Can You See Me

Chapter 3 || A Sinking Feeling

The silence swallowed him up. Like algae in water in the mouth of a mountainous whale. One gulp is all it took for River to fall victim to the beastial silence. He throbbed alongside the stillness. Each moment that ticked by felt like an aching and agonisingly stretched age. The thrumming beats of time spliced his stomach in animalistic lacerations, the singeing pain making him twitch into a hunch before quickly composing himself. Lower and lower, his stomach anchored to the depths of his body feeling the crashes of bile swirling up the valley of his throat. Each thump of his heart beat echoed in the chamber of his ears like the banging of battle field drums. He'd been followed before, this was basic stuff. There was no reason for him to be reacting this way. Was it cowardice? Out of practise? Or was it just the marinating fear in the depths of his senses.

Claws of his mind tried to scrape back his control, tried to stop the beating of his heart, stop the breath pumping through his lungs, stop his fingers ticking upon the callous of his palm. River could practically feel the gashes that the talons left within him, but they were to no avail. His fingers kept tapping, his breath kept pushing, his heart kept hammering. The room had faded from his attention almost completely, the clicking of Roddy's keyboard and the squeak of Shirley's chair had become a distant murmur underneath the commotion of his own body.

Something pulled him out. Three distinct thumps. Those dammned fucking stupid bloody thumps. He knew instantly what slob of a so-called man made those noises and so he reluctantly complied and began the exasperated walk to Lamb's office. As he reached the turn into the room, he could make out another figure standing by Lamb's desk, assuming it was Standish perhaps wiping sauce off one of his jackets or finding his spare socks that were dotted aimlessly upon the mess of the floor.

Though it was strange - she didn't seem to be hunched over searching for socks, or berating Lamb's hygiene, or doing anything for that matter, only standing quietly. The only sounds he could make out from his office was Lamb's laborious breathing. You could practically hear the rattling of air against the build up of tar that suffocated his swollen lungs.

As River walked closer to the office door, the leathery smell of ash and burnt tobacco flooded his senses. He could smell the earth, the soil, the flowery bloom and the leaves underneath the smoke and fire. The smell of sweet petals dappled in winter dew feathered the air and grew more potent once he stepped through the door.

"You're overdue for a new desk mate so here." Rivers eyes landed to the sound of Lamb's voice that drawled out from where he sat, hole ridden socks and grubby big toe on full display on top of his desk. "And before you say anything that would piss me off even more, yes I know about it, yes you fucked up and yes... I am enjoying this." He let out a grainy chuckle as he trailed off, darting his eyes to the woman next to him for the first time since River had entered his office. She wasn't Standish. No... he should've known it would be her.

River's face contorted without him knowing. His eyes screwed up with the lids crumpled like pieces of discarded paper before he opened them again with a few incredulous blinks. His nails burnt crescent moons into his palm and they would stay there until the pain forced his mind to break free of its whirlwind. The ringing of his ears was too much to bear on top of the clamour of his thoughts and the sighs of Lamb and the bustling traffic and the occasional honking of horns.

He had to pause. Truly looking at her, he couldn't tell whether the sight of her was welcome or not. He enjoyed finally taking her in again even though her taunting smirk and owlish eyes made his blood bubble beneath his skin. She wore almost exactly what she did when he first saw her on the train. Her smudged makeup was still blurred around her eyes and her coat still hung over her black shirt and shorts. In the light, her blouse looked more like obsidian silk the way slate shaded light rippled against the fabric. He noticed the way her hands were clasped together in front of her, it was a bit formal for her liking, but she liked to make a good first impression. As his eyes travelled down, he took in the pair of thin black tights, ridden with rips and holes that followed the length of her leg that sat under her black denim shorts. He remembered those boots, the ones that made the beads of puddle water frolic around her foot. Seeing them up close, he could see they were a deep brown and not black like he had thought, noting the embossed flower details that crawled up the side.