Just Him&I: In a Universe of Cruelty

Part 9

We were finally home. I hurried to the kitchen in search of the first-aid kit. Going to the hospital was dangerous since he most likely had allies worldwide.

It was certain—his eyes were everywhere, no matter where you went. But there had to be a place where he wasn't.

I loudly banged the cabinets, nervously searching for that damned first-aid kit. The small gray box was on the top shelf, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I opened it and began scanning its contents with my eyes.

Headache pills, activated charcoal, green antiseptic, iodine, a few bandages.
I began taking everything out and finally found the bandages, peroxide, and a bit of alcohol. I involuntarily remembered my own wound, which needed to be treated and ideally smeared with ointment.

I quickly washed my hands and ran to the room where I had been sleeping recently. He was sitting in the dark, breathing heavily. I turned on the lamp and squinted a bit, getting used to the bright light.

His eyes filled with a bright gray color, and he glanced at the floor again, as if assuring himself it was me.

The cut wasn't deep, so there was no need for stitches. I carefully bandaged his wound, treating it with peroxide.

— We need to move from here. — he broke the silence as I was about to leave the room.

— He knows we're here. We need to hide; Steve will help with that. — these words left a painful gash on my heart, flooding it with blood. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I didn't want it to be this way. If not for me, he might never have even known about James.
"Idiot!"
I should have left immediately to find a place to live instead of staying in a familiar spot.

I wanted to fix everything, to correct my father's fatal mistakes. But my life would always be on a slope until it finally collapsed.

— Alright — was all I could muster, feeling tears welling up in my eyes.
He seemed to sense it — and rushed to grab my hand. I didn't turn to face him. A lone, traitorous tear rolled down my cheek, leaving a wet trace.

— Let go — I hissed through my teeth and tried to pull away from his death grip. But my efforts were futile; he was stronger and bigger than me, by at least twice as much.

— Look at me! — I ignored him, not showing my face. I didn't want to reveal my weakness again. I didn't want him to think of me as too emotional. I didn't want to cause him trouble.

— I didn't want things to turn out this way! — I said as he deliberately turned my entire body toward him. I looked into his gray-blue eyes, which shone white. He saw my swollen, red eyes from the salty tears.

James pulled me close and hugged me. No one had ever hugged me before, and I'd never seen warm gestures between people. I had only seen cruelty in his eyes, actions, and words. Just cruelty toward people, animals, and he regarded people as animals. He thought he was the smartest person in the world, while we were just a flock of sheep that couldn't do anything without a shepherd.
And he was right; he sowed discord among us, and we turned against each other instead of going against him. This was the truth I only realized when I escaped from him. But he would reach me even from Hell.

I resisted his actions slightly; he hugged me so tightly that my wound hurt. I didn't even know how he felt, probably just hiding it. I stopped crying and trying to break free, just breathing deeply when I heard him start speaking.

— I've already told you this — he whispered, trying to calm me down. — you're not to blame for anything; I don't mind helping you. Otherwise, I'd be bored — I laughed softly and looked up at him, stepping back slightly. He was smiling too. It was the first time I'd seen him smile. So much pain hid behind that smile, but he overcame it and smiled.
I would be grateful to him for the rest of my life.

***

We've been on the outskirts of New York in the southern part of Queens for two weeks now.
Today is Friday—the day we go shopping. It's been raining non-stop since four in the morning. I haven't been sleeping well lately, maybe because of the move, or maybe because of him.

Our rooms with James are next to each other, with a small kitchen and a bathroom across from them. Everything is very small, but it's fine with me.

Right now, I feel he isn't sleeping either. I hear his heavy breathing; he's had another nightmare. I want to help him somehow, but I don't know how to deal with it. It's five in the morning; I'm sitting on the windowsill, leaning my head against the cold glass. I watch the passing cars, even noticing a group of people who likely just left some club or maybe a party.

I never liked such events, not because I never attended them, but because they — associated with an illegal lifestyle, drugs, alcohol, sometimes even murders, which I hated.

I quit my job. Actually, I wasn't even formally hired—just a trial day. Everyone understood. I told them, "My sister is sick and needs a change of climate, so we have to move."

The only truth in that sentence was "we have to move," so I almost told the truth.
Jean wasn't too happy, and I saw it in his behavior, but there was nothing I could do, even if I wanted to. And I didn't want to, at all.

I held a hot cup in my hands, lightly tapping in time with the music in my head.

I began quietly humming it to myself, watching the road.

Ой у гаю, при Дунаю
Там музика грає
Бас гуде, скрипка плаче
Милий мій гуляє
Ох-тьох-тьох і тьох-тьох-тьох
Там музика грає
Бас гуде, скрипка плаче
Милий мій гуляє

I remember how my mother used to sing this lullaby to me; I'd give anything to hug her right now.

— Nice — I flinched, nearly spilling hot tea on myself. I turned toward the door and noticed James. He was standing in the doorway, leaning his whole body against the frame. It seemed his face showed no emotion. Bare-chested and tense, I had grown used to seeing him without a shirt.

The wound had healed, leaving a small, barely noticeable white scar on his stomach. By the way, mine had too, but without a scar; the doctor did it — very precisely.

— What language is that? — he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side. I didn't take my eyes off him, keeping him in my field of vision.

— Ukrainian, my mother sang it to me as a child. — I answered briefly and looked back out the window, taking a sip of tea.

— Where is she now? — I wished I knew where she was buried. I could have visited her grave.

— Sorry, I don't want to talk about it. — I managed to say and continued looking out the window.
I promise I will find who did this.

— I've started remembering you — I froze for a few seconds, processing whether I'd heard correctly. Then I turned toward him, raising an eyebrow questioningly. My heart was racing, though I didn't understand why.

— I remember you asking not to annul me. —