Slow & Steady //Windy

When I blink my eyes open to the world, it is already bright with the life of a new day. My head rolls to the side so I can look at the screen door through squinted eyes, eyelids fluttering unsteadily at the change in light. A dull ache echoes in my skull, eyes closing again to shut out the intruding beams. It doesn’t usually bother me this much. The light is so strong right now, though. I blink open my eyes again, brows furrowing in confusion. The room is bathed in the hues of day and for a moment I am disoriented beyond belief. (What time is it?) Usually, I wake at seven, when the light has just barely decided to present itself for the day, but now the sun has revealed itself fully if my judgment is correct.

(How could I have slept so late?) I should have been up hours ago to help Sin change. He wouldn’t have let me do the rest of my duties, like putting away his sleeping mat or getting his food, surely. For the past two weeks, he has hardly let me move from his own mat and instead chosen to sleep beside me. The mat is only big enough for one, so he’s been sleeping on one side of the blanket that he makes sure is draped across me for the most part. That is, he’s been laying on it. I don’t think he’s actually been sleeping. In the past two weeks, he has only woken me up twice with his crying. Before then, it had been every night I have lived here. The process is the same. He cries, screams until he’s hoarse, curls in on himself. My efforts seem so small compared to his pain, the quiet shushing noises whispered from my lips only cutting down his agony by a faction. (I wish there were more I could do.) Sometimes during the days, I find him sleeping for minutes at a time before he is up and moving again as if he isn’t exhausted.

We both are. I can see it in the lines of his shoulders and the darkness of his eyes. He’s wearing himself thin, not nearly as far as I had gotten, but he’s tiring. I’m faring better than before, but I can still feel the nagging pull of exhaustion in my bones during the day. Every movement takes just that much more energy to carry out. My nerves are still on edge during the night, despite Sin’s reassurances that everything will be alright, that I should sleep, that I need to get better. Sometimes I lie beside him for hours, eyes closed and breathing soft, until I’m sure he must think I’ve passed into the realm of sleep. There’s a faint touch against my hand, then, just the light tracing of fingers sliding across skin. Other times, there’s the slight pressure of fingers curling around mine and it takes everything in me not to cling back as I had that night. Once, I felt him skim the lines of my face, as if trying to smooth them away with his hands.

My life is a strange thing, I have decided. I wonder, sometimes, just who exactly is directing it down the paths I’ve been led, who it is that is finding joy in this turmoil. It’s been nineteen long years in this body, so fragile but so strong. I’ve lived through more torture than most people can even begin to fathom. Living here is probably the most exquisite torture I’ve been subjected to. Here, I am being cared for. Little by little, I feel as if I’m being pieced back together from the crumbled ruins of what I am by a boy who seems as damaged as I am myself, though he doesn’t show the pain of his trials on his skin like I do. I show it in every scar that slinks across the surface of my body and sinks deeper than that to mark my soul. (Sin keeps telling me he’s going to make me better and I am starting to believe him, despite my better instincts.) Everything I have been trained claws its way into my mind every time Sin speaks, reminding me that this is not how this works. It screams that I am to serve, not be served. I am an Avox. He is a Master. If he wills that I be healthier, be happier, be more again, can I rightfully deny him? Is that not serving him? (I won’t wipe away that thought process if it allows me to give in to something I’ve wanted for all of my life: care.)

I sigh, slowly pushing myself upright so I can survey the room. A quick scan shows that Sin is not present. (Perhaps he is out in the garden? Or meeting with Mr. Otari?) A slow stretch ripples through my body and my beck bends, joints cracking as I arch backwards. Lazily, I let myself fall backwards onto the floor with a dull thump. I should get up and try to find Sin. I should put away his mat and go get- (it looks like noon?) –lunch for him to eat. I should clean myself up a little bit for the day. Instead, I flop over onto my stomach, limbs stretching outwards until I am taking up as much room as possible on the floor, blanket wrapped awkwardly around one of my legs and face sticking a little to the floor.

Just as I’ve settled down, I hear the door slide open. My eyes pop open, blinking owlishly up at Sin in the doorway. A quick flush of embarrassment and anxiety shoots through my veins as I hurry to right myself. There’s something very proud in his stance, the way his shoulders are set and the clear ring of his voice through the air. (A surprise?) My entire life is a surprise. I nod quickly, pushing myself up to my feet and taking a few unsteady steps as I try to free my leg from the blanket. My face heats at the display, hands hurrying to straighten my clothing and wipe at my face. I must surely look a mess. My hands comb through my hair shakily, eyes trained on the ground as I try to put myself in order. When I’m sure I can do nothing else, I look up again, bottom lip sucked in unsurely as I give another nod.