Pushit (part 3)

I sat next to him on the bed, on a safe distance. He pointed at the door and said: “Look. The door is open. You can leave anytime.”
I nodded. Waited. Took a deep breath and then asked: “How come you took me here? I mean, isn’t there anyone you still want to see?”
Sometimes, it’s hard for me to say things in a way people will understand what I’m trying to say. Mostly that happens on rather uncomfortable occasions.
“No, there’s no one”, he said, as if it was a simple observation.
“How’s that possible?”
“I don connect to anyone”, he answered.
“To anyone?”
“But you.”
“How can you connect to me if you don’t know me?”
“I knew you before I brought you here.”
Now that was a creepy thought.
“I had seen you before.”
“Just… Somewhere.”
“But how the hell can you connect to someone you’ve never talked too?”
“I just saw it in the way you moved and talked and the things you said.”
It didn’t seem to be bothering him. At all. I felt a strange feeling running through my veins until it slowly disappeared. Some feelings just have to disappear after having run through your entire body, otherwise it would feel as if you’re dying slowly.
“Why don’t you connect to anyone but me?”
“The world is just no place for me. Not if I’m surrounded by all those people who desperately want to be heard, but who have nothing to say,” he said. “I don’t think you like that either.”
“There are other people too.”
“Not for me.”
“That’s impossible. What makes you think that?”
“I’ve had unpleasant experiences with too many people”, he said calmly.
“Like what?”
“Why are you so interested?”
That question was so unexpected that I blushed and repeated the pretext I had been using to convince myself to talk to him.
“You have to know your enemy.”
“You still see me as your enemy?”
“You’ve taken away everything I know and love.” It was one of the thoughts that made breathing hard and tears easy. I took a deep breath to calm down, but I knew that it wouldn’t be good if I didn’t care about that anymore. What if one day, I would resign myself? I could not do that. I wouldn’t forgive myself such a thing.
“I had no idea you were so connected to other people. I thought you were more like me.”
“And what if I’m not like you want me to be? What will you do then?”
He watched me with an amused face.
“You’re afraid I’ll kill you.”
At that moment, I really believed he was able to do that. Because he really seemed to be an outcast, someone who did not think like normal people. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to kill me, but other people – he didn’t connect to them, so why not? And what if I turned out to be just like the other people?
He touched my hand – I scared up – and said: “I won’t kill you. I promise that.”
“I believe you. Killing me would mean letting me go”, I sighed.

The rest of the night I spent there, but I didn’t sleep at all. In the end I was still scared to death and while he lay there sleeping, I kept an eye on him. He trusted me – weird. If I wanted to, I could go the kitchen and take a knife, such a great knife, and stab him, several times, until he would breathe no longer as peacefully as at that moment, and I would be free.
Would I?
No. I had no idea of where he kept his keys, of where we stayed, I knew nothing. Killing him would be burying myself. Alive.
I didn’t find any wish to kill him in me. That was what hurt me too. I was trying to survive, and not hating him that hard was a part of it. But not hating him felt like betraying myself. I had to get out of this situation. I had to get away…

When he woke up, he smiled at me.
“Seems like you’ve had a great night.”

It might be clear that trust was growing. I couldn’t stop it. I let it in. We almost seemed normal people. Though there was still a sort of distance, we got used to each other and that made life easier. Better. Easier to deal with.
I discovered our garden, all surrounded by a fence, in which I spent many hours reading and taking care over the plants and flowers. My life was reduced to that. I had nothing to worry about, he took care over everything and I just lived there.

And then I fell ill.

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  1. More, I want MOAR.


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