For The Record

15

15

ARIEL stares down at me, his vantage making it so I'm no more than a speck on the doorstep, craning my neck to look up at him but not even being able to see all the way. I clench my fists to keep the fear at bay, a bout of the hiccups surging through my diaphragm. The size difference is so overwhelming right now, and it takes all I have not to come to terms with the sickening realisation that I'm eye-level with the top of his foot. 

Then, he jolts. With swiftness and precision that should be impossible for someone of his size he drops into a crouch and scoops me up without warning, bringing me to his chest. Vertigo makes me crumple into a cowering ball in the bottom of his hands, and my whole body shakes, until I realise it's not me still quaking all over, but him.

Wetness enters the dark cage of his hands. A small spatter of rain despite the cloudless night. Another.

I look up, but I can't see his face. Instead, his waterlogged voice reverberates through my body. "You're--you're alive. I was so--I thought--the window, and footprints, and I was so scared but you're alive, you're here, you're safe, oh god, little one, I'm so glad you're safe," he sobs, lifting me to his face and pressing me to his tearstained cheek. "Are you okay? Do you need anything? You're not hurt, are you?"

"I'm fine," I respond, maybe a little too curtly, because the hurt shines on his features without restraint. "I'm okay. I wasn't hurt. I just needed to go somewhere."

"Without mentioning it so I'd know? Or using the front door? Little one--the window--for sure a fall like that would--"

"But I didn't fall."

"That's not the point!" he insists, eyes glossed over with the same tears dribbling down his cheeks. He holds me away, so he can focus on my whole body, while just his face fills my entire vision. "You were angry at me. I didn't know if that would mean you'd make a reckless decision, and if you got distracted for even a second you would have fallen. All you had to do was ask me to unlock the front door." 

I avert my eyes, staring into the palm of his hand. "I didn't want to. And you're half-right. It's not that I was angry at you, but I still am, so I'd like it if you just took me to bed or set me down so I can do it myself."

He pauses, tilting his head so I can't escape his quivering bottom lip. "Little one, you're still angry? I'm so sorry, I didn't know. But I don't like the idea of us sleeping when you're upset with me."

"Then force me," I bite out, the harshness of my words surprising even myself. I want to ask myself what I'm doing, but the thoughts won't come, overcome by snippiness. "It's not hard. All you have to do is hold me down. I'm sure I'll talk eventually. Do you like that idea?"

"No, of course not!" he exclaims, but still softly, still with regards to my hearing. I hate that when I'm lashing out at him, he's still being considerate. "I would never force you. I'll take you upstairs, if that's what you want." 

He makes a start towards the staircase, but halts after the first stride. "Little one? Is that what you want?"

I think of the dark room upstairs. How big and empty it is. Much like the graveyard, where I can dream of Skylar's body right next to mine, but it's mashed up, face frozen, mouth in an 'o', like when you're about to put something in your mouth, like a shiny boiled sweet, or too many of your mother's sleeping pills. 

I don't want that. I don't want to dream of her tonight.

But there's nowhere else I'll go, and especially not near him.

Not tonight.

"Yes. Take me upstairs."

"Okay." Other than cup me close to his chest for protection, he doesn't make any other movements to touch me, not even to hand me the tissue I use as a duvet that's become part of our routine.

I never liked or wanted to be tucked in, but it's the thoughtfulness that would make me smile. 

"Goodnight, little one." He reaches out to ruffle my hair--another part of our routine--but chooses not to, hiding his hand behind his back. "I hope you feel better in the morning. I think it would be good if we spoke then."

I say nothing as he leaves. As usual, the door doesn't shut behind him, and the hallway light continues to flood in, casting a thick beam on the floor.

I shift my gaze to the window. It has since been closed, the curtains drawn. I wonder if it will ever open again, or if tonight begins the journey to a point where Ariel dislikes my free will so little, I'll no longer be able to cross a room without him.

I don't know what comes next. He'll have questions to ask, feelings to articulate. I know I've hurt him, made him cry. What other emotions did he experience?

And how will they fare when I have so many of my own I want to throw into a blender and inject into Skylar Miyasaki, so she can come back to life?