CONTAINS CONTENT:
Intense themes and struggles.
{{Unedited}}
At two in the morning, Marielle couldn’t sleep and meandered into the living room and back to her laptop.
She glanced up at the list of names of people who were currently online. Jamie, Han, – the little symbol next to their names indicated that they were talking to one another – Kiritani, but he was away, and Austin. Why was he up?
She moved her mouse over his name, wanting to see his text as he typed back to her. She opened a chat box and stared at the white screen and the flashing cursor, asking her what she wanted to say. Her gaze flicked down to the camera icon and the microphone. If she even attempted to talk to him right now, she’d wake Vincent and he’d walk in on them talking. Was there harm in talking to him, though? She really wanted to know why he was up, how he was doing and if she was being honest, what he was doing.
She turned the volume down to almost nothing, looked over her right shoulder toward the hall, and double clicked the camera icon.
Not more than a moment later, Austin’s face and bare shoulders appeared. His eyes were red rimmed, hollow, empty pools, behind a pair of reading glasses, but they flickered with relief when he saw her face. Neither of them said anything, he knew that saying anything would risk waking Vincent as well. He folded his hands under his chin and stared at her, his face illuminated by the computer screen in his dark room. He removed the glasses and met eyes with her intensely.
She wondered if she merely had to see his face to hear his thoughts for a moment, and realized that he was trying the same. However, since nothing happened, they continued to remain silent.
He swallowed and raked his hair, making her wish that she was doing it instead of him. She missed the feel of his hair.
A minute past, then two, and all that they did was stare at one another, both of their eyes welling. “How are you?” she mouthed.
He shook his head and looked off with a heavy sigh. Again, he pulled his fingertips through his hair, followed by putting it behind his ears with both hands, and pinched his own chin. Finally, he met eyes with her again and gave her an exaggerated shrug. He looked like if he relaxed at all, he’d dissolve like cotton candy in water.
He folded his hands under his chin again and looking deeply into her eyes. “I’m looking at you,” he whispered.
“I know,” she mouthed.
“No, I mean…” He lifted his hands as if to indicate a camera and pressed his pointer finger down as if clicking a photograph. She exhaled, right… the photos. He probably had them on his computer. “You’re so beautiful,” he mouthed. “Perfetta,” he breathed. She didn’t know that word, but could fill in the blanks. He leaned closer to the microphone, whispering. “Sono rovinato. Non riesco a dormire, mi manca il calore del tuo corpo accanto al mio. Il sapore della tua lingua sta scomparendo dalla mia bocca e lo odio. Continuo a chiudere gli occhi e cerco di immaginare te, il tuo corpo, il tuo seno, il sapore del tuo amore. Sto fallendo. Voglio il mio nome sul tuo polso, sul tuo collo e sul tuo cuore. Voglio che tu mi ami così tanto. So che mi ami ed è per questo che non riesco a capire perché mi hai lasciato. Sogno le tue labbra rosse e quel vestito. Immagino la tua bocca sulla mia. Ci immagino tra cinque, dieci, quindici anni, camminare per strada, tenendoci per mano, con la nostra bambina in mezzo a noi. Ma questo mi distruggerà per il resto della mia vita, Marielle. Vorrei che fosse uno scherzo. La mia regina rossa.” With tears in his eyes, he pulled slowly back so that she could see all of him again.
She wet her lips, and sniffled as she dashed some tears from her eyes. Then she leaned in to the keyboard, typing you know that I don’t know what you said. I recognized a few words… mouth, red? Love.
He typed back I said… He stopped typing and leaned back in his chair, his gaze focused and unblinking on her face. Then he lifted a shaking hand and pointed to his right eye slowly, his finger went down to his heart, then he caressed the computer screen where her lips were. I love you.
She broke and hung her head, crying softly.
He shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “Don’t cry, darling,” he breathed. Then he exhaled long and hard. “Marielle.” He corrected.
She chuckled silently, and wiped more tears away. “Do you have to be up in two hours?” He nodded. “Will you be okay?”
He leaned forward and typed. When I was in training, I once spent five days straight awake. You start to hallucinate. His jaw tensed several times in a row. It’s not fun. He made a little sound and sat back.
She checked over her shoulder again. Vincent was still asleep; she could hear him softly snoring. Austin caught this action and for a moment and she saw that flicker of hope in his eyes that said, are you checking to see if he’s out because you’re going to tell me that you love me? Are you going to blow me kisses? Are you going to whisper to me? Are you going to take your clothes off for me? Are you simply going to reassure me?
She did nothing.
He didn’t seem to be able to help it; he lifted his fingers again and was obviously tracing the lines around her face, tenderly. She could feel it both in her mind, and a little on her face.
Shaking, she typed, please stop.
He took his fingers away, and typed back, you don’t want me to. I can see it in your eyes. But, I will.
She typed at him; can we have a normal relationship again?
She glanced over her shoulder again, thinking that she heard Vincent stir. She had, but he didn’t get up.
When she looked back at the computer his answer was, I don’t think so, but I can try. Not after what we did. Not after the memories, Marielle. But I swear that I’ll try. Do you know how much it hurts me knowing that you went to bed with him tonight?
She closed her eyes and nodded, typing, I do.
Do you think we can ever be anything other than what we are?
What do you mean? She clacked out.
We’re in love, Marielle. We’ve always been in love, we confided this to one another over the weekend, or have you forgotten already? Because I won’t be forgetting anytime soon.
All I can tell you is that it’s over. She replied.
He took a deep breath in, and slowly let it out. “I know,” he whispered sadly. “It’s just not going to be over in my mind for a long time, you know?”
She leaned forward, typing again. Can you not accept that it’s over? Do I have to break away from you entirely?
“Why did you even start camera with me in the first place?”
“I wanted to know that you’re okay,” she whispered, scratching at her shoulder as her tattoos flared up with their reminder. They shimmered shortly after, reminding Austin that Vincent was there, and near to her.
“Well, I’m not,” he breathed. “I’m not going to be. I’m fighting feelings that are so intense that I don’t know what to make of them.” He chuckled ironically and shook his head, “Marielle, up is down right now.”
She exhaled, slowly. “Do we need to spend some time apart?”
“That won’t cure this,” he said tightly. He shook his head, a serious expression blazing in his eyes, “not even a little.” There was silence. “I just keep wanting to tell you to knock this off and come to me already. Don’t tell me that you don’t want to come to me.” His eyes turned dark and he glared at her; something flickering in them that reminded her too much of… “Stop playing, I know that your answer is me.”
“If you can’t-” she fumbled for the word, “behave? Then I will cut off contact with you.”
He jumped on that instantly. “Oh, whatever. You will not.”
“Are you daring me?” He crossed his arms again and flicked an eyebrow at her, slightly tipping his head forward as if to say yes. “Grow up,” she growled, and she disconnected.
She was only able to catch the briefest glimpse of his face before it minimized. He was so hurt.
Her chest throbbed. What would he do? He’d sink so deeply into porn and surrogates, and darkness now, wouldn’t he? That was exactly what he was doing right now wasn’t it? He was already putting searches into the computer.
She sobbed silently into her caged hand as she closed her laptop and set it aside.
After sitting for a moment, she dashed her tears away, and got up to go back to bed. Once there, her phone lit up. “I’m sorry, darling.” A moment, a new text. “I’m sorry, Marielle. I shouldn’t have provoked you like that. Forgive me? Please?” She shut her phone off with a heavy sigh, silencing all communication with him. There was no way that she could avoid him forever, or how she felt about him.
Oh, God… she thought quietly. This is what Vincent was talking about, isn’t it? In the other world- other Marielle could never let Austin go, so eventually his will consumed him. I have to let him go. I have to let him go. She put her hands up over her face and cried silently for a moment. Okay, okay… I have to figure this out. This is what happened in the other world, isn’t it? He fell in love with me, but he never learned to handle his own issues without me so I became his deepest, darkest obsession, and without me he fell apart. But I kept staying with him and never gave him the space to learn how to work himself out. I have to stop giving him the affection, and the love. I know that, but I’m realizing how final it is. Oh, God… I love him so much. How in the world am I going to do this?
She imagined herself trying to truly break away from him, and her insides twisted at the thought of him going to China at the end of the year. She wouldn’t be able to find him if she needed him. She had a brief mental image of herself wandering the busy streets of Hong Kong with her mind as an open channel crying -Austin? Austin? Darling? Darling, please find me! I’m here… I’m here. I’m with you. Where are you? And she shuddered at that reality; lost in a crowd full of faces that she didn’t recognize. All of the men had dark hair and wore suits, completely blinding her to him visually.
Marielle and Austin seemed to have about a forty-to-fifty-foot mental range – they hadn’t measured it yet – how long would she wander aimlessly in circles looking for her love? Days? Weeks? Months? Only to find him and discover that he’d found another lover… or twelve? Or worse? What would be worse? To find him with someone else, or to never find him at all?
Grabbing the pillow, she buried her face under it and wept as quietly as possible into the mattress.
She turned toward Vincent and sighed. She loved this man, too. It hurt… knowing that she loved both, but the one that she wanted desperately was not ready for her and the one that she was with had caused so many problems that she felt shaky and uncertain in her very soul.
What was worse was that she understood Vincent and every decision that he’d made. She knew why he’d come here secretly; he wanted to protect her. She knew why he left the other Marielle’s alone; they were all with Austin. She knew why he hadn’t shared the cure with the others, they had all blindly started following and praising Cory.
For a few moments, she found herself wondering why she was with Vincent at all. Yes, she loved him, yes, they smiled and laughed sometimes. Yes, she enjoyed their time together. Yes, she felt like she related to him because they were both French and they had other things in common. Yes, she knew that he loved her… but did he understand her at all?
Austin’s voice came crashing into her head- You like that he’s dangerous. It gets you off. Because you’ve never needed a man, you’re strong enough on your own, aren’t you? So, the fact that it feels like he could take you and do…whatever he wanted with you at any point excites you, doesn’t it?
She was never sure why these words from Austin were always the ones that haunted her, but they were. They came back to her time and time again. Hiding under the pillow in the dark, she found herself relating to those words too much.
She’d liked that he was dangerous, but now she knew how dangerous he was. He was so dangerous that she hadn’t even crashed from the trauma that she’d experienced over the last few weeks, yet. She was certain that any minute she was going to fall apart, and one of the only things that had been keeping her together was her need to care for Austin and keep him going as well because they’d both survived most of it together.
She knew that none of it was Vincent’s fault. Yet, like the eye of a storm, he was at the center causing the tornado to continue to swirl. He’d started the entire thing off, true enough, but he never meant to hurt her, or Sasha, or… her mind couldn’t even conjure Tala’s name.
She wasn’t sure that she could do this, but right now, she would; she wouldn’t talk to Austin the rest of the night. That was a start. They’d probably talk tomorrow, and when they did, she was determined to set some boundaries.
She cuddled next to Vincent, who responded by turning enough to put his arms around her, and fell asleep.
***
Austin put his hands over his face and stood away from the chair and his cell phone, pacing for a moment. “That was dumb. That was so dumb…” He glanced at the phone. She hadn’t replied in several long minutes, he wasn’t sure why he expected her to now.
He hadn’t been in bed tonight. Every time he had even looked at the bedroom, he was filled with anxiety. He kept thinking that he’d walk into the room and she’d be there, but knew that she wouldn’t and for some reason that was causing the pit of his stomach to open.
He’d skipped dinner, and stared at the television until his mind told him that he should go to bed, at which point he forced himself through whatever mental block there was in his bedroom and collapsed, only to find out that the pillows still smelled like her.
Sighing, and gripping one of them against him, he’d buried his face into it, inhaling her scent repeatedly, and clinging closely to it, forming it against his body. -Darling… darling… Marielle… he’d kept thinking over and over again. He hadn’t cried for a while, just stared into nothing and found himself stroking the pillow as if he thought it was really her. Then stopping because he’d felt dumb, then doing it all over again until he tried to convince himself that maybe it wasn’t that stupid because it was giving him a small bit of comfort… but the moment that he realized that this was what was comforting him – not Marielle, herself – he’d fallen apart a little more. Now, I really am crazy. He thought.
He got up and went to his computer and had been there mindlessly filling out paper work for his China assignment, and playing music off the internet until she’d indicated that she wanted to talk to him via camera.
Now he felt alone in a way that he’d never known before. This feeling was similar to what happened after his knowledge of Tundra and what he’d done to his victims, and yet somehow worse; maybe because then there was still hope. Marielle had come to him and shown him that she still accepted him. They’d cuddled on his couch and eaten pancakes and butterscotch syrup; he’d kissed her. Because my kiss? Is yours and yours alone. Echoed in his mind.
It was dark, and felt like a hole slowly opening underneath him; his visions of hell returning as he thought about his job.
He remembered being twenty-three and taking Erin straight to bed when he’d come back from a “computer training” conference.
During that time away he’d actually been in Russia… where they’d taught him the techniques of viewing another human as expendable and – even worse – a non-thing. So, he didn’t feel much when he tied them to a chair and pulled a well sharpened blade down their leg, splitting their thigh as he calmly asked for information. They taught him how to hear screams as music and how to shut noises off in his mind. Sometimes they even taught him how to do his job with earbuds and loud music in his ears. He’d actually never tortured another human being that way except one time- when he’d escaped in Africa with Larson. They had come to the end of the prison, but needed a way out. The only way was to torture someone for the codes. After a few minutes of high-pitched notes, and Larson’s ability to heal repeatedly, it worked. Austin was never the same internally. He had self-medicated with a lot of strippers and prostitutes for the next five weeks.
He wandered to his bed crashing into the mattress on his back, and stared at his computer screen.
The screensaver was the photos of Marielle – three of the best that he’d taken – on repeat.
Her eyes were telling him that she loved him and a guarded look haunted them that said that she was nervous and a little afraid. He wondered if she knew then that she was going to take her top off for him or if it was spur of the moment. It seemed impulsive, but he was unsure. He’d never be able to ask her now, so he just stared as the next photo flicked onto the screen. She was perfect. He fantasized, he recalled the sound of her voice, remembering her exact words, he gave himself release, he cried because he was alone and it wasn’t satisfying in any way. He tried to sleep… his alarm went off at 4A.M. and he sat up bleary eyed, probably having fallen asleep not more than twenty-five minutes ago.
He understood the routine, the rules, and the situation, but he found himself wondering whether now was the time to “call in sick.”
No, Austin. Press yourself in. Work might be the only thing that gets you through this.
Then he glanced around his bedroom as he yawned, considering the fact that this was not really his house. The truth of the matter was that he didn’t really have a “house” or a place to stay that was permanent; he went where they sent him, and stayed where he was told: an apartment in Calcutta, a shack in Timbuktu, a back house last January in Muncie Indiana, this house, here.
He got out of bed, threw a hooded sweatshirt on, and wandered sluggishly to the kitchen where he proceeded to drink raw eggs and milk and put some loud music into his ear before he stretched a little, and hit the pavement running.
First, he ran slow and steady, then picked up the pace, then slower again. His watch kept track of it all. When he finally hit ten miles, he pushed himself a little further, finding himself standing under the ring of a streetlight and gazing up at a familiar window.
Did he want to hurt her? He did, didn’t he? He wanted her to beg. He wanted to show her the torment that he was in and how she was the one who caused it, and how now she was going to suffer for it.
His mind ran over those dark thoughts, again. I know a place. It’s in Vermont. It’s beautiful there, she’d love it under the right conditions. I could start building a cabin with big, homey rooms and pictures of all of her favorite things. I could stock up on chocolate ice cream. I’d make her a fire every night and we’d sit on a couch in front of it… I’d read to you every night, and make you spaghetti, and I’d play the piano for you and sing to you and you’d be mine and you’d be protected. I’d make you a garden with a little pond and koi fish and a gazebo with a bridge over a stream. I’d make sure the garden was full of roses at the right time of year.
He smirked, thinking about these plans.
I’d just have to make sure that the chains were big enough and that no one could hear her scream for help.
Horrified that he was even entertaining these ideas again, and wondering if it was time to pull his gun from his arm and put it to his temple, he banged his head gently on the streetlamp and let out a shaky, heavy sigh as blood still pumped hard through his body from running.
Closing his eyes, he reached out. -Are you sleeping? Are you dreaming? Am I in your dreams? Do you hate me? Will you always hate me? He looked down at the white glow around his feet against the dark pavement. -I’m worth hating, aren’t I? I know it’s best to try not to think about you right now because it’s driving me insane, but I can’t help it.
Something fuzzed in his mind, and his heart sped up … but not in an excited way. In a terrified way. Because something did come through, and it was a scream of horror. -Help me! Without thinking, he rushed toward the building, but stopped short, realizing that he couldn’t get in without buzzing the door and she’d turned her cell phone off.
He reached out mentally, -Marielle! Marielle, are you okay?
-No! Please! Don’t…
-Marielle!
Then it occurred to him as reality set in… she was having a nightmare… about him. Well, about Tundra. Well, about him. He grabbed his hair, and stood back from the building, looking up. The light had clicked on, and he heard gentle crying. He also heard Vincent’s hushed tones.
-Marielle?
-Why are you still in my head!?
-Oh, God, you think you’re still dreaming. I’m- I’m making this worse.
Dejected, and helpless, he stood further back, slowly moving out of the street and back into the light where he leaned on the post, and watched the window, trying to silence his head. It wouldn’t work. It was like something crawling around in his mind that he kept trying to hit with a rolled-up newspaper and missing.
-Marielle…
He looked down again and the ring of light suddenly hit his mind in a way that caused his face to elongate in confused realization and horror. Italy. Tundra had stood outside, under a lamppost… trying to hear her thoughts. While Vincent kept watch.
“Oh my God… I’m him, aren’t I?”
Shaking in terror, and thinking about the fact that her screams were starting to sound like musical notes… he lumbered away from the building. –I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come here. What was I thinking?
He started to run until he couldn’t hear anything, but he felt like he was definitely running from the situation, not back home. Home was the destination, but it was only the destination, not the reason for leaving as the purple night sky faded to gray, and the horizon turned golden.
His head was buzzing with realization. I’m him. I’m him. How can I be him? I need her. That’s how I’m him. It’s so simple, how did I not see this before? I could easily slip into his skin. That’s why I’m so disturbed by it, and so pained by it… because I know him, and he’s me.
He ran into his house and locked the door, leaning on it like someone was chasing him, and this house was his sanctuary.
Rushing to his bedroom, the real battle for his mind began.
“I could take Felix with us.”
-No. No, you won’t be doing any of that.
“But I could. She loves him, and so do I and we’d be happy. Our little family.” He paused and squeezed himself around the middle, hanging his head forward in anguish.
-No, she doesn’t want that, Austin! She wants freedom, she’s not your toy.
“But we could be a family! I’d cook and clean and be so good for her!”
-Being good for her right now means giving her her space and letting her heal.
“But she needs me!”
-Let her make that decision on her own.
“The answer is me!” He barked at his shadow.
-Let her…make…that decision on her own.
“No, she’s mine! And I’m hers, and we’ll be together and happy.” Tears pricked his eyes at the knowledge of his delusions.
-And if you get killed on a mission and she’s chained to the cabin alone and without help or food or contact to the outside world? Have you also forgotten that she can phase? Chains won’t keep her? You’ll have to constantly repress her powers, which’ll mean you won’t get what you want out of her… that satisfaction as she passes through you.
“But she’s mine… and we love each other… we lov-”
His foot hit something that was peeking out from under his bed. He leaned over. A box. He picked it up and examined it. Then he opened it, knowing what was inside… the most gorgeous crown that he’d ever seen.
He held it to his lower stomach as if hugging it tightly, and turned to the mirror on the back of his door, approaching his own reflection slowly as he turned the crown over in his hands a few times. He placed it on his own head.
Not pleasure god…Ice King. You are not the god of pleasure. You are my Ice King. You are strong, and gentle. You are deep, and romantic. You are manly, and soft. You are unique, and beautiful. You are icy and warm. You are handsome beyond words, and a warrior. Innocent and childlike…You are my ice king. And I am your red queen. Look at yourself, Austin… you’re perfect. No, no… don’t hear her voice… hear mine. You’re so perfect. She didn’t deserve you. An evil woman does not deserve the love of a King. You bow and scrape for no one. Because you’re perfect. There was nothing ever wrong. You didn’t need to prove yourself, Austin. There’s no blood, Austin. Just you and me… Just my words. Just my mouth, desiring yours. Just truths inside of me, pouring out for you. Who deserves your love, your highness?
“You,” he breathed, shakily at his own reflection as his eyes welled.
Then he slipped the crown off his head and went to the bathroom peeling his clothes off before stepping into a shower that was so hot that he thought that he’d pass out.
Once he was clean, he stepped out of the shower and looked down, realizing that she’d taken his shirt and tie off from the photoshoot and left them on the floor behind the door. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t seen them yet.
He picked both up, and slowly slipped the shirt on over his naked chest, leaving it open, and putting some sweatpants on. “You…” he repeated finally lying in bed in a way that felt comfortable as he held his pillow closer and breathed in the faintest smell of her still lingering there. She deserved his love, not his horror, or his torment, or his magnificent rage, or his desperation. What was love? How did one show it? Acquire it? “Don’t worry, Marielle. I won’t hurt you,” he sighed as silent tears streamed out and he squeezed the pillow, breathing in her faint scent and noting the softness of the shirt against his skin. “I won’t hurt you.”
He found peace for the moment and fell asleep. He knew that that wasn’t the end of this, he’d be fighting this particular demon for a period of time that he couldn’t know yet. But for the moment, his mind was settled. He wouldn’t allow those thoughts anymore for the day.