Namless, They Call Me (Friday Fiction) [Character Swap]

Author’s Ramblings: Hurray for our first ever Character Swap! Kudos to Rick for this wonderful idea. I have the pleasure of writing for a nameless character belonging to Abel Blake from his blog, my sKetchBook, borrowed from the post of I Listen…even when it hurts. Click here to read his original piece and read on to see my ‘addition’. 

~NAMELESS, THEY CALL ME~

I leave Adelai behind as another visitor graces this
new grave. I do not know what to say about her, but there is something
different—something dangerous. The precious daisies that were gifted in memory
of this Lucy seemed to wither beneath the glare bestowed upon them.

I didn’t dare interrupt.

The girl stood there for a very long time. The light
fog turned into thick fog and then the overcast skies grew darker with every
breath. I watched her.

She stared at the gravestone with eyes that saw
nothing and something within in her that seemed so tortured and full of pain
that I could not bear to watch—nor had the strength to turn from it.

“I hate you, Lucy.” She hissed, at last. “I hate
you!”

The weight of her hatred stabbed through me in the
same wound as Adelai’s raw grief. It hurts. It hurts so bad and I don’t know
what to do about it. I feel as if I have been betrayed two times over, because
I what I have witnessed was never meant to be seen.

Not by my eyes that have no right to judge, not by
my ears that hear everything, especially the nothing. Sometimes I think it’s
fine. I let it go. I live my life. I remind myself that there are checks and
balances in the world. For every happy, peaceful moment that some human being
experiences, there is an equal measure of pain and despair for another.

The pain is fading.

It never lasts long.

Just shows its head to prove to me that I am still
alive, as if to cut deep enough to draw blood—as proof that I am no specter.
But I don’t bleed and I don’t cry. Their misery and their mourning is their
own.

I merely see what goes before me.

I observe.

I listen.

I hear when they think no one does.

But what does that make me? No, I don’t want to
know. That can be one of those questions for another day where nothing remains
to amuse me. I feel strange today, like a child whose playtime has been cut
short.

Playtime.

What a strange term to give to these incomplete
feelings and rebellious emotions. They betray me. They always do.

The real darkness of night looms widely overhead,
beckoning to the ground as it closes in. I watch it approach and I stand there,
for I have nothing else to do nor to think. I wish my mind was blank and empty,
I almost want to forget, but in my mind’s eye, I still see him.

I see Adelai.

Time passes. I know nothing of it.

The crunch of footsteps on frozen ground draws my
consciousness back to the present. I do not need to look to know who it is that
comes for me. I feel a faint shuddering of warmth creep over to me, working its
way through my half-frozen self until I am aware that something is being
pressed into my hands.

It is a steaming beverage of some sort, the common
Styrofoam cup design is native to nowhere and promises nothing extraordinary.

It should be safe to drink.

One thick, black-gloved hand rests on my shoulder
with every ounce of deliberation it can hold. There is nothing said. There is
nothing that needs to be said.

“Coming?” He ventures, after a moment of silence has
ventured on too long for his comfort.

I return the cup.

He looks from the wisps of rising steam to me, his
face barely visible in the first whispers of light about to emerge. “You can’t
stay here.”

I cannot leave.

There is a loud sigh and a he stomps his boots, akin
to a toddler throwing a tantrum when he cannot get his way. But there is
something softer in his manner as he does it and I know I am pushing my limits.

I am lucky. I am blessed. Were it any other, I know
that this would never have played out in such simple, painless terms.

Painless. Painful.

Sometimes, I think it makes no difference.

“Well?” He takes the cup back.

I can feel the cold crackling as it leaves my body,
my newly warmed fingers able to flex and move. I hate winter. It brings me
endless headaches.

“You could’ve frozen to death.” He grumbles,
shuffling through the icy dew.

I watch him walk off and somehow, I know that I will
follow in mere seconds. It is taking more than I have to stand here and stare
at a lonely gravestone with shrunken daisies and two sets of nearly faded
footprints.

“Don’t make me drag you to the-” The threat stops
when I turn to look at him.

Within a minute, he is by my side and stuffing a
warmed kerchief into my hand.

“Do you have to turn on the waterworks now?” He
growls, but there is the faintest hint of fear behind his angry hazel eyes.
“You’re going to freeze your-!”

I didn’t know I was crying. I didn’t feel it. I didn’t
think it hurt that much.

But then, he is pulling me along, forcing me to
follow with a hand on my shoulder and another on my elbow. His grip is strong
and practiced, I know well enough by now that I will not be free unless he
chooses to release me.

Betrayal. Regret. Grief.

Words to a script that I don’t know how to voice.

He yanks and tugs me through the Old North Cemetery
where a black SUV awaits us at the curb. I am ushered into the waiting vehicle
and the warmth inside nearly smothers me.

In the choking breath I breathe against the closed
tinted window, I feel something stirring from deep inside me.

Adelai.

Somehow, it seems as if my body has betrayed me.