For The Record

07

07

OVERNIGHT, the crushing duvet has been pushed away, displaced by the white, silken underside of a pocket tissue. One, two, three, four-ply, and thick enough for me to lie beneath it comfortably, as though it's my bedcover at home.

No, not home. That house was never my home.

Struggling with the bright light grasping through the curtains, I push myself up on my palms, squinting at the sunlight flooding the vast room. In broad daylight, the sheer scale of everything was much more overbearing, like a doll discarded on the floor of a child's room, but smaller, more minuscule, where a magnifying glass has to be used to see my expression.

Unlike the duvet, the tissue comes away from my body without much complaint, giving me the freedom to roll and stretch in the golden light pooling on the sheets. I wrench myself to the side, hearing my bones give a satisfying crack, then the other, in preparation for the day. 

My bags are on the bed with me, barely past the length of my legs. I use its contents to get ready for the day, finishing, and pausing at the realisation that I am extremely far from the ground. I peer at my surroundings, trying to formulate a plan when something catches my eye.  

The covers are slightly askew, allowing me to slide down safely onto the floor. Holding my breath, I release my death-grip on the top sheet, my body hurtling out of control until I become a crumpled pile on the bedroom floor.

Dishevelled and with a pounding heart, but alive. 

The daylight slanting in through the half-open curtains gives the contents of the room an ample opportunity to cast shadows. Household furniture I used to operate without a second thought now towers ominously above my head, causing a sick churning in my stomach.

Scrunching my eyes shut, I hold my breath and dart across the room, skirting around the grey shadows threatening to consume me.

The door at the lip of the room is a monster in itself. A wooden monolith, stretching out further upwards than I can see. As I stomach my fear and creep past, the floor shakes, and a shadow laps at my feet.

The Minotaur in the labyrinth itself.

"Good morning, little one." He has his back pressed to the wall between our doors, legs kicked to the opposite wall and half-bent to his chest, as though his height struggles to fit in the frameworks of his own house. An upturned palm rests on the floor beside his thigh, explaining the strange curvature to the silhouette of his side profile on the hallway floor. 

"Good morning, Ariel." I try not to focus on the fact my shadow is a matchstick next to his; that if I stood in it, I could just as easily disappear. "Why are you here? I--I mean, outside my room."

"Sorry, did I frighten you, little one? I didn't mean to. I thought--well--you won't be very used to me yet, or even the world around you, so it might be a little daunting for you to come and get me yourself, and I thought it might be nice if I came to you a bit, without invading your space." He bites his lip, dark hair shadowing his globe-like eyes. His voice, already a low stage-whisper, drops to a volume even I strain to hear. "Did I do something wrong?"

"N--no," I hasten to reassure him, mustering a smile. "That's very thoughtful of you. Thank you. Um, also, did you--did you switch the duvet in my room?"

He hangs his head. "I did, I'm sorry. I would never normally touch you without your consent, but when I passed your room, you looked like you were in pain, and then I realised you weren't breathing, so I thought if I put you under a tissue instead, it would be safer."

A chill runs through me. Death by suffocation at the hands of a duvet cover. Not just Ariel, but the enormity of everything could be my demise if I'm not careful.

No. Not before you figure out what happened to Skylar. 

"It's--it's okay." I try not to think about his calloused hands scooping me up unconscious, perhaps ferrying me between palms, holding me against his chest. Hands that could cage me in, crush me. A jolt and a fall would be enough. A thumb over my nose and mouth, maybe. My skin ripples with the ghost of his touch. 

He held me while I was asleep. While I was not just powerless, but unaware. A quick, silent death. One he wouldn't have to see the fear in my eyes or hear my screams.

But no. I stare at the loosely curled fingers of the hand in front of me. This is a hand I have to grow to trust if I ever want to find out about my best friend.

If I ever want to call this place my home. 

"Oh, little one, what's wrong?" His shadow swallows what little light there is left. Startled, I flinch back, losing my footing on a slightly raised plank and landing with a slam on the wooden floor. Looking up to meet his inescapable gaze is suddenly impossible, and when I tilt my chin to do so, I can feel silent tears streaming down my cheeks. "Ev--Everleigh?"

"Can you please move back?" I surrender to the sobs wracking my frame and hug my knees to my chest, burying my face in them. "I just need a minute."

There's no guarantee he heard me, but the darkness resides, cracks of light seeping through. I stay in my shell long enough to compose myself, and when I look up, Ariel has shifted position from being sat upright to sprawled across the floor on his stomach, his head resting on folded arms and his head cocked to gaze worriedly at me, glittery tears welling in his eyes.

"Little one?" he prompts.

I clear my face though the tears linger, relentless. His tickle something sensitive in my chest. "Please don't cry."

"Don't worry about me." He sniffs, wiping his damp eyes with the back of his hand before edging that same hand towards me. "May I?"

I nod, and he uses the tip of his finger to tilt my face upwards. His thumb carefully brushes my face, capturing the continual river of tears until, eventually, it comes to a stop.

"I hope I didn't upset you," he whispers, adjusting his hand so it curves around me in some form of a hug. I sink into the warm folds of his fingers, my outburst leaving me exhausted despite having just woken up.  

"You didn't. Just...please," I lick my dry lips, tasting of salt, "please don't pick me up while I'm asleep anymore."

The ghosts haunting my words aren't of him, but the demon in my bedroom, creeping in in the dead of night, drunk and yelling incoherently about things I didn't do, shaking me awake or slapping me while I sleep so I wake up with bruises on my face. 

It reminds me of something my mother would do.

"No--no, of course, that was only one time," he protests. Warm, minty breath spills across my face. "I would never. I'm very sorry, little one." 

"I know. I'm...okay. Can we go downstairs now? I'm getting kinda hungry. You can pick me up."

The thought of leaping out of the way of his colossal shadow is enough to make my stomach turn. 

"Of course." He scoops me up into his palm, using his other hand to act as a barrier to keep me from falling, before pressing me close to his chest. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah." I scoot back in the cage of his fingers so my back is pressed to his chest. "It is. Thank you, Ariel."

He opens the top of his hands to glance down at me, a luminous smile lighting up his features. "Any time, little one."