid. It was our common ground. He hid behind a mask while I hid behind the silence- Yet he heard me and I seen him. Though our interactions were usually minimal, they had the same impact as if we'd spent years together. We'd learned so much about each other- our daily routines, the way we take our tea, the way he pretends to ignore the T.V when I put on a sit-com- and yet we knew nothing about each other. 

Our situation wasn't what anyone would consider normal by any stretch of the imagination. Yet, we were just as comfortable with it. Well, comfortable when the intensity wasn't shifted into high gear. As of lately that seemed to be a frequent thing. Hell, anytime he was in the same room the hair on the back of my neck stood up. 

My eyes flickered down to the notepad that he had set on the counter. I couldn't help the nosy part of me that really wanted to know what was written there. If only because the last time I read his words they had haunted me throughout the night.  

He seemed to catch on to my thoughts because he picked the notepad up. He held it up to his face as if he were studying it. After a few seconds he held the notepad out to me. When I made no move to step closer, he shook it slightly. He was opening a door for me and was encouraging me to walk through it.

I finally got my feet to move. I set the bowl down and gently grasped the notepad in my hands. Looking down at it there were scribbles of lyrics with some crossed out. Down towards the bottom of the page were a few lines that had minimal markings through them so I could actually string together what was supposed to be said. 

We dive through crystal waters, perfect oceans

but no one told me not to breathe

and now the weightlessness recedes.

I wasn't sure what it was supposed to mean but I could feel the intensity of it in my core. I could tie the lyrics to pieces of my own life, but I wondered what they meant for him. I wanted to know about the metaphorical oceans he swam in and if they had ever tried to drown him. I wanted to know not just what was behind the mask, but why he hid it. He had just as many locks and chains as I did. Half of me wanted to unlock them. 

In order for that to happen, if it were to happen, I'd have to give the same in return. I'd have to bare my soul and all the dirty marks it carried. I'd have to show him not only what took my voice, but that I had let it. As badly as I wanted to see into him, I couldn't give him the same luxury. 

Not just for my safety, but for his as well.