Enter Apathy

Answers (11.)

Back to normal perspective

"Why are you like that?" Kalaraja blurts as he enters the room. He takes a seat on the floor beside Lillian's dirty cot.

An offended and confused look crosses her face, "Excuse me?"

"Numb. You don't feel anything. Why?"

"So says the psycho that broke a bird's neck and threw it at me," Lilliana retorts.

"I didn't throw it at you, I threw it at the cot."

Her eyebrows raise, "Why are you asking me that?"

Silence hangs in the air between them as Kalaraja stares at her, expectant. She contemplates an answer for a moment and then sighs. The light above them flickers as it usually does, and she squints at it.

"Remember how I told you that when the police found me, I was numb; all cried out?"

He nods, face full of a serious expression.

"That's because I stared at my aunt's dead body for so long that something inside of me broke. The emoting part of my brain buried itself. Being exposed to something so traumatic at such a young age is what made me like this. At least, that's what my therapist told me-" she glances at the bandages on her leg-  "I've never really been through anything else; I didn't go through big breakups, I could never keep a boyfriend or a girlfriend because after awhile, they could always tell that I didn't really care about them. I've never had a bestfriend. I've never even had a pet," Lilliana tells him.

Kalaraja stares at her, then quips, "It sounds so lonely."

"And yet, you live the same," she tilts her head at him.

"I didn't choose this life," Kalaraja's voice drips defensiveness.

"Neither did I. I'm pretty sure that nobody chooses this, it's just what happens."

Silence stuffs the room once more, and Kalaraja stands abruptly.

"Is it bad?" He asks her while glancing at the walls around them. She follows his gaze.

"What, the interior decorating in here, or being apathetic?" Lilliana chortles.

A pointed look shot at her tells which topic he's talking about.

"Well," she starts, "that depends. I see it as an advantage."

Kalaraja nods, "I used to, but now I'm not so sure."

Lilliana stands, with difficulty, and limps a few steps toward him.

"Why does it matter? You've made a whole career out of the fact that you can't feel," Lilliana queries, an intense stare boring into his eyes.

"That was before I met someone else that's like me," he says flatly.

The dim lighting in the room creates an ambiance of gloominess, paired with Kalaraja's questions and search for answers. Desperation cloaks him.

Lilliana limps a few more steps and says to him with an edge in her voice, "Look, no offense, but how the hell do you expect me to know any more than you do about this? I'm locked inside a dingy concrete room with a dead bird and a dirty cot. I'm not in a position of knowledge, here. Why don't you just look it up? Or go rent books about psychology? Those would tell you so much more than I can. You literally have a whole world of answers at your disposal, and you're in here, asking the other damage case why she's a damage case. Go. Find. Them. You won't find them in here."

"You wanna get out of this room? Give me a solid answer, tell me why I'm numb," he demands.

"This isn't part of the deal, you're supposed to kill m-"

"Tell me why!" He shouts, a finger stiffly pointed to the ground.

Lilliana takes a few level breaths before answering, "Because you're damaged, Kalaraja. Because you went through something that struck you to your core, and then you decided that you didn't want to feel anything like that again."

"Bullshit. I never chose to turn off my emotions," he defends.

She tilts her head and shrugs, "But didn't you? You turned off your emotions at one point, because you'd rather feel nothing than to ever feel grief at that magnitude again. It happened either by choice or subconscious, but it happened. That's why you're here now, doing what you're doing. If that answer isn't good enough, then tough shit. I don't have any other knowledge. All I know is, that's what happened to me. I buried my emotions so I wouldn't ever have to miss anyone again, and so that nobody could ever be torn from me, like what happened before."

This answer is better than any other he's going to get right now. Ragged breaths heave from his body. He stomps out of the room, leaving the door open behind him. He quickly makes way into his bedroom, grabs a black duffel bag, and leaves the apartment. The front door slams.

Lilliana listens to the silence he left behind, and peeks out. Had she really earned her way out of the room? Why is he letting her out in the first place? He can't really be content with just studying her answers. Can he?

She limps out of the room and into the kitchen. The lights are brighter in here, and the attempt to adjust makes her head hurt.

"Water, that's what I want. Water," she hobbles to the sink, leans her face under the faucet, and turns it on.

A satisfied moan climbs through her vocal chords as she slurps water from the tap. She's never enjoyed drinking water this much; and it's probably only because she went two days without any. She stands straight and wipes the water dripping from her chin with her arm. Her dirty arm. How had she gotten so filthy? All she did was get tortured, lay on the ground, and...

She could take a shower. He let her out, so that means she's allowed to use the facilities, right? She'll pick up after herself. She makes her way to the bathroom, turns on the water, and lets the steam fill up the room.

An hour later, Lilliana sits on the couch in the living room, feet propped up on the table, a sandwich in one hand, and the remote in the other. She borrowed some of Kalaraja's sweats from a drawer in his room. Some show about old ladies living together plays as she chews the white bread, mayo, cheese, and ham. She reaches forward for her glass of water. The front door catches her attention. She could just leave. He'd never know the difference. But she's a woman of her word, it's not like her to back out of a deal. Still...

She stands up and goes to the door, wiping her hands off on her sweats. Her breath comes out short as she reaches for the doorknob and twists it.

Locked, from the outside.

"Who the hell does that?" She exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. This man is paranoid and impossible. Of course he would have a lock on the outside of his apartment, he's a fucking hitman.

Lilliana flops back onto the couch, careful not to disturb her injuries, and finishes her sandwich. The noises of the TV seem to put her in a calm trance. Seated in a comfortable position and a full belly, she falls asleep.