Between Lines

?

As the tendrils of awareness began to weave their way through the fog of sleep, I found myself resisting the urge to open my eyes. The persistent chirping of a nearby bird invaded my senses, its incessant melody piercing through the tranquility of the morning. I slowly opened my eyes and squeezed them shut once more, seeking solace in the darkness as I endeavoured to regain my composure. I want to be sure that I am emerging from the depths of a haunting nightmare and slowly regaining consciousness on the plane of reality. Perhaps now I am finally waking from a terrible dream. I wondered as I tried to clear my head.

With my eyes closed, I sat up. I just want to get lost in my head. It is here, within the confines of my mind, that I could reshape my reality and find the peace I so desperately craved through the simple pleasure of slumbering in the embrace of my own bed, basking in the warm glow of the morning sun as it filters through the delicate curtains of my bedroom window. I started to conjure a vivid tapestry of a life unburdened by the terrible events that had haunted me. I want to manifest the life I will open my eyes to; in this idyllic reality, I will be welcomed by the echo of laughter from somewhere in the house, replacing the haunting silence that had plagued my days. The key for this to work is to actually feel that it is real, and I fall for the thought, and I can hear laughter from the corners of my brain. I can actually feel the warmth of companionship enveloping me, and I smile as I embrace myself in complete pleasure.

"Oh yes," I huddled to the thought that just washed over my entire body. I can feel gusbumps and my blood flow trailing from head to toe. In this moment of introspection, I found solace in the power of my own imagination. Of course, I can now open my eyes to my reality, but wait... why can't I recall where home is or who my family members are? The question echoed through the depths of my mind, a haunting whisper that refused to be silenced. With a furrowed brow, I find myself hesitating, consumed by trepidation, reluctant to part my eyelids and confront the world around me.

As I cast my eyes upon the scene before me, the first thing that captured my attention was the sight of a man's long legs adorned in sturdy brown greaves. These protective coverings, securely fastened to his legs, exude an air of purpose. My jaw dropped in sheer astonishment. The sight before me was so unexpected and unbelievable that I couldn't help but be taken aback. With cautious curiosity, I raised my gaze to behold the enigmatic figure standing before me. His trousers, once a rich shade of brown, now bear the unmistakable marks of dirt and grime, evidence of a life lived on the edge. A brass war belt, reminiscent of ancient Viking warriors, adorns his waist, its presence commanding the spotlight. Daggers and a meticulously crafted tactical axe find their place on the right side of his belt, a testament to his preparedness for any battle that may come his way. The man's bare torso was a sight to behold. His abdominal muscles were on full display, resembling a meticulously crafted sculpture with deeply chiselled lines. His broad chest and shoulders seemed to yearn for liberation, as if his every breath was pleading to break free from the confines of his sturdy physique. His arms hung at his sides, their muscles effortlessly straining against his skin. His skin was as if it were intentionally bathed in a radiant glow from the touch of his own perspiration. His countenance betrayed no hint of remorse as he openly displayed his confusion. Yet his face, adorned with a thick growth of facial hair, acted as a clever mask, concealing his true emotions and showing his negligence towards self-care.

A wave of terror crashed over me, and in response, I receded back, causing my voice to erupt in a piercing scream. My trembling hand instinctively clutched the thin sheet that lay upon my chest, as if seeking solace in its fragile embrace. At this point, this is the only proper act that I can think of. My breath came in heavy gasps, my chest rising and falling with each laboured inhalation. I dared not make a sound for fear of disturbing the stillness that enveloped the room. With bated breath, I fixed my gaze on him, studying his unflinching countenance. With the slight tilt of his head to the left, he appeared to be pondering my actions, as if attempting to decipher the meaning behind them. A moment later, he abruptly shifted his gaze to the left, causing a sudden surge of unease to ripple through me, and I yelped. He steals a glimpse in my direction, and without hesitation, he swiftly takes three calculated steps to his left, his movements fluid and purposeful. My eyes widened in anticipation as he reached out and grasped a massive, gleaming axe, its sharp blade glinting. He didn't even bother to look back at me as he walked out of the room, leaving me behind. For a moment, I thought he meant harm to me.

As he departed, I remained motionless, my senses heightened in a state of cautious vigilance. The air mounted heavy in eagerness, as if time itself had paused to witness the aftermath of his departure. Every fibre of my being yearned for confirmation, for the assurance that his absence was indeed real. And so I lingered in that moment, my body frozen in place, as if suspended in a delicate manoeuvre between hope and uncertainty.

I cast my gaze downward, my eyes fixating on the torn strap of my floral summer dress. The delicate fabric hung loosely from my shoulder. I am sleeping on the wooden floor on a huge, thick-skinned mat, adorned with a pristine white sheet, which would provide a comforting embrace if I were in a favourable condition.

I started surveying the room in which I found myself seeking respite; my gaze was drawn to the left side. There, an assortment of weapons caught my attention, arranged with purposeful precision. A collection of formidable instruments, some concealed within a solid leather sack, while others proudly adorned the wooden wall hanging, and beneath them the row of weapons standing tall against the wall, their gleaming blades reflecting the dim light. They stood in perfect alignment, a testament to their owner's meticulous nature, arranged in ascending order from the longest to the shortest, each one poised for battle.

On the right side of the room, a small window stood wide open, offering a picturesque view of the dense woods. Beneath the window, a magnificent sight awaited: a grand wooden chest, weathered by time and adorned with intricate and curious carvings on the surface, commanded attention. The chest's frame, crafted with meticulous precision, showcased the skill of its creator. Its vintage allure was enhanced by the presence of a gleaming bronze lock, which guarded its secrets with an air of mystery.

My jeans jacket lay proudly atop the old wooden chest, and beside it, my pair of rugged cowboy boots stood tall. I crawl to it, put on my boots, and tie my jacket around my waist. I walk to where the weapons are laid, and each weapon seems to possess its own unique allure, beckoning me to choose it as my ally in the impending battle—me against that huge man.

I ran my fingers lightly over the cold, smooth metal of a sleek dagger, feeling its weight and balance in my hand, as if I knew something about weapons. It was a tempting choice, promising agility and precision in combat, but I would surely lose. Yet my eyes were soon drawn to a sturdy longsword, its hilt adorned with intricate engravings that spoke of a rich history—well, one I don't know about and I doubt if I can read. For what it's worth, these curves may not be writing at all. In the end, I found myself compelled to select an object of the utmost simplicity, and thus I settled upon a humble spear. At least it's simple in my hand, and I can weave it to keep him away from me, I say to myself. With resolute determination, I departed from the confines of the room, my chosen item held firmly in my grasp.

Emerging from the room, a sense of wonder washes over me as I take in my surroundings. I find myself standing in a magnificent bungalow nestled high amidst the branches of a towering tree. The gentle sway of the structure beneath my feet reminds me that I am perched in the midst of nature's embrace. I started to take carefully planned steps down the set of stairs, gracefully descending from the tree house and leading me towards an expanse of untamed freedom. Each step I take carries me further away from the bungalow, immersing myself in the vastness of open space. My heart pounded in my chest. My sneaky walk is cloaked by the chirping birds, the whisperers of the tall trees, and a faint melody that's reaching my ears, carried by a gentle breeze: the distant murmur of a river, the rhythmic cadence of water cascading over rocks—it feels like it's not far from the house.

Sitting upon a weathered stone with his back turned to the house that loomed behind him. His untamed mane of raven-black hair was gathered haphazardly into a dishevelled man bun, perhaps a subtle gesture to convey that he posed no harm. His hands meticulously moved back and forth. The air was heavy with the scent of metal and a strange oil structure as he fervently polished the massive sword before him, focusing on the gleaming blade as if engaged in an intimate conversation. The air was thick with anticipation as I drew nearer to him. From a safe distance, I cautiously extended the pointed ends of the spear. With a gentle prod, I delicately touched his back, hoping to capture his attention.

"Don't move!" I let out a fierce bark, my voice echoing through the air, but he remained unfazed. With a calm demeanour, he nonchalantly placed the gleaming sword across his knees as if it were a mere trinket. My heart raced as I anxiously looked around our surroundings. My eyes darted from one corner to another, searching for any familiar figure or if we were alone. "Where is my father?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, hoping to get an answer that would favor me.

"I wouldn't know," he replied, his voice postern and heavy with emotion, sending vibrations through the depths of my belly.

"Are you mocking me?" I asked, my tone tinged with a mix of defensiveness. I couldn't help but wet my lower lip nervously, my eyes still darting around, searching for any sign of movement in our surroundings.

"I doubt I know how." His answer had caught me off guard.

"Okay," I replied softly, my head slightly tilted in contemplation as I searched for the perfect words. "Okay." I also wanted to sound determined. I mean, I am determined, but my nerves are making me nod impulsively. "Okay, show me my way home." I desire to exude an air of authority and command respect with every word I utter. I glanced at him, hoping to see a flicker of acknowledgement or a hint of deference. Yet, to my dismay, he remained unperturbed. It was as if my aspirations to assert dominance were but a mere breeze against an immovable mountain. In truth, it seems as if he is aware that I am clueless about what to do with the spear.

"I'm afraid I can't intervene," he said, his voice laced with sadness.

"Why not?" I asked, my eyes searching his face for any sign of hope.

"It's complicated," he replied, his voice tinged with regret as he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "There are forces at play that are beyond my control. "But, would you like something to drink? That, I can provide."

"Stop playing with me," I said, my voice tinged with a mix of anger and hurt. With a determined look in my eyes, I pressed the sharp tip of the spear against his flesh, applying just enough pressure to make my intentions clear. However, to my surprise, nothing seemed to be happening. Perhaps the spear is weak or his skin is strange, as evidence of his nature.

"That won't do anything; stop wasting your time," he said, his tone laced with a hint of annoyance. As he rises from his seat, a towering figure emerges before me, casting a shadow that engulfs my diminutive frame. The sheer height of his presence leaves me feeling incredibly small in comparison. In an instant, a surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins, propelling me forward with an urgency I had never felt before. Without a second thought, I dashed into the dense woods, my heart pounding in my chest, desperately seeking refuge from him. Though I am escaping, he is not following me.

Confusion and relief intertwined, creating a bittersweet sensation in the depths of my being. It was as if the universe had played a cruel trick on my heart, leaving me with more questions than answers. Yet, amidst the chaos of my thoughts, there was a glimmer of solace, a flicker of relief that whispered, Perhaps this was for the best. Unfortunately, my exhilarating run through the forest came to an abrupt halt. The rhythmic sound of my footsteps was suddenly drowned out by a loud, slithering sound that seemed to echo from all directions. Startled, I gasped for breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I desperately tried to focus on the source of the disturbance.

"Oh, no." Before I could even finish uttering my words, I felt the sudden tightening grip of his cunning trap, ensnaring me in its clutches. A sudden and unexpected force gripped my ankle with iron-like strength. The sensation was jarring, causing me to lose my balance and plummet backward. The ground beneath me was a haunting sight, littered with the remnants of lives. As I was forcefully dragged across the unforgiving terrain, a swirling cloud of dust began to materialise, enveloping me in its gritty embrace, and the spear slipped from my grasp. My jacket loosens its tight cinches. I can feel some parts of my dress ripping. My heart pounded in my chest, a symphony of fear and adrenaline echoing through my veins. I found myself in a precarious situation, my body suspended in mid-air, dangling helplessly by my left foot. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves. And then, like a foreboding omen, I could feel his presence approaching. Each step he took reverberated through the forest, a symphony of heavy footsteps that echoed in the depths of my being. Panic coursed through my veins, a relentless surge of adrenaline as I desperately struggled against the unforgiving grip of the trap ensnaring my ankle. Each futile attempt to free myself only intensified the grip of the rope. My fidgeting only serves to feed my fear.

"The woods," he said with a grave tone, his eyes scanning the surroundings, "are filled with traps." As he spoke, he began to skillfully manoeuvre his tools, carefully working to cut me down from the entangled mess above.

"Get away from me!" I exclaimed, my eyes wide with alarm. In a fit of panic, I let out a piercing scream, desperately attempting to fend him off. "I'm trying to help," he murmurs softly but in a growling manner, his voice barely audible over the sound of my racing heartbeat. With nimble fingers, he skillfully slices through the coarse rope that binds my left ankle, its tight grip causing my skin to protest. "Perhaps it would be best to avoid the woods if you wish to go for a run," he suggests, his words only adding to my already perplexed state.

With a sudden release of tension, the firm grasp of the rope around my ankle loosens, allowing my foot to slip effortlessly out of the confining boot. In an instant, my body loses weight, and I drop to the unforgiving ground below. The impact jarred my senses, leaving me disoriented and vulnerable. As the world around me fades into obscurity, I find myself surrendering once more to the enigmatic embrace of darkness, my eyelids closing like the final chapter of a forgotten tale.

***

Nevaeh's heart raced within her chest, her fingers tightly gripping the soft fabric of her grey chunky cardigan. She paced back and forth in the corridor, the sterile hospital scent filling her nostrils. Each step echoed against the cold, ice-white linoleum floor, a rhythmic symphony of anxiety and worry. Before her, the heavy door of the hospital room stood as a barrier between Nevaeh and her beloved daughter, Celeste. Behind that door, the battle for Celeste's health raged on, a war fought by skilled doctors and nurses armed with medical knowledge and unwavering determination. Nevaeh's heart ached at the thought of her precious child enduring such pain and suffering. With each passing moment, Nevaeh's mind was consumed by a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, like a relentless predator, gnawed at her every thought, threatening to consume her whole. She longed to be by Celeste's side, to hold her hand and offer comfort in the face of adversity. But for now, all she could do was pace, her restless steps echoing the turmoil within her heart.

Her once-well-attended hair is now concealed beneath a delicate scarf, artfully wound around her head. Her slender figure spoke volumes of the sacrifices she had made and the toll that her unwavering dedication had taken on her own well-being. Day after day, she poured her heart and soul into the care of Celeste, a soul so distant and unresponsive. In her relentless pursuit to bring light to Celeste's darkness, she had inadvertently neglected her own needs, allowing her body to wither away, a physical manifestation of her selflessness.

She clung desperately to hope, a fragile facade she meticulously maintained in the presence of others. Yet deep within, she engaged in countless internal battles, grappling with the decision to release her grip on that which she held so dear. In the depths of her heart, she grappled with a profound dilemma. How could she, in good conscience, allow her heart to wiggle when she found herself unburdened by the weight while being offered assistance for what she could not afford? It is a once-in-a-million chance, a fleeting whisper of destiny that beckons to those who dare to listen. And in the midst of this cosmic dance, she finds herself standing at the precipice of possibility. She could swear that she can see subtle nuances that only a mother’s eyes can notice and that others fail to perceive. It was these slight differences that fueled her determination and kept her going despite the challenges. But in moments like these, when Celeste is undergoing some sort of episode, a sense of unease creeps in. Doubts began to gnaw at her, questioning whether her actions were truly beneficial or if they were inadvertently causing harm to Celeste.

She was so young when she had her, and she was such a beacon of light for her and her late husband that everything they passed through was worthwhile. It is an ordeal to see her daughter confined in bed and unaware of what's going on around her. She still recalls how energising she was, her thoughtfulness, her vibrant smile, and her selfless humanity. She was just everything they ever wished for, and she kept them going when times were hard. They were one because of her, in a rhythmical clash of us against the world.

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she caught sight of Abigail making her way towards her. "What brings you here?" she asked, her tone laced with a hint of discomfort. Abi's heart fluttered as she stepped foot in this familiar place once again. It had been years since she had last been there to accompany her mother. The memories flooded back, filling her with a mix of nostalgia and nervousness. The air was thick with a sense of déjà vu, as if time had stood still in this very spot. The first time they heard the news about the accident, the smell of the hospital, the rush in the emergency room, her mother holding her brother Dion in one hand and her in the other as she rushed to the hospital... It all comes back like fragmented memories.

"Uncle Roge is heading to school to get Dion." She hugged her mother, Nevaeh, who was looking at her, confused about her strange behaviour. "I thought you might need me here," she whispered to her, her voice barely audible in the silent corridor. Nevaeh, feeling a surge of comfort, responded by tightening her embrace and holding on to her tightly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm good, just..." she said, her voice trailing off as she shrugged. Her words lingered in the air, leaving a sense of incompleteness. As she sat beside her, she turned to face her, and a wave of uncertainty washed over her. There was so much swirling around in her mind, making it difficult to find the right words to say. She hesitated, unsure of how to begin the conversation.

With a curious glimmer in her eyes, she leaned in and asked, "Anything new?" Nevaeh, to her surprise, simply shrugged in response.

"Well, they are in," she said, her voice filled with hesitation. She looked at her, her eyes widening with curiosity. "Really? After all this time?" She nodded, a smile playing with a curious expression, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What's with the sudden interest?" she asked, her voice tinged with a hint of suspicion. She reaches out and delicately tucks a stray strand of Abi’s hair behind her left ear. Abigail, feeling a sudden surge of nervousness, instinctively pulled down her ponytail, a subtle gesture betraying her inner turmoil.

"I don't know," she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Maybe, just maybe, I need my mom more than ever." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she contemplated the weight of her words. The room fell silent, the air heavy with the weight of her admission. Nevaeh couldn't help but notice the way she delicately ran her tongue over her lower lip, a subtle gesture that betrayed a hint of nervousness. Abigail looked up, and her eyes met her mother's tired gaze.

"I am here." She plants a kiss on her right hand as she clasps it between her palms. "I am always here." She wants me to reassure her.

"Mom," she began, her voice tinged with frustration, "how long does this thing have to go on?" Her mother sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"Oh, sweetheart," she replied, her voice filled with weariness, "I wish I had an answer for you."

"This whole situation has been dragging on for far too long, hasn't it?" Abigail was hoping to find a way to convince her one way or another. "This thing..."

"What thing?"

"Don't do this, mom. I think you have to let..." Nevaeh places her right hand on Abi's lips to silence her so she wouldn't complete her statement.

"She is improving," she says, swallowing hard. "We can't give up when we get all the help we need. Why are you like this?" She wraps her arms around herself as she shakes her head in disbelief.

Abigail blew air, her eyes fixed on the ground, as she nervously swallowed the air down her throat. "Okay," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. "Will you be at home tomorrow? We should do something together." Abigail was hoping she wouldn't forget again.

"Honey!" Nevaeh sighs in exhaustion. "What's more urgent than your sister's condition?"

"Yes." Abigail shakes her head and secretly bites her lips. "You know, I'm going out tonight," she said in the hope of diverting the conversation as she stands, but in a way telling her that there are things she needs to put into consideration.

"Please, it's not time to throw a tantrum. Don't disappoint your uncle." Nevaeh is concerned that this is one of Abi’s cries for attention.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm actually going out with friends who care about my existence. Celebrating my birthday." She throws her backpack on her left shoulder and starts walking down the corridor.

"Oh, s**t!" Nevaeh exclaims as she pats her forehead, standing up and looking at Abigail walking away. "Abi!" She projects her voice and stops her. "I'm sorry." She tries to hug her, but Abigail pushes her off.

"You know you should probably go; the doctors are out," she points out to her, and Nevaeh turns back and Abigail walks away. She didn't have a choice but to stay behind with the doctors.

***

Just as Abigail rushes out of the elevator, she runs into the man helping them with Celeste's expense, and she holds her breath as he holds her by her shoulders in shock. He seemed too worried and dressed unusually—his brown coat in his right hand, his black shirt unbuttoned, showing his broad chest, and his brown hair a little messy with strands on his forehead.

"What happened? Is she okay?" he asks her, and she breathes a smile as she shakes her head in disbelief, wiping her tears off her cheeks.

"Are you worried you will lose your lab rat?" she asks, and he exhales a breath of relief.

"So it's one of those days," he says, flashing a smile that brightens his cognac-brown eyes.

"Look, I can understand my mom, but I can see through you. You are exploiting our vulnerability." She is looking at him in disbelief as the words escape her lips.

"Is that so?" He looks around, checking if they are alone in this hospital corridor. He then closes the gap between them, and she recedes back until her back touches the wall, and he plays a smile tinted with melancholy. He bends down until he gets closer to her face. His tallness displayed clear dominance; his breath was washing her face, and it sent a shiver down her spine. "You little brat. You are looking for attention against a girl as good as dead," his voice projected in a whisper, clear for both of them. "And you know the sad part—you won't get it. You know what's hurting you is the fact that her shadow will always overpower your existence." His smile makes her swallow hard as fear spreads throughout her body. "No one wants you, and I bet it hurts." He stands up, looking down at her.

"You're a sick f**k," she whispers, and she speeds out of the hospital, as if she is running away from him, to where her friend Zoe's car waits for her in front of the hospital entrance.

***

Unlike any other day, Abigail seemed lost in her thoughts. Not even her best friend Zoe can make her smile throughout the entire drive to the party they prepared for her birthday in this old, ruined building. In her quest to banish his words from her thoughts, she sought solace in the embrace of alcohol, dance, and the occasional passionate moments shared with her boyfriend, David. She yearned to break free from the suffocating grip of this overwhelming emotion. It clung to her like a heavy shroud, weighing down her spirit and clouding her every thought.

"I want to do it now," she screams against the loud music in her boyfriend's ears, and he looks at her curiously. "That's my birthday wish—to ride your bike now." She bites her lip, pulls out the key from his pants, and rushes through the dancing crowd as he tries to get the key from her.

"Abi, No!" He snatches the key out of her hand, and she shakes her head and snatches it back. Zoe followed them out, looking at them both puzzled, and Sam, Zoe's boyfriend, joined them.

"I swear, I remember everything you told me, and I am not drunk. I just need my adrenaline to kick in. The hardest. I need the wind on my face. That's all." She walks away, and Zoe stops the guys and follows her.

"Hey, love," she says, holding her on her shoulder. "Are you sure?" she asks, concerned.

"Like no one can talk me out of it, sure," she answers, her eyes fixed on the road as she leaps on the bike, and Zoe sets aside her hands in the air. The night wind rustled through their hair, as if echoing her unwavering resolve.

"At list..."

"Don't worry, Dave," she cut him off, assuring him with a smile, though he was still hesitant about it. Her nimble fingers gripped the handlebars, and with a swift kick, the engine roared to life, its powerful vibrations coursing through her body.

She speeds off on the asphalt as if she is riding into the moon ahead of her. In control, as she promised. In the midst of her ride, her thoughts clouded her focus like flashing lights. Then her grip on the handlebars slipped, causing the bike to veer off course. Suddenly, she found herself soaring through the air. Time seemed to stretch, making her body weightless and vulnerable. The wind whipped against her face, tugging at her hair and clothes roughly. And then, with a bone-jarring thud, she crashed down onto the unyielding asphalt.