Friends Against All Odds?

Chapter III - Time of his Life

When I woke next the whole situation seemed way clearer to me. Clearer, bless. I couldn’t remember anything about my past, and I knew that there were quite some goodies buried there, but I just couldn’t remember anything distinctly me. Or him. He was by my side, I heard his heartbeat pulsating through the amicably normal air, there was just enough oxygen for it not to be overly generous. Pathetic pets that need more. I groaned internally, feeling entirely unwell. I had to laugh at myself for being so overly dramatic about my death. Death happened, as always, it had happened a multitude of times to me as well. I tried to recollect memories, but it was too hard to remember, and I only had a little amount of energy to my own use. I tried to open my eyes to make out where I was, when I was, but I couldn’t. I took some minutes to let one eyelid flatter open, then another. For the first time in a long time of sleep I saw a dim light, nothing more. The ceiling, as I saw it, was the sky. Looks like home. I felt that I knew every star by the name, as I had been on most of them, close to them. The stars glistened over me, but I didn't feel like I was at home. It didn't feel quite right to me. And on a closer look, the heaven was an optical illusion, but a good one. Perfectly well crafted, just some images projected on the ceiling of something, making it seem rather perfect. Sentimental idiot. I didn't even know who took care of me here. Maybe a person of value. But I hated him, for some reason I did, with one of my hearts. As much as I loved him with the other. I felt entirely helpless here, maybe he was an enemy, watching me die, finally. This surely felt like dying somehow. Or I was just regaining consciousness for an awful lot of time. I knew that he didn't know that I had woken, I hadn't moved, I had simply opened my eyes a bit, looking at the image of my own solar system, I couldn’t move my head, I couldn’t move my body yet. I had been through all of this, but in a matter of seconds. Hesitance wasn't something one could afford when one was... what, exactly? I tried to gather some sorts of thoughts, but I simply couldn’t. Whatever I touched seemed to be right in reach, just when I focussed on it, it seemed to blur out into the background, whenever I was trying to grasp it, the thought moved all the way to the other end of my infinite universe. I forgot, I had forgotten who I was, and I feared the lack of knowledge that clouded my judgement. I knew that I was usually all about myself, my own best friend as there would be nobody in the universe to match me, only him, and he hated me. I could smell it, almost. Or I knew, I wasn't certain. I found the search for new information pointless, so I let myself drift off to the darkness again.

The stars over me shone in a different light when I felt my own eyelids fluttering again. I heard the soft noise of heartbeats, and occasionally pages of a book turning. I focussed on that entirely, and not on my own helplessness. I heard him flipping the pages, running my calculations as he did so. By the monotonous turning I could tell that he wasn't reading something exciting, something that triggered memories, the text didn't have graphics, he was reading a story. ( It took him reasonably quick 200 heartbeats, we measured in drums, not beats, suggesting that he took about 50 seconds per two pages) I focussed on his finger softly turning the pages, flipping through gently. He was quick, perhaps, I didn't know, I couldn’t know the size of the book by just hearing it. But it didn't seem like a heavy one, it didn't require him to stand, he sat, and he didn't give away any noises. I knew he could prey for hours like that, without moving, but he didn't prey right now, I supposed, so he was sitting comfortably. The book didn't weigh heavily on his legs, and the pages seemed to have about the average size of books. Nothing too big, nothing to light. I guessed he was quick, I myself took an average of 47 seconds per page, when I bothered to read. Reading is for losers. I wasn't sure how I could tell. I liked books, somehow, I figured, I liked the smell of the old books especially. Deducing him and his movements helped me with calming myself. I felt murderous. I actually felt like ripping somebody’s throat out. Who are you? I wanted to know where I was, who I was. I didn't even know whether I was good or bad. I had the distinct feeling good wasn't in my nature, as bad wasn't in his. He put the book aside after a grand total of 54200 drumbeats, the sound suggested that it had been a book, and he had put it down softly, having probably enjoyed and finished his read. He moved in his chair, it was probably a chair and I let my eyelids flutter for no reason. I heard him stand up rapidly, his steps moved to me and rather than sooner I felt my surroundings shake, suggesting he was sitting on the edge of my place of rest, which felt like a reasonably comfortable bed.

“You’re awake...” he said calmly, but there was concern in his dark voice. I couldn’t tell whether he was worried about my health or the fact that I was awake. He probably, as I knew him, lingered in both sentiments, one for his hearts respectively. Sentimental idiot. You should be worried sick about the fact that I live. I couldn’t have told why. I couldn’t find the truth that was hidden behind the largest veil, I couldn’t break through the mist clouding my vision. It was to die for, again. I felt him moving his body, and noticed that his weight now entirely rested on the bed of sorts, apparently it was quite a large one. I felt him leaning into one direction, and suddenly my cover moved a little bit, and I felt his warm hand holding mine again. Peaks of interest and disgust shot through me. I am your friend. I felt the heat that he radiated, and I found it calming to my state of mind. It was calming to know that there was somebody out there who was willing to contact me, and I felt my fingers tickling after some time. A touch between the two of us had always been electrifying, I somehow knew that much, but I couldn’t tell whether that spark was hatred or amicability. It most certainly wasn't love. Love is for pets. I felt that his warmth spread over my body, he was sharing his warmth with me, somehow. No, you aren't... you cannot... I tried to reason with him, forcing him back, as I noticed that he wasn't only sharing his body temperature with me, but also his time. He gave me his time. The time he was given, he shared his minutes with me, and I couldn’t quite tell just how much of his time he gave me with his hand touching mine. I couldn’t tell, I had never shared my time with anybody, but apparently he was an expert in that matter. Ignorance, you cannot give me your time, you need it for yourself, and I don't want to be poisoned with your disgusting kindness. I felt that the energy he was transferring was coming in small amounts, a second, perhaps, one at a time, and after another 4260 drums I was able to feel my little finger, and, more importantly, I was able to move it. I gave it the hardest push of energy, and I felt that my pinkie moved marginally. I heard him gasp silently and he stroked over my finger carefully, giving me a bit more than just a second of time, another 960 drumbeats later I could focus my energy again and gave my finger another little twitch, and he gave me more time. Stop it, poison your pets with kindness. I couldn’t resist it though, I couldn’t force him away from me, I couldn’t just send the energy back. I felt my finger shaking due to his time, and that was when he stopped for good. For a second the emptiness took hold of me, and I was scared like a little boy.

“No more,” he stated the painfully obvious truth, but his hand stayed just where it was, and I felt a bit of the energy staying within me, and I shoved it from heart to heart, to reactivate myself. I shoved it up to my brain, but I stayed in a nonsensical state of delirium. Splendid. I felt a sudden wave of tiredness running over me, and I let the darkness take me this time, while my body and my mind never forgot the light that walked me back to this place when it was needed. I felt him stroking over my palm carefully, painting little ornaments, our sort of writing. I was too weak to read, so I went to the night.

“It’s time again,” were the words that woke me for the next time. I couldn’t say how much time had passed, just that it had been rather peaceful. I felt his hand resting on top of mine already, probably what had woken me in the first place, and he gave his time, second by second. For over 9360 drum beats he gave second by second, and after a long time of listening to the sound of his time, lived memories that I couldn’t decipher, I found the energy to twist the corners of my mouth upwards only the slightest bit, while my eyes were still closed. He noticed, he was like me, he missed out on big things and noticed the small things, he gave me ten seconds in two drumbeats and it almost made me burst. I couldn’t help but liking the sensation he offered me, but I hated it as well. Of course I did, it was only reasonable to. My heartbeats increased as he pumped energy into me, and I continued smiling until he stopped. My lips went back to normal again, and he held my hand until I fell into the darkness again.

For the next roughly 13 times that I woke he would always do the same, and I would feel stronger with every time, so much that I could at times even smile and move my finger at the same time. I was progressing a lot, I could feel that, yet I couldn’t remember a thing about myself. I didn't know how much time passed between the instances that I was conscious, but his hands never changed, apart from the last time when there had been a little, almost invisible wound right on his index finger. I had put it down as a paper cut, from all the reading he was doing to probably keep himself busy. I had wondered just why he was always at my bedside when I woke up, he had always been there, every time I had woken he had been there. And I was glad that he was, because it gave me security, and I didn't want to wake up all on my own, because I feared that I was just making this all up to comfort myself. I didn't dream, we never did. We imagined, we listened, we observed. We didn't dream, we drifted off to the void at times, giving our superior brains a rest.