safe harbor // [elegant]

I feel off balance, even sitting here upon the veranda. I can feel the fluttering of my lungs and the steady thump of my heart in my chest, but I don’t move. Still, I feel as if I am about to topple over and into the grass. Everything feels unsteady inside me. I always feel so strange around Sin. I’m sure it’s my own fault. He’s a strange boy, one who keeps me guessing with every movement he makes, but he doesn’t appear to be purposely making me uncomfortable. (What do you call his stunt in the garden on the first day? He was too close. He knew that. He did that purposely. Stop blaming yourself for everything, Arius. You’re not at fault for any of this wrongdoing.) Sometimes he lingers within my personal space for moments at a time or stares at me for minutes on end while I go about my duties in the room, but he lacks malicious intent. (And the last time you thought that, it got you burned.)

Just the thought of it sends my pulse racing in my veins. I can practically feel him breathing down the back of my neck as I stare across the garden, eyes unfocused and shiny. It all feels as if it must have happened only yesterday. Each wound feels new with every remembrance. One of my hands skirts upwards along my left side to skim across my shirt just above where one of the largest scars sits. The pain burns through my skin as it had that day, fingers shaking over the fabric for only half a second more before dropping to my lap again. My hands clench hard together, trying to still the trembling in my bones. A quiet breath settles me again and I am left staring into the distance. The skin all along my side had been burned severely in one of master’s rages. I felt like I couldn’t move for hours afterwards, each shift sending my nerves aflame. Master never did like dallying about, though. He forced me up and out of his office in minutes, scowling and screaming at me to leave before I bled on his carpet. (As if I hadn’t already done that.)

A shallow breath passes my lips again, eyes blinking slowly to ease away the memories circling in my head. (I am not there anymore. I am here. I am sitting beside Sin.) My tremors subside a little, bones not quite rattling within me anymore. There’s a foggy haze in my head however that doesn’t seem to lessen in the slightest. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything close to normal within my own skin. I am exhausted beyond comprehension. There are days where I feel as if all of my hours spent awake have blurred together into one massive cloud of indistinguishable events. Nothing sticks out anymore, not when I can hardly find the breath to keep myself grounded.

From the corner of my eye, I see Sin lower his hand from his face and turn to look at me. There’s a quiet calculation in the way he stares, eyes flitting over me quickly before settling on my own eyes. For a moment, I continue to stare forward, trying not to let his attentions get the better of me. I am his property. I am to move when commanded and do as told. His being is so relaxed right now, however. I feel as if metal stakes have been grafted to my bones, keeping me all sharp angles and straight lines. Finally, I let my head turn so I can look at him. He shivers with the wind, eyes trained on me silently before he raises an inquisitive eyebrow. I can feel my face attempt to draw about a blush at the silent question, chin tilting down to stare at the wooden planks beneath me in favor of answering. Why am I awake, Sin Otari? As if he has the right to ask when it is he himself that is the answer. He knows it well enough. I am to live for him and him alone. It is my duty. The routine we have settled into of nightly screaming and compassion has been broken by silence and it is in silence that I must handle it.

I can see him move despite looking away from him. The sound of pouring water is a clamor in this silent night, but it is a welcome distraction. Silence is so encompassing in this world and I long to escape from it. (Oh, to be able to sing again, to talk and shout and converse…) If only such a joy were afforded to me. A small cup enters into my vision and I look up slowly, eyes meeting Sin’s for a moment to check his intention. Yes, he means for me to take it, and drink, I assume. The steam wafts into my face and a light aroma accompanies it, my breathing mellowing out just slightly at the smell alone. One last time, I squeeze my hands together to remind them of their purpose before reaching out to accept the cup with a bowed head.

Never should I overestimate my abilities. My hands curl around the cup with practiced serenity, skin warming upon contact. However, just the slightest brush against Sin’s own fingertips sends my pulse hammering through my veins. A twitch in my fingers sends the tea sloshing and spilling over the rim onto the boy beside me as well as my own hands. It slips from my fingers, landing with a quiet thunk upon the veranda before rolling over the edge. (Ripred, have mercy on me…) The aggravation that has sat so heavily upon me liquefies into doses of mortification that rip through me, body shaking in panic. (What have I done? By the gods, how are you so clumsy, Arius? It’s a wonder you haven’t been lashed here yet, or burned, or beaten. You of all people deserve it, you stupid little- Get yourself together.) I haven’t control over the exhausted tears that weep from my eyes as I fall forwards into a low bow. My legs are crumpled beneath me and my head is resting upon the floor for only a moment before I lift myself back up and try to salvage the mess I’ve made, dabbing at the tea spilled across the ground and Sin’s trousers with the cuff of my shirt.

Sometimes, I’m afraid I don’t feel anything at all.

The tea on my fingers hardly surprises me. It’s hot against my skin, my fingertips smarting at the pain and subsequent ignoring of said pain. I’ve felt worse, however. I’ve felt fire eat away at my flesh until I was gasping for air and choking on the smell of my own death. I’ve felt scorching metal be pressed against me until I was numb from shock and sobbing from fear. Spilled tea is hardly something to cry over, at least on the front of pain.

Other days, however, I feel far too much.

I cannot stop the tears that roll down my cheeks, eyes blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear my vision. It hurts. Everything hurts. Every shake of my bones is like a hundred thousand needles being pushed precisely into place. I could not stop it even if I were to wish the stalling of such agony. For so long, I have forgotten myself to the monotony of trying to keep functioning but this, this feeling, brings me sharply back into myself. It is such a whiplash of remembrance that I find myself hardly able to breathe under the weight of it. I don’t dare acknowledge it in full, though. I can never let myself do that, most especially not in front of a master. When with a master, it must always be about what can be done for their service, not one’s own needs.

Sin’s jacket is ruined. My fingers tremble as I dab at the material, trying in vain to salvage something, anything, or this expensive piece. I know it’s no use, but I have to make it work. I have screwed up everything so royally in the past two weeks. Surely this is the final straw. Surely this is what will cause the line to break and the dam of emotion Sin keeps so bottled up to rush free. There is no salvation from this. (Now I will simply wait for the past to repeat itself, wait for more than just tea to scald my fingers…) Each press of the cuff of my sleeve against the stain draws out only a miniscule amount of the liquid. I find myself crying harder at the loss, dropping my head to look at the ground again. My reprieve only lasts a moment.

Soft hands grasp mine and draw me another inch forward. A pair of knees is just a breath away from mine. I flinch at the proximity, looking up quickly with wide eyes, mouth undone and lip trembling as I stare up at Sin. He brushes my fingers against the fabric of his jacket and I flinch again, unable to look away when his eyes finally meet mine. I’m hardly able to breathe. There is no anger there, no disgust, no malice. It almost frightens me more, this deadened look that peers back at me from behind cold eyes. Still, I cannot move. He leans forward the slightest bit, mouth pursed as he blows upon my damp fingers. A shiver rakes down my spine at the sensation, skin cooling under his attention. The rest of me, however, feels unbearably hot. I feel absolutely humiliated. I have fallen this far, to be treated like a wounded animal by this boy who himself cries like a wolf in the night. This is what I have become. (How I wish I could be the careless little boy I once was…)

When his eyes finally release mine, I am able to move. I shift subtly, my insides squirming as I try to shift my torso away from him. My back and neck arch away, body tense as he studies my fingers carefully. (Care? Why would he possibly care? He could easily buy a new Avox. Perhaps he is making sure I’m in a right enough condition to send back. No defective Avoxes wanted.) I shudder at the idea of being sent back, eyes closing tight as my tears trail silently down my cheeks. The slightest movement makes me shake, but I still quickly when I hear Sin clearing his throat. It’s a deep, rumbling sound within his chest. I practically feel it grinding all of my gears to a halt, trembling winding down into occasional shivers. One of his hands loosens on mine and I pull it back, only to feel warm skin press to the back of the hand he still holds.

"I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm sorry, I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to-"

A choked sob escapes from my lips just before I’m able to shove my free hand over my mouth. (No. No no no. This is not how this is supposed to be. This is not how masters treat their Avoxes. Masters are cruel and relentless and uncaring and brash and certain in their convictions. This is not how this is supposed to be. He’s supposed to be angry!) I shake my head slowly, breathing haphazardly as I try to pull away. My body has little fight left in it and I feel myself shaking hard again, vision going blurry with tears. I’m breaking all the rules here, acting without a command. I push myself back when I have freed my hand, trying clumsily to support myself on the dark wood. Small, panicked hiccups echoing into the air as I stumble upright, knees knocking together as I force myself to stand against the wall. The slightest of movements sideways, an attempt to scurry away from this break of everything I know to be true and calculated and designed perfectly to a T, sends me toppling towards the ground. (This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real. He’s not allowed to care!)

My whole world tilts before me for a moment as I crumple. This is no rarity to me. I’ve fallen a hundred thousand times. Each and every step I take across this earth merely serves to remind me of my slipping from grace and into this hell. The Capitol is a shining beacon, a place of wealth and prosperity and glory. Those who serve on the underside of such a glorious place, however, are doomed to crawl. I can hardly support my own weight under the heaviness of this life. Every breath is degrading. I feel sick with every thump of my heart. I want nothing more than to stop it, but to do that would surely mean death. (Really, though, am I living at all as I am?) My lungs feel heavy and each breath is thick with a searing pain.

Just before I hit the ground and crash within a tangle of my own limbs and faults, the weight of the world disappears. I let out a stuttered whimper, curling tight into the arms that hold me in the air. Hiccups bubble from my throat as I let a hand curl into the fabric of the shirt before me, head cushioned against a bony shoulder and face nearly pressed into a pale neck. (No, no, no, this is not right. This isn’t how these things worth, Arius. This isn’t right! Stop this!) The sobs that wrack my body double for a moment, first clinging tighter and eyes squeezing shut. Pain clings to my bones at the revolt of my body from my mind. No matter how loudly my senses scream, I merely find myself relying more heavily upon the one holding me up. (The one? You know exactly who this is.) I cannot stop the tears that soak into expensive cloth or the hand that refuses to release the grounding connection between me and this boy.

Weariness seeps through my system. My mind loses track of how long he stands there, exactly, my tiny frame curled haphazardly in his arms. The soft pitter-patter of rain on thick grass and wide leaves and delicate petals is a lulling force against the raging panic that had so completely controlled my entire being. After some time, the shaking in my marrow settles and my blood resumes a quiet thrumming rush through my body. The tears come less frequently, only momentary reminders of inexplicable sadness, until suddenly there is nothing but the trails left behind. My forehead is pressed against warm skin and I can feel the steady thrum of life within Sin, each moment another he has survived.

I am conflicted beyond reason here, still in his arms as he turns slowly and treads inside. This boy is a master. He is in charge, dominant, the only reason I am to live. He is cold and calculated to precision, followed by a flare of searing pain and pure, unadulterated fear. He is so tired looking, and so sad, so lonely, but he is a master. I should not feel sorry for him. I should not feel grateful for him. I should not feel relieved that he has caught me, that he is holding me, that he is caring for me. (The last time you let yourself believe a master could be trusted, could be cared for, it almost got you killed, Arius.) The sense in me is reeling at my reaction, begging for me to put an end to this now, to become the perfect Avox again. Distance. Precaution. Routine. But this? The gentleness of his arms holding me close, making sure I don’t fall, making sure I am weightless… I cannot help myself.

Everything feels different now. I’m laid across Sin’s mat with the utmost care, body curling tight as I tip onto my side. Before I even have the chance to move, I am covered with the blanket that had been folded back. My eyelids flutter wearily before shutting under the onslaught of my unruly hair cascading over my face. I let out the smallest of breaths, going slack against the floor. Even if I wanted to move, I don’t think I would have the energy left in me to do so.

"You're not allowed to move from that bed.” I suck in a breath quickly, but he seems to know immediately just how it would affect me, stumbling over his next few words to fix his tone. A warmth spreads through me at the thought of someone caring Sin feeling flustered over me for once someone changing for me. It’s a silly thing, but I feel myself breathe a little lighter at his next words. “I'm going to...help you. So don't be afraid, okay? Just rest, and I'll take care of you. I'm not going to do anything....untoward...I don't know how it was with your old master's or anything, but I....I'm not like that.”

Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid? I have lived my life in fear. Never will I not know such an emotion. Fear is not a state I reach when I am frightened. Fear is a constant way of being. It is what keeps my skin prickled with anticipation for the next movement of a hand, raising of an eyebrow. It is what makes me scurry across the room at a single barked word. It is what makes me shut down and pretend as if all of this isn’t happening, as if all of this is not the life I have been given out of cruelty. I will always live with fear. It is not something I can get rid of now that it has been sewn into the fabric of my being with every cut, every bruise, every burn.

My breathing has evened out by now, despite the feeling of puffiness in my sinuses. I don’t dare open my eyes. I don’t want to look out into the darkness and see pity, or anger, or sadness. (If I could see compassion… I’d never even blink.) There’s hardly a movement in my body. The stillness that comes with hours and hours of standing at attention has settled back into place now that I can breathe and think somewhat clearly again. For a moment, I wonder how long we will stay here in silence, just quiet rain and steady respiration to keep us occupied. In the next, however, there is a hand pushing my hair back out of my face and brushing across the skin of my forehead. There’s not a thought in me as I let my head tilt into the contact before I still, mind coming up to pace with my body. (Arius, get a hold of yourself.) My eyes blink open slowly, head tilting just a little more to I can look up at Sin for a fraction of a second. I let myself look away once I’ve seen his eyes, seen that there is no pity, no anger. Sadness, however... There is so much sadness in his eyes, but I don't understand, for why should he be sad while looking at an Avox that he owns?