Ultramarine -- REWRITTEN

Twenty One. [h.s.] -- REWRITTEN

          The stillness was unusual. Charmaine didn't move from her cot even when the time came to go outside. When her morning and midday meals arrived, I placed each next to her cot. She needed to eat, but she didn't even turn around to touch or look at the food. She faced the wall, curled into a ball as she drowned and immersed herself in grief. I felt responsible for her bereavement, knowing completely that she did not deserve any of the torment--mental or physical. It was partially my fault that she was still stuck inside of the complex, suffering endless misery day and night. The night prior I had rolled over the options I had in my mind. She still did not confirm whether or not I'd be able to escape with her, but nevertheless, I'd help her escape. I would take away her heartache and despair if it meant that I could see her smile, listen to her laugh, touch her skin, or know that any of those things were happening. It was the least I could do. My heart raced and beamed imagining her bright grin and electric eyes.

          The evening meal clanged against the slot, signaling that it was almost time for me to leave. I turned around, not surprised seeing her in the same position. The cup next to her cot hadn't been touched. She hadn't drunk any water. I sighed, entering her chamber and grabbing the tray. My moves were swift in picking up her morning tray, throwing away the stale, cold food. I debated throwing away her afternoon tray, but decided against it.

          Instead, I cautiously sat next to her feet on the cot, leaning back to look at her. Her eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, and fists clenched tightly next to her face. Her white knuckles contrasted against her pale skin, making her appear not so sick. Dried streaks marked her cheek, trailing down the side of her face and staining the thin pillow she slept on. I placed her dinner tray between her and the wall, the edges touching her body. Her eyelids lifted from the sudden contact.

          "I'm not leaving until you eat."

          She cleared her throat and shut her eyes again, "I'm not hungry."

          "I'll force feed you if I have to."

          "You wouldn't," she groaned.

          "Now that I haven't taken my capsules for a month, I'm pretty sure I'm capable of that."

          Her lips curled into a brief smile, lasting only a few seconds, but became imprinted in my heart and mind. Her genuine smiles had become rare; a pearl hidden between ugly shells. "Please eat. For me," I whispered, pushing the tray over to her more. "Don't allow yourself to be in more pain than you need to be."

          Still, for a few more moments she lay, her muscles and bones crying at the thought of working. She took a deep breath and pressed her palms against the cot, opening her eyes. A grunt left her throat as she began to sit up. I leaned over and grabbed her arm and waist, helping her muscles regain the feeling of shifting and flexing. The white nose strip was still stuck to the bridge of her nose which was now fully healed. I smiled, "you still have the nose strip on."

          "I didn't have the energy or will to take it off, as you could tell," she mumbled, rolling her shoulders and craning her neck side to side. She arched her back, stretching her arms above her head while bones popped, gas bubbles being squeezed out of their temporary residence. She sighed and hunched, grabbing her fork and beginning to pick at the food on her tray. She still refused to meet my gaze.

          I leaned forward, taking the edges of the nose strip and peeling it off for her, sticking it into my pocket for proper disposal. She wrinkled her nose, continuing to play with her food, lost in thought as the fork she held tossed aside vegetables and meat.

          Her hand stopped moving, her fingers slowly gripping around the fork which had pierced a vegetable. She fixed her stare on the fork. "It really hurt, Harry," she whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear. Her voice had cracked and my heart began to sink in my chest. "I'm reliving the heartache that it took years to get over." Her chin began to tremble, hair fell from behind her ears, fingers began to shake. The fork fell to the tray after her hand had abandoned its grasp to cover her mouth as she shut her eyes. She held back tears, only taking a trembling breath in through her fingers to do so, but I could not hold back my sorrow for her.