POV: Chetan
Chetan looked away.
He had nothing more to add. The conversation had stopped on that absurd sentence, suspended between them, and the silence that followed seemed much harder to bear than the shouts of earlier.
He took a few steps back, then crossed the room to the overturned furniture. A chair lay on its side, the small table had been moved, and white fragments still littered the floor. He began to tidy up.
For no particular reason. He just had to do something with his hands.
He straightened the chair, pushed the table against the wall, and gathered the pieces, placing them in a corner. His movements were deliberate, almost meticulous. Yet his attention kept returning to the man sitting on the other side of the room.
Eugene.
The name came back to him with disconcerting ease. Just looking at that huddled figure was enough to remind him who it belonged to. The face, the voice, even the way he drew his knees up… Everything reminded him of the white sand.
And yet, nothing was.
Chetan stopped in front of the table. He placed his hands on its edge and lowered his head.
What was he supposed to tell her?
why he didn't recognize him.
Confront him?... Why bother? So that each answer gives him a new reason to doubt.
– ha~
A great pain rose in his chest. It mingled with a coldness he refused to face, the sweat beading on his forehead, and the stiffness in his throat.
The result was so unpleasant that he preferred to deal with that damned room.
He glanced towards the opposite corner.
He didn't know it yet.
Chetan clenched his jaw. A brutal thought crossed his mind, so dangerous that he immediately abandoned what he was doing.
What if this thing had simply taken on the appearance of Eugene?
BAM!
His fist hit the wall.
– Ouch, damn!
The pain shot up his fingers, but he paid no attention. He remained facing the wall, his head slightly tilted, unable to decide whether he had struck out of anger or fear.
He took deep breaths and settled down on the ground.
(I have only one emotion, nothing else, I will never be impure, I am perfect, I only have anger that connects me to this mortal, pure, I am pure)
He murmured
– Thank you to Our "mother"
Chetan turned around abruptly, grabbed the sheet lying on the furniture and threw it towards his strange companion. The fabric fell back onto his head and shoulders.
"Cover yourself," he said coldly.
Eugene immediately curled up. He brought his arms around his legs and rested his head on his knees, disappearing almost entirely under the sheet.
Chetan remained standing, scrutinizing him.
I will not fall into the abyss of emotions because of this thing... let us return to the true path... the path of the immaculate; the impure will never touch me...
A pang went through his chest.
He would have preferred that this figure inspire only mistrust in him.
He looked away and shuffled his steps around the room.
It wasn't his Eugene.
The thought felt like a door closing in his face. He tried not to look back.
Crack.
A sharp noise was heard near the door.
Chetan immediately raised his head. On the side of the panel, a small hatch had just opened. A metal tray slid slowly inside, loaded with two containers and a glass.
The meal.
He observed the opening. Since their arrival, this was the first time he had seen the Way.
He rushed over.
– Attends !
He reached out to hold the hatch open, but the mechanism restarted before he could fully extend his arm. The hatch slammed shut on his forearm.
– AAAAAAH!
Her scream shattered the silence of the room.
He instinctively pulled on his arm.
The mechanism continued to close. A searing pain shot up to his shoulder and his legs buckled. He collapsed sideways, his other hand gripping the door, as the tray swung open with a metallic crash.
– Open… Open this fucking hatch!
His voice broke. He tried to pull away, but only the painful cracking of his bone took his breath away.
Tac!
The hatch closes abruptly.
His gaze descended towards the ground.
Bright red blood had spilled onto the floor. Yet, something abnormal was already happening.
The red material that formed at the edge of the wound spread rapidly, covering the affected area with a thick substance. Filaments joined together, tightened, and then took on an increasingly precise shape. On this coagulated mass of blood, tissues regenerated, muscles returned to their proper position, and the skin gradually closed.
Chetan was on the ground, eyes turned downwards, arms raised, his lips trembling, and he didn't even consider turning around to see the damage.
His body continued to react intensely as if the injury were still there. He screamed, moaned, tried to curl up without being able to find a position that would ease the pain.
– sniff ha… aHA!
His ragged breathing was mixed with small moans that he could no longer hold back.
Something moved behind him.
He felt a presence approaching, then two arms enveloped him.
Chetan stiffened.
One hand was placed on his forehead and covered his eyes. The other held him against a cold chest.
No resistance.
– leave it… he breathed.
Eugene simply held him close, with a strange caution, as if the slightest movement might break him further. A hand slowly moved up his stomach, then down again. The gesture was repeated, without haste, accompanied by a low voice he couldn't make out.
Chetan continued to tremble.
Her cries gradually turned into sobs.
He kept his arm close to him, his other fingers clenched on his chest.
He was crying.
Crying
It certainly wasn't because of his arm.
How long he had kept it.
Nothing was real anymore, once again.
He relaxed further, remained there, silent, crying over this figure whose name he knew without being certain of knowing the person.