For The Record

11

people seem to like my work and that's always cool and i like watching my numbers do numbers so if you guys can vote and comment on this chapter that would be pretty cool, and the person who makes me smile the most gets a dedication on the next one. this'll be an ongoing thing, and i do enjoy replying to comments and hearing thoughts.

black lives still matter. trans rights are still human rights. listen to marginalised voices.

peace & enjoy the chapter which didn't take a month to write (more like an hour).

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11

ARIEL leans his arms on the coffee table and drops his head on top, wafting innocent blinks in my direction. His baby-blue iris is bright and clear enough to reflect my entire body, down to the uncanny arrangement of my legs--one foot tucked under me and the other flung off the edge of the small sponge he proposed I used as a sofa on top of the actual sofa--and the frown between my eyebrows.

"Ariel?"

"I'm so sorry." He snaps back into himself, ruffling his growing hair before shooting me a comforting smile. "I got distracted. I hope you can forgive me?"

"I'm not angry," I assure, flinging myself forward, nearly off the cliff the sofa provides, to attempt to pat the knuckle of the hand closest to me. He ends up having to catch me in cupped palms when my movements prove too eager. "That was stupid of me."

"Are you okay?" He tousles the top of my head with the pad of his thumb, concern knitted into his forehead.

"I didn't even realise I was falling thanks to your fast reflexes." I tap the base of his thumb, then sigh, allowing myself to forget where I am to stretch out my limbs on the surface of his palm. I'm a lot more comfortable here these days, with all the time I spend in them, but not enough that I can escape the vertigo or the sickness rising in my stomach when I jerk too close to the edge. It's a reminder that no matter how gentle Ariel is around me, the world itself is my enemy, and the apple that rolled away from the tree still tastes like the one hanging from the branch. He's still dangerous to me, and I have to remember that, even though I want to trust him.

"Silly," he tuts warmly, setting me back on the sponge. "Please don't fall while I'm gone. I'd hate for you to get hurt."

"While you're gone?" I echo. "Where are you going?"

"I need to go shopping, little one. I'm running out of food."

"Because of the extra mouth you have to feed?" I joke, trying to sit upright. The sponge is unforgiving, my hands sinking into pockets of air whenever I try to move, so I sprawl myself across it instead. "Do I even impact how much you buy?"

He thinks for a moment, head cocked and dark hair falling into his eyes, before shaking his head. "I hope I don't offend you by saying this, and I'm sorry, but you eat about the same amount that would normally get thrown away. Like the dregs of soup at the bottom of a tin," he explains.

"That much? I must have gained weight." I snicker at my own expense to fight the growing feeling of discomfort. The insignificance is back with a vengeance.

"I haven't noticed any change," he pipes up, a small smile playing on his lips.

"You wouldn't." I punch his knuckle, but he doesn't even seem to feel it. "So if a whole meal for me is like throwaway to you, what do you consider a snack?"

It's meant to be an innocent question, but he freezes, red creeping up his cheeks. The full weight of his consuming gaze is on me and a tingle runs up my spine.

He opens his mouth, driving the small feeling home and setting it up a bedroom in the attic of my brain. "I should go now, little one. Is there anything you want?"

"No." I force a smile. To his credit, he only nods in return, not drawing any more attention to his lips. We clearly have the same thing in mind. "Bye, Ariel."

"I'll be back soon, little one," he replies, his breath ghosting my hair as he stands and leaves, his footsteps tremoring throughout the floor.

When the door slams shut behind him with an earthquake, and the house finally settles, I switch the TV channel, prepared to get invested in a show so I don't have to think about anything else.

There's a firm ache in my head when he returns, too much TV making my eyes strain and hurt. Somehow, I rolled off the sponge, but thankfully, the edge of the sofa is still a decent distance away. 

He texts me to check where I am, and I reply in the same place I was when you left. A small giggle travels through the air, and he attempts to soften his footsteps as he reenters the living-room.

There's a protein bar wrapper in his hand. I realise with a lurch that it's easily taller than me, maybe even one and a half times my height. 

"I'm back," he announces. "Is soup okay for dinner, little one? I was thinking--or, well, hoping we could eat in front of the TV and watch something? Only if you want, of course."

"That sounds fine." I can't tear my eyes away from the wrapper, unable to decide what's worse: the fact he can eat something the size of me, or the fact it's so easily crushed in his palm. "Are you going to sit on the sofa?"

The tips of his ears turn pink. "Oh--well, I can sit on the floor if you'd prefer..."

And now I feel guilty. "It's okay," I half-lie. I have to choose whether I trust him or not eventually. "We can sit together." 

He beams from ear to ear at this, only worsening my guilt. Of course, I'm happy to see him smile, but it only makes me feel awful that I lied to him to achieve that smile. "Okay, little one." There's the sickening sound of crinkling plastic as he leans forward to ruffle my hair with the tip of his finger in an affectionate gesture. I roll my eyes, but am glad for the distraction. "I'll be back when dinner's ready."

I can't help but watch his mouth as he talks. "Yeah. Okay."