uncharted territory

he felt electricity flow through his veins,

his arms, his eyes

― Nick Oliveri, The Conjurer

Charlie

He slowly lifts the bottom of a white, sleeveless shirt and turns his head around, gazing at the body reflected in the mirror, the flaring lines at his lower back and forearms almost screaming with their presence. The slightly faded afternoon light gently slipping between thin beige curtains, painting the wooden floor of his small, simple bedroom with golden amber stains across its surface and sliding slowly past the oak shelves stuffed with used copies of books and old, worn-out journals filled with his rushed, energetic handwriting - dust motes moving in the air and turning into tiny gold flakes against the sun's gentle touch. It's a beautiful scene, almost stopped in time, but he's oblivious to it, too occupied with a million thoughts hitting him over the head each time he blinks or dares to breathe. He watches the firm muscles tense under the skin, constantly shifting to the sound of all the memories he's trying not to bring to the surface. He doesn't want to make them stronger, more physical, not wanting the ground he stands on to become quicksand again. There were bigger things at stake to consider here than his roaming, conflicted feelings - he sighs and winces slightly as too many shifts cause the skin to sting in several places. He slips off his shirt and throws it at a chair behind him, irritated with the burning sensation, eyes once again scanning the lines and their patterns, gazing at them with wonder. Her tattoos imprinted on his skin, marking him into something that belonged only to her.

He shakes his head at the thought and gazes up to his face, noticing the dark blue circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep caused by a restless night filled with a wired mind and a body with skin in a constant state of fever. He inhales deeper and then unwillingly looks back to his chest, remembering her stare as she towered over him, dominating him, fingers moving both, with roughness and softness against the skin and muscles, as if she saw something far beyond just his body. Her stare blazing like wildfires that attack forests after months of drought - so uncontrollable, demolishing everything in their reach - yet there was affection hiding under all those flames, under all the mayhem. And that stare scared him, making it the exact moment he stopped it all from going even further, his thoughts momentarily sobering as if somebody threw a big bucket of ice over his head. Instantly, everything around them grew back into focus, as if waking up from a dream.

Or being torn away from it.

He thinks and tenses again. He could risk the physical between them. After all, he was only human, a regular Joe - someone that made mistakes like everyone else. But the tenderness that he saw in her eyes was something that he couldn't dare to gamble away if things between them would ever go wrong. He would not risk the parts of her that were most fragile, something that she so rarely allowed herself to bring to the surface. It was like an electrical shot straight to his nervous system, causing him to master all the willpower he could conjure and turning it into anger. Anger at the possibility of ever hurting her, of being yet another monster in her life, another demon to make her eyes more wary than they already were. The thought terrified him and made him furious. He never felt such fury before in his life.

Never.

It was the first time he was grateful for the rage cursing through his veins.

His back slouches, shoulders curling forward as if he was carrying a massive weight for far too long, and today it had finally become too much to bear. And yet, somehow, he manages to look up again at his reflection, at the lines that said so many things without any words, painted out for everyone to see. A reminder of a presence that has made a permanent residence in his being, something that could not be tamed or forgotten, causing things in him to swell and grow, making it seem like the heart under his ribs no longer had enough room - outgrowing everything he has known so far. Unfortunately, the lines were also question marks carved and crafted into his flesh. Questions that tortured him from the first second he left her apartment, the beast made out of his thoughts, escaping to roam around his head freely, snarling or whimpering - depending on the direction his mind took.

There was a cynic in him that wanted to ask. Did you want me or the battery cord for your pain? Did the bottle of morphine feel as ecstatic this time as well? Or did you want to rip more away from me? For a brief second, it felt liberating as the anger swiped through his bloodstream, pumping fuel into his muscles and his triggered thoughts. But not long after, guilt followed, slipping through the cracks and joining the party, stinging at his insides stronger than the lines painted across his skin. It wasn't Nora's fault that all of this was happening to her and that there was no way for her to stop the nightmares by herself. After all, she had asked him seconds before, even though her entire system had been screaming with unmentionable ache and despair. He knew that he could've stopped her and helped in other ways. But the torture in her eyes made it impossible for him to deny her anything. He couldn't let her suffer like that, wanting to be her instant remedy, the cure in her blood. Who knows? Maybe it was a flattering thought that licked at his ego; maybe deep inside, he loved the idea of being so important to her. Perhaps he was just a fool with a heart too easily opened, a heart that always somehow turned towards her as if an invisible needle, pointing north.

Yes, the fool part was certain.

He wonders if she would act the same if there was no pain to deal with, no need to pour water over the flames eating her alive each time of day and night. Would she still crave him in the same way? How did she really feel? Did she see him as something more than a friend and a safe harbor for the tortured body that was running on fumes by now? More than just someone that brought her moments of peace between all the invisible demons she had to face? Again, he wasn't sure - never the one to assume things, on most occasions remaining rather oblivious to this area of life. There was a very valid reason for friends and family teasing him about being clueless when it came to romance and stuff revolving around it. He considered himself an intelligent and more than capable person, but reading signs was never his strongest suit.

I can't risk something I can't live without.

The words ring out in his head, and he slouches again under their weight, knowing they might as well be his own. He stares at the clock on the small bedside table and blinks a few times at the red digits until they blur out completely, then sighs and picks up his phone, fingers dancing across the screen.

[ everything alright? ]

His thoughts circle around many things until they linger on a dark living room and them in the middle of chaos, on the flames that wanted to eat them both alive in such an unexplainable, erratic way. After a while, the phone buzzes twice in his hands, and he jumps, cursing under his breath, annoyed for feeling caught red-handed on the memory.

[ yes, just like it was an hour ago and the hour before that ]

[ roger-over ]

He sighs at the reply. He couldn't help himself not to check up on her after everything that occurred in the last 48 hours. The fear of the possibility of losing her and something bad happening to her permanently echoed under his skin. He texted her several times to ease the worried mind but wasn't brave enough to call. Maybe it was for the best. They both needed some space. He slowly stumbles to his bed and sits on it heavily, leaning forward and hiding his face in his hands. He sinks for a moment into himself, time losing meaning, and then he growls, irritation bubbling straight from his deepest core.

Damn it. So many things fucked up at once!

He shouts out even more, aggravated, and then hears an unexpected banging sound that makes him jump again. He stares surprised at the wall behind him just before another small pounding starts.

I'm trying to sleep here. Do you mind holding back the drama tantrums for later??

Rob's muted voice fills the little room, and he blinks, eyes widening. Shit. He forgot he wasn't alone in the apartment. After last night he was constantly distracted and not being able to take in any details around him for too long. Eventually, everything would slip into a frenzied haze, making him act like an only semi-responding zombie. Just enough to nod, make sounds, and answer simple questions, frowning confused whenever his brother's voice would penetrate his thoughts loud enough to drag him out of it.

Yeah, sorry. Go back to sleep.

He mutters, slightly raising his voice so Rob can hear him, and hears some low cussing behind the wall; that gradually turns into a vibrating, growing melody of his brother's enticing grizzly snores. He shakes his head at the surreal scene and falls down on the bed, outstretching his arms above his head; so they now resemble a pair of locked scissors as his stare digs deeper into the ceiling as if wanting to bend it with the power of his mind, thoughts swirling in all directions, floating but not lending on any ground for longer. What did you do with me, woman? He asks into the empty space and sighs again. One hell of an adventure this has turned out to be with her. But maybe in the end, he always knew it, from that first moment, in one of the doctors' offices when he caught her stealing morphine from the medicine cabin. Or perhaps right after, when all her pain magically dissolved by the power of his touch, and she asked him if she could keep him. Maybe right there at that moment he was already gone, surrendering to things he had no idea about, not realizing how much she would change and shift his entire life, leaving him spinning without rest on its axis.

"If I don’t take anything from here and surrender to the cops, can I keep you then?"

"Keep me?"

"Yes, as a pet or a houseplant."

"What, not even as a boyfriend or your boy toy? Oh wow, I see your sense of humor is still doing well."

"Hmm, I wish I was joking. But whatever medical miracle you doing here, it’s definitely working."

He smiles with softness at the memory, letting warmth and peace fill him up; eyes searching the ceiling for answers he so desperately yearned for. His thoughts slowly change their track, floating until they find a sudden stop. It feels like a small pebble falling into the water and creating ripples against its crystal gleaming surface. His pulse rushes as a thought he was avoiding for a while returns to him, pushing against the walls in his head. I see you found yourself a healer. He inhales sharply and buys himself some time by counting each small crack and dent on the ceiling, waiting for the blood in his veins to move slower, to become less erratic. A healer. Am I really that? And what does it mean exactly for me? Is it a good thing or a bad thing? He ponders as his chest begins to move at a more regular pace with each breath. It must be a good thing if I'm able to help her - he thinks and then frowns. But there are consequences to everything.

To all the unexplainable things in this world, the ones having the subtle taste of miracles.

They always had some effects.

He thinks harder. Did he ever feel tired or drained after helping her? Was he suddenly exhausted or left with a headache? No. The answer is soft but at the same time, stern. No, he continuously felt good after, at peace, content that he brought her some release. He focuses more on his memories, testing each one like an elastic, colored rubberband - comparing, checking for symptoms that could imply a negative outcome or sickness, his medical training kicking in. No, he never felt worse or exhausted after. Maybe a little tired, but in a way that good exercises work, causing the blood to flow faster and the endorphins to shoot out, changing the chemical structure of the brain. He marvels at the thought. Helping Nora was like stretching and flexing muscles in the morning, like having a bigger run - a part of you was a bit out of breath, but at the same time, it felt right, needed, as if it was a part of his purpose, of his life path - just like medicine and helping patients were for him.

He blinks at the newly discovered revelations and lays there for a while in silence. His brain takes time to bring in the new data and the questions forming in his head, shifting his views on things he took as certain elements of his reality. If he helped her, were there others that he could benefit from his touch? Was that woman he helped as a kid a part of that journey? And if so, how many people did he already help in that way without even knowing? He lifts from the bed and sits on it, staring at the space in front of him, taking in so many things at once, his head threatening to explode from too much information and possible theories. Finally, as the light in the bedroom shifts to different places, its shades becoming more vibrant and dominant, he glances back at the tall mirror with a simple dark oak wooded frame in the corner of the room - the lines on his skin seeming softer somehow, not even stinging anymore. He inhales deeper and reaches for his phone, the words on the screen coming to him with more ease this time.

[ stay in my life as long as you like, somehow the world feels much better with you in it ]

He presses send and smiles to himself. The situation between them wasn't ideal right now, and he knew that for a while there would be some awkwardness lingering in the air. But something deep down in his gut told him everything would work itself out. It was a feeling he couldn't explain in any rational way, but it filled him, moving through his bones and resting in his veins. He puts his hand on his side, his thumb gliding slowly against the red-sensitive lines there, feeling almost like a memory he didn't have but could catch somewhere in the edges of his subconscious mind. The lines felt like a road map to a place he had always known - a place he didn't yet have a name for but was certain he wanted to come back to. He shakes his head. Such a new strange feeling, yet so familiar. He tilts his head slightly and pulls out facts and definitions that he studied and read about countless times in technical books focusing on the part of the brain that controls both its memory and the loss of it. Hmm, this feeling he had when he touched the shape of the lines against his skin reminded him of some form of amnesia. Some people that went through it would sometimes describe it as a strange sensation - like when they would walk past their own house and had no memory of ever living in it, yet somehow the building would seem familiar to them, even though they couldn't quite place the why factor. Sort of like a feeling of Deja Vu, or in other cases, a past life sensation. He wasn't sure how he felt about past lives as his mind was more practical than anything else, but there was something he heard once that stayed with him for many years. "It is similar to waking up and only remembering your dream for 30 seconds or a minute and then completely forgetting about it."

It kind of felt like that, as if things connected to her were a dream he just woke up from and could only catch for a few moments before it would disappear completely. However, the difference here was that even though the details slipped away from his subconscious, the feeling itself remained. And not only did it stay with him, but it also kept expanding in him as well. He didn't know yet what all of this meant, but he was ready to find out.

With her.

________________

previous chapters

53. https://theprose.com/post/553492/those-whispers-under-the-wooden-boards

54. https://theprose.com/post/706199/the-motion-and-interaction-of-erratic-things

(part 1)

55. https://theprose.com/post/706205/the-motion-and-interaction-of-erratic-things (part 2)