BLACK

(32) Waltz

I just want to quickly thank all of my readers for your votes and comments, you guys really make my day every time I see new ones! I know my last few chapters have been pretty short, so here's to make up for it 😃

EDITED

Everybody had their own Heaven. At least an idea of it. Every time it was mentioned, people had their own beliefs of how it looked, how it functioned. And yet, no one was ever shown a picture of it. Shown the truth. It was all a conception, purely from ideas. And we believed it all.

Maybe there were angels, waiting at the gates to let you in. Maybe the Kingdom was high above in the clouds, where only the Gods could look down at us. How ever many religions or renaissance images were studied, there would always be only one heaven in your mind.

The same went for everybody's Hell. Where it be, who rules amongst it. The limitations to be sent there in the after life, but in our heads it was opposite to our Heaven. Some believed in devils and demons, scary creatures that deserved to be burnt in our underworld. Yet others, their Hell was above ground. Right here, right now.

Like mine.

Very rarely did I leave the bed for the next two days, ignoring Black with a strict quietness every time he entered the room. Surprisingly, he let me stay in this state. I'd thought he would throw another tantrum, threaten me or force me to get up, but he didn't. Maybe he knew I needed this time to myself.

Three times a day I would eat, no matter how sick or non hungry I felt. And he would watch. Until my slow, sore jaw was done chewing and then he would remove the plates to leave me again in my solitude.

When he would leave the trailer to spend his hours outside, I would slip away to the bathroom and fill my glass with fresh water to keep my headaches at bay. Once in a while, when my feet felt like they had enough strength, I would tip toe to the closed blinds and peak through them. He was a strange creature, one I didn't understand and probably never would. He wore the same grey hoody and shorts, his only exposure the black boot still swarming his leg. Yet the injury didn't stop him, and he continued to push limits that I only saw as his determination, stubbornness, and self destruction.

He would disappear in the morning for roughly a while, and I would return to sulk in the bed sheets until I heard him come back. Then he would pull himself up to low hanging branches on a tree — and repeat it numerously. I watched because of his strangeness, his weirdness that seemed to drive him to perform this. He later moved to the ground, sitting up with vigorous effort and switching to plank for generous amounts of time. I could tell he avoided any pressure on his right leg, but still put effort into his exercise. It was unusual to me because even injured, when most shifters take the opportunity to heal, here was Black isolating himself and pushing his limits.

By the time he comes back inside hours later, his face is shining, and grey hoody soaked around his chest and back. I hadn't looked at him since getting up after his breakfast, but I knew because that was what he looked like every time just minutes later when he would bring me lunch into the bedroom.

And on the third day, the routine doesn't change. The door closes with a more gentle force as of lately since it isn't Black's anger bringing him inside anymore. I can hear his footsteps every now and then through the trailer, padding around in the kitchen. As he enters the bedroom with a plate in his hands, I make sure to turn over with my back to him so he can't see me. Already my eyes are watering, and my cheeks flush from the intensity of his gaze, but I don't make any moves to acknowledge him.

After seconds of his heavy breathing, he turns to rake through one of the drawers in the dresser and then leaves. I hear the bathroom door shut and shower turn on, only then do I turn around to face the enemy. The plate above the nightstand holds what all lunches should; a well built sandwich for someone who is hungry. But the sight just makes my stomach squeeze and turn inside of me. I don't eat it, somewhat conscious of what the consequences from Black will be. Maybe a yelling match. Maybe a situation close to what him and Cassandria went through. But mostly, I don't care. I shoulder my way to face the other side again, letting the little lines of sun through the blinds warm my skin.