In the Lion's Teeth: Second Edition

Chapter Twenty

For a very, very long time, you just lie there, with Dona's fingers in your hair and your head in his lap, sprawled half-on, half-off the couch.

After such stillness and silence, the twitch in your hands should have warned you that it was coming, but the sudden humming in your skull, the opaque green air sliding from your mouth, the breathing ceiling still all take you off guard. It's escaping, your soul is escaping through your breath, exhale by exhale, but you're stuck, nothing moving but your eyes, darting around the room. You try to speak, whine, something to get Dona's attention, but you can't.

But he sees your fingers twitch, and he looks over to your face, and he sees the terror in your eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asks softly.

You force your mouth open, but no sound comes out.

His hand is hot on your face, sharp bones and slick skin."Pascal, what do you need?"

Your teeth grit. You grimace. You open your mouth again, and this time you manage a soft, squeaky groan, but even though the words are swimming in your head and behind your eyes, they won't come out.

"You're safe, my love," he whispers, so soft and so soothing, and then his fingers are in your hair and his lips are on your forehead as he makes gentle shushing noises: hush, hush, hush.

Your muscles relax and you close your eyes.

***

When you open them again, the room is dim, and Dona murmurs, "I thought that it would be better to turn the light down."

You nod, and then, a soft, timid... mewl, almost, comes from under the table in the corner, and you finally muster the strength to turn your head.

"Pascal?"

But you don't answer. You had no idea Dona had a cat. It must be really shy if you've never seen it in all the times you've been over. It takes a few tries, but you finally manage to lift your hand and tsk softly to get its attention.

It looks up at you. Its eyes are solid black, without even the reflection of the small amount of light in the room bouncing back at you. It walks toward you, pauses, rubs its head against the back of your hand. You smile and curl your fingers around its cheek to scratch its neck.

"You're doing it wrong," it whispers, a deep, guttural sound that jars with its tiny body and fluffy white fur.

"I'm... sorry?"

"Pascal?" Dona asks, but his voice is far away, somewhere else, with all the other voices and whispers and murmurs.

"How...?"

"Under the chin," the cat says, pawing at your fingers as if trying to direct you. "Just a little scratch."

So you do, and... he? He sighs heavily and purrs, purrs, purrs.

"You know, most humans don't really know what they're doing," he says. "You're just running around in circles, tripping on your own toes, you know?" He rolls over onto his back. "Stomach," he demands.

So you pet his stomach.

"They're all just like you," he continues. You scratch up towards his chest and he sighs heavily and purrs. "Everyone's problems are different, but everyone has them. Some are just better at hiding it than others."

Dona's fingers slide through your hair again, and you sigh softly and close your eyes. When you open them, the cat is gone. It takes all the effort in your body, but you turn your head back to Dona and ask, "What's his name?"