Lazu Jet Markl
I was crying, why the hell was I crying? I shouldn't be, I was fine. I was safe. I was safe at the protection house, no one could hurt me. I should be grateful to Julian, instead of sitting here, crying like an idiot. I forced myself to look at Julian, who had worry in his eyes. Feelings of guilt washed over the terror and loneliness. Julian had saved me, and now I was worrying him. I felt like an awful person. But I couldn't stop crying. Small, pathetic little sobs left my throat as I stared at his chin again.
His breathing was weird, a bit shaky. My lips moved, I didn't want them to. I hated my tic, my obsessive need to use other people's words. Words were horrible. They had failed me so many times today. I wanted to get up, I wanted to run, hide, curl up, break down into tears and sob out my pathetic blue heart. I had never felt this lost and terrible. Had nowhere to turn to.
Out of nowhere, Julian stood up. I flinched, pressing myself against the back of my chair. I had to take a deep, shaky breath as I reminded myself that Julian was no Jazz. Julian was not usually violent. Julian would not hurt me. Yet, the way he towered over me made me feel terrified. Vulnerable.
He suddenly took my hands, which were shaking, and pulled me up. The movement was sudden, but surprisingly gentle. It took my breath away, leaving me tense and confused. My knees were shaking, weak, if it wasn't for the sudden support of Julian's arms, I would've collapsed. My head was leaning against a solid surface. It radiated warmth and safety in the rhythm of a steady heartbeat. I shivered slightly, but didn't move. My arms were hanging uselessly by my side, unsure of this sudden new contact. It felt like we were balancing on a tightrope, one step would lead to utter disaster. For god's sake, Lazu, it's only a bloody hug, calm down.
“You’re not alone, Lazu,” he whispered to me. His voice was like a gentle warm breeze near my ear. It send soothing shivers down my spine, which made me feel strange. All of this was just strange. “You have me, and Raisa, and everybody in the house if it comes down to it. You’re not alone. And you’re safe now, where you should be. And you will be fine.”
I'm not? I tilt my head slightly so I can see his facial expression. He looked like he believed his words. He looked confident and certain. Steady. Safe. My lips parted slightly, words on the tip of my tongue. But they feel alien against my vocal chords.
“I have the heart of a child,” I whisper slowly. My eyes trail away from his face and stare blankly at the wall. I nod slowly, listening to the beating of his heart. It's steady, slightly quicker than my own. I click my tongue in time with the beating, letting it sooth me. After twenty beats, I continue the quote. “I keep it in a jar on my shelf.” Twenty more silent beats as I focus on his warmth, the steady beating, the silence from my lips. Then they ruin the moment. My brain is not even thinking about the words anymore. There's something so strange and alien about the situation, my lips were defending me, trying to keep me safe. Safe from what? Julian's strange kindness? His sudden affectionate behaviour?
“Any woman who thinks the way to a man's heart is through his stomach,” I hear myself say, unsure why this quote is used. “She's aiming about ten inches too high.” I shiver, maybe I'm cold. I don't feel cold, but I'm still shirtless. It might explain why. But Julian seems to keep me warm. Yet, my shivering body disagrees with that statement.
“A torn jacket is soon mended,” I whisper, my voice still shaking. My arms finally move as I lay one hand on Julian's chest, feeling the steady beating under my fingertips. I slowly tap my index finger in time with the rhythm. “But hard words bruise the heart of a child.” I seriously wonder what the hell is wrong with me sometimes and why I do these things. Why I can't just be normal.
“One single grateful thought raised to heaven is the most perfect prayer,” I whisper, pressing my face against his chest. Tears make round spots on the fabric. I bit my lip hard and shiver again.
Jaimes Avril Ashley
I stare at the 'arrow', which lands about two metres in front of the target. Oh. Huh. I'm actually quite surprised and impressed with that. Okay, Mr. Sceptic probably won't be, but that's fine. This is all weird enough as it is. I feel him lean against my shoulder, his muscles are tense, yet there's something so peaceful about this particular moment. It makes goosebumps pop up on the skin of my arms. His nails sink into my hips very suddenly. It's painful, but not in a bad way. Definitively not a bad way at all. It's a pain that sends shivers down my spine and into my groin.
“How's that then, teacher?”
“So good,” he says breathily. Oh crap. There was something so sexual about the way his voice sounded, it was like... The Sound of an Instant Boner. They should sell tapes with his voice sounding that way, instead of Viagra. It would fucking work. I feel his heat beat against my chest as I repress the urge to pin him to the wall of that shed over there and strip him. And then let him rape me in the woods. Yes. Yes- Wait, no. I should not be thinking about that. Or imagining it.
Very suddenly, he lets go of me, which causes me to feel... alone. I'm normally alone, so I'm very confused as to why it suddenly hits me this hard. It chases away the sexual thoughts and leaves me.. cold. He steps backwards, a strange, confused, maybe even dazed look in his eyes. As if he was mirroring the feelings that went though my toughened heart. Wow, something must be really wrong with me for me to be thinking this poetically. I was sick. Had a fever. That explained this mess.
“I- I have to go,” he says. He trips over a tree root, and the sadistic side of me, laughs. That strange, psychopathic side of me, which I aspire to be. It's coldly amused by the foolish look of this strange guy.
“I- I’ll bring my r-rubber tipped arrows t-tomorrow,” he says, half-stumbling over his own words. I raise an eyebrow, amused.
“I'll be here,” I purr, not thinking about each and every implication and risk behind my words. “One o'clock.” He was strangely stuttering. Well, I was amazingly handsome of course. My beauty probably completely stunned him. His lips part and my eyes linger on them. But before he says anything, he closes his mouth and tugs the bow from my hands. My hands feel strangely empty suddenly. He walks away and I watch him, my eyes on his back. He grabs the cannibal's hand and drags her inside. She flinches and looks confused. The door slams behind them, the sound echoing in my head. It feels numb. Strange. I feel... Lost.
Jesus Christ. It's enough to turn you into an alcoholic, isn't it? I turn and walks out of the garden, large steps, quick steps. Looking for a distraction. I need something, anything, to clear my mind from meeting the strange guy named Jack.
Because he doesn't matter. None of the things he said, the lesson, the... emotions... they were nothing. I needed to focus on getting his heart. I needed to get eleven more hearts in the next couple of months. Otherwise I would never get Linda back.
I took a turn and went into the village, unsure of what steps to take next. My hands tremble as my thoughts keep returning to a little soul in the realm of the dead. In months, it'll be too late to save her. And murdering, it's the only thing I can do to get her back. To keep her safe again. I look around me. Lost. That's how I feel suddenly. And it's weird. Strange. Stupid.
Welcome to Night Vale. All Hail the Glow Cloud. All Hail Perfect, Beautiful Carlos.
Warlock – Male – Lev Ivor Tsiskaridze – Theodora
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