Page 30 of Ruby
Still no heavy footfalls or annoyingly longsuffering chirps. He left me.
I deserved it.
The air in my lungs escapes me slowly as my body collapses to the ground, involuntarily curling. Another panic attack is the last thing I need, but that doesn’t mean I can control it. I know this well, having been locked in my room plenty of time for“being dramatic and useless.” I try to pull myself out of it, but it is proving much harder than usual.
I open my mouth to talk myself out of it, but the words seize in my throat and only a broken song comes out. My joints are frozen in place, and I cannot move. All I can do is feel the tears as they stream down my face and beg myself to hold it together.
It is as if the combined trauma of all I have experienced since getting to this strange place hits me all at once and like a sledgehammer to the ribs, it knocks all the air out of my lungs, reaching its cold, clammy hands down my throat while whispering portents of doom softly in my ears.
For a good long minute, I don’t know where I am, and I feel another scream pushing its way up my throat, my mind frantic to keep it in, until I hear a soft song from beside me.
It is gentle at first, barely there but I focus all my energy on it. My eyes are screwed shut but I feel something soft rub against me. It is warm and comfortable and instead of making me want to scream, it feels like a weighted blanket.
The singing is also closer and I can tell it is from a familiar voice. His. He didn’t leave me.
I let the song fill my ears and calm the thumping of my heart, slowing my breath until it matches the pace of the song.
He sings a song that has no translation, just a series of emotions, and I cling to each intonation. I allow the song to get to me until I am singing along with him, quietly, my voice complimenting his.
I let it carry my fear outside of my body until the weight around my shoulder is lifted and I don’t feel like I am being chased by my mother and the ghosts of my past anymore.
The song ends when I open my eyes and look up to see the alien’s brilliant green-blue eyes looking into mine, full of concern and worry for me.
I don’t know how to react, so I look away, my body flush with embarrassment. I can’t believe I just had a panic attack in front of someone this new to me. I hate being vulnerable with anyone, much less with this alien who practically dragged me out of the canopy above.
“You better?” he asks in a gentle tone, and I feel myself starting to choke up, my song struggling to leave my throat.
I hide my face behind my palms and turn away from him.
“Yes,” I simply respond, and I hear a sound that closely resembles a scoff of disbelief.
He coos and I listen for a bit, trying to determine if there is any judgment or pity intended but there isn’t, only honesty. “If not, is fine.”
Guilt hits me like a ton of bricks. He’s been nothing but honest and open since our initial meeting and it makes me feel small and stupid. Broken and vulnerable in a way I have avoided my whole life.
That gentle tone makes me feel laid bare and while part of me wants to cling to it, another part is terrified. Others have beengentle. At first. Until they got what they wanted. The memories surge and I know I have to beat them back before they strangle the breath from me again.
I scramble in my mind for my masks, the Bitch slipping back over me out of habit, though I know it is the wrong one for this moment.
I let myself breathe, trying not to overthink it. If I don’t make it out of this alive, it’s far more likely to be because I was weak. Pathetic. If I keep overthinking, another panic attack might just take me out.
He is still staring at me inquisitively, as if waiting for me to answer truthfully whether I truly am fine or not, and with the passing seconds, I start to feel more antsy. For someone who is used to having multitudes of eyes on her, I should not be as unnerved as I am, but I almost feel as if he just saw me naked and I don’t like it.
I make myself rise, then I put my arms around myself and shift from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. “Stop looking.”
He doesn’t stop but sings back to me instead. “My regrets. Want sure you better.”
I can’t help it when I look up at him and suddenly better appreciate that he is not just a bright yellow-blue ball of insistent sunshine; there are polka dotted dark-blue spots on his many arms, going horizontally across his shoulders and then trailing into feathers. My eyes rise up to the plume of blue feathers, with softer, thinner red creating a striking contrast.
When he is not looming and creeping me out, his coloring is kind of beautiful.
“I better,” I promise, no maliciousness in my tone, at distinct odds with the Bitch mask I am desperately trying to keep in place like it’s the one thing keeping my mind from shattering.
“Us leave,” I add, running my hands over myself as a chilly wind blows at me, reminding me that it will be night soon.
I don’t think he hears me with how low my voice is, so I look up at him and attempt to repeat myself but the words are stuck in my throat. There is a familiar tinkle in the bottom of my stomach that travels straight between my legs and if I didn’t know any better, I would assume that I am turned on by looking at the alien.
Which shouldn’t even be possible because we aren’t even the same kind of thing, right?
