A Good Gal In the Making.

The Spider and the Wasp

Author's note:

I'm sorry about the cliffhanger, and all the ones that came before it, and all those yet to come.

***

"A gun is not a gun." John Le Carre.

I stare at the humanoid figure in front of me in disbelief. A human in an inhuman state can be utterly fascinating, yet terrifyingly horrid, all at once. Two hollow sockets replaced what used to be her vibrant, big brown eyes. What was once a face that shines with vigour has now wilted into grim fogs of gloom. She was so pale she'd pass for deceased. Her body was shivering, weaning, weakening with the second. Her sturdy legs were now wavering, threatening rampantly to send her crashing down into ruins. Before I could get myself together, her knees hit the hard floor. 

"They're coming to take me away, Alex." She sobs. "Gaven." She pauses abruptly. Her mouth still moving, yet her voice is refusing to emerge.

"Don't say anything now. You're not making any sense. Just breathe." I mutter, not sure of what to say, still taken-aback by the surrealism of the situation. My heart on edge, nerves tingling, shrills lingering down my spine.

"Gaven." She pauses again at his name, like she was trying to grasp a flaming object despite her reflexes to back away. The struggle between her attempt to burn and her natural reflex for flight validates itself through her expressions.

I remain silent, staring at her from a distance. I just don't feel like my help would make any difference. So why bother? I contemplate the notion to spray her with water, but then I drop the idea. On different terms, I'd act sufficiently under pressure. Today, there's much to process  that it seems as though any idea would be a bad idea.

Should I let her lie there until she doses off, then talk to her when she wakes? Or would it be more proper if I revive her and call for help?

My stream of thought is interrupted by sirens. 

"They're here, they're taking me away" she gasps. "They're going to take me away. I didn't want all this to happen. I'm sorry, forgive me. Say that you forgive me Alex, tell me that you do."

"Forgive you for what?" Vicky, please, speak up. I've ran out of patience.

"He's gone. Gaven. Dead. It's all my fault." She howls hysterically, barely able to let her words out through her muffled cries. "I'm sorry."

Time stops. The strings of reality begin to detach. He's gone. I only realize how much I've been leaning on him now. My existence has grown dependent to his.

I remind myself that death is but a stage of life, not an end to it.

But he has hung far too many questions left unanswered. 

My door is kicked open by a police officer, and I'm incapable of doing much but stare as they take Vicky away. Her tears, her fragility, her pained face, they all mean nothing now. What she had done is unforgivable. Retribution won't heal my wounds but it might give consent.

 It doesn't hit me how alone I've ended up until next morning. I don't recall going into slumber, but I assume my functions shut down.

Vicky. She's the one to blame. A burning sensation swells through my stomach. The urge for revenge is so heavy it threatens to knock the whole world down.

My room lost its sense of safety, and it felt as though everything I've believed in has vanished through thin air. This place feels as cold as the seventh realm of hell. I don't fear the flames of hell, for none can ignite stronger than the fire inside of me. What I had always been afraid of is the cold. In the cold, you feel liable, empty, abandoned, and lonesome. When you're burning, all you can feel is pain.

 I find myself walking out. Where to? I deeply wish I have the ability to discern or grasp the slightest idea, but I can't. And so I wander, first through the woods, then through the neighborhood. After Dark, into the narrow streets and alleys of downtown. Jumping from place to place, free as a Thunderbird, ignoring the dirty stares and glances. Sometimes, I casually smile at those passing-by. I heard once that smiles from strangers can save your day when you were about to throw your life away. Maybe I can save someone's life, since I'm incapable of saving mine. My sanity is slowly dripping away, and I make an attempt to grab it before it drifts.

Three days later, I make my way back home. I greet mom, and ask her why she was crying. She seems surprised to see me. I don't say a single word, and she does not approach. On the other side of the kitchen table, I find myself a seat. 

"I have missed you dearly. I'm so sorry about what happened." She says, sounding sincere.

"The girl, from the other night, where is she now?" I ask.

"She's gone to prison. Poor child. If here parents had more fortune, they would have placed her in a fancy asylum instead, where she'd feel like she's on vacation." Mom always held a passionate grudge  against the system. Funny, she'd never tried to defy it.

"Can I go pay her a visit?" I question.

"If you're asking whether you have the physical ability to go and see her, then the answer is yes. If you're wondering whether you can get the permission to do so, I'm afraid I don't hold the knowledge." She offers. "Maybe you can go ask her mom."

Before her whole sentence is out, I find myself rushing there, wind gushing trough my hair. It doesn't take me long to find them, but I'm so out of breath that I forgot what I was here for. They're suffering, almost as much as I am. Then it hits me:

"Can I go visit your daughter, please?" I say, looking at the ground while I'm talking, my fingers crossed behind my back.

"Yes" Says the mom, Nicole.

"No" Replies her boyfriend, Joseph.

They exchange whispers for a couple of minutes, then the boyfriend consents.

"I only changed my mind because my child said she refuses to eat until we get you there." He grunts out in a mean tone. He likes to call Vicky his "child" and he sure as hell loves her more than both her fathers did.

Eat. The word sounds a million years away. How my body did survive three days without as much as a speck of dust introduced to nourish it, I have no clue. But I come to the decision that I do need to "eat." So I open the fridge and grab a bottle of yogurt. I devour the contents in the matter of seconds. Then I ask:

"When can I go visit?"

"Tomorrow morning, you should make yourself ready 7 a.m. sharp. We'll pick you up." Nicole smiles.

My eyelids don't even meet that night. Afraid that if I blink, I might fall asleep and miss tomorow's ordeal.

As soon as the light of day shows itself, I start preparing. I take a shower, get dressed in a black hoodie and black jeans, then I knot my blond hair up in a bun. My face looks barren, but I don't want to have any make-up on today.

Soon, her mom knocks at the door. I grab my backpack and we head off. The trip is long and monotonous, so I make myself busy staring at the landscapes to withstand the deafening silence.

The country jail is a huge building composed of grey cracked walls that stretch up towards the sky. It's surrounded by officers. We are searched before we enter, and it bothers me that they first didn't want to let me take in my bag. But after they made sure the contents were safe, they made an exception.

Inside, we wait as the guards summon Victoria up from her cell, her dungeon. And I come face to face with her.

 ***

Author's note:

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