I hear itaround me. The crunch of gravel and trampled grass.
Someone's near.
Slowly I get off my bed, tucking in Tim with my body-heated blankets.
My instincts prick, the dark pressing against the edges of the yurt.
I fumble my way by the door, my hands clutching in abated death.
A haggard sigh then something falls to the ground.
Who is it.
I reach for one of the covered light globes and step out of the yurt slowly.
It's all black now.
Lying down amongst a pile of various brown-stained broken bottles, her shadow leans against our house.
Ileane?
Catching my nerves I lie down next to her.
Is she here to rob me?
Holding out a bottle, she offers me her drink.
I guess not.
"Alright but only a quick sip."
We both takes a drawn sip of the clouded brew, exhaling openly. The liquid sprays the air wet, flying in all directions as its dragged along by the resignated shudder in our empty breaths.
Scorn. Envy. Regret. It's all told by her flavourlessly bland expression; The kind you see in yourself when you're down and notice in others.
Enjoying that tasteless drink? I'd bet much on no.
I sink to her level. Leaning down against the wall my robe sticks to the backboard, lifting above my head.
Building up my courage, I turn to face her.
Her face is a pale red.
"So, Ileane, it was, right? You don't seem fine, you right?" My tongue asks, looking at her funny.
"No, I'm just fucken great." She scowls back.
"Ain't we all."
My right hand, idle grabs at one of the cracked bottles of alcohol drink.
Backward.
Forwards.
Back again.
I roll it.
For amusement. Relief. Or antagonism?
I don't actually know much about her,but, she clearly needs to speak and I need an adult to talk to. Sorry Tim.. But we all have our moments.
"So…" I initiate.
She growls back.
I'll wait. You have to announce your scent as someone safe before you go in for the fluffy pets, I convince myself. My shadow staring right back up at me.
Time passes.
But my clock resumes when she finally talks out of the blue.
"I just want them to see me for who I am, not what I can provide, you know." She dribbles her words out-between dripping gulps.
"I'm sure many guys would be accepting of who you are."
"You wouldn't understand. Have you even met that guy before? He's a snake"
"Well, maybe not the drunkard dudes you hang out with, but there are plenty all over the world."
"Ouch... are you talking about yourself here? You charmer."
"No, of course not. I just met you. Can't I just have a chat with you and not wanna sex you up?"
She tuts.
"Yeah well, you're too ugly for me anyway."
"See, you are looking for someone based on just their appearance, you hypocrite."
"Hey, can't a girl just want everything she wants; no repercussions?"
"Do I even need to hazard a legitimate answer to that?"
"I knew you wouldn't understand it." Her hand moves swift, grabbing out, holding my bottled hand tightly still.
Unfased, I continue probing.
"Well. I think you want the exact same things as those guys you're making fun of. I think they have their wants and needs just as you do; and I think you just have different ways to express that need."
Blurp.
With that grabby hand she covers her mouth.
Her face reddens.
"Hey, aren't you listening? I'm giving you real sage advice here."
"Tsk. I don't want yer advice; I want to complain about life. You're supposed to just go ahead and agree with me."
"Why?"
"Think for yourself for a second here. If you picked up everyone's burden in the world ever had, what does that make you?" She grumbles.
"I dunno. A bitch?"
"Well, if you want to be direct, yes. I was gonna say something instead: "A singular boot, hollowed out for everyone else to wear, to take you where they want, on their terms, on their time, never to be looked after that's what I feel like."
Grabbing one of the broken bottles bases, I look through at her with a big glassy eye.
"What about the other boot?" I ask dryly.
"Oh, it's long gone, worn out and no longer part of the set. Or it changed so much that they don't recognize each other anymore."
"And what of the wearer?"
"Are you making fun of my comparison? I was just trying to explain myself to you in a simple, easy-to-understand way that even yonk's arse could get."
"Well it was pretty bad. Butt Hell, you don't need to explain yourself to me; your feelings don't have to be logical to be important to you." I scratch at my elbow before continuing.
"In my life's experience, it's often those who display themselves as the most logical and apathetic to the world and the suffering of others, that operate on the most emotional impulses.
Internal regulation and acceptance of those parts of yourself are usually the first steps to controlling your emotions."
My lone finger touches her forehead.
"So, that being said, what's on yer mind?"
"Well, I like that you're listening to me. Engaging. Not many people do; they just ignore, sit quietly or agree with me or also deflect by talking about other things. That happens too. You have a way with words, so I'll tell you a bit about myself." She swats my finger away.
"I used to be a farmgirl. It was just me, a local pastor, and our parents on the farm. We were cattle ranchers, you see, bred various spirit animals for selling. I could tell you all the species bred to get you a specific flavor. We dealt with rare and exotic tames too."
She scratches at her thigh then her eyes turn glossy.
"Well, that was 'til they came: some independent heretics fleeing from the demonic persecution we housed them, took them in for a couple of days since they were injured."
She clears some phlegm in her throat and resumes her story.
"What thanks did I get but two dead parents and stolen goods?"
"I never understood why our parents let them in. Stupid, stupid choice.
They brought it on themselves. Useless bunch, but they didn't deserved their death, they got. Those rats almost killed me too."
"And Just like that. Poof," she gestures a hand explosion.
"I was orphaned and taken to a faraway town. In times to come, got bullied, beaten, and malnourished too, but I was always taken care of by him. He stood up and defended me."
"You see, my savior" Her hand lets go of the bottle and shields her wrinkled face.
"—I had a crush on him when I was little, okay! only one I've ever had. He was the only one who stood up for me, you see. But I knew it was wrong. I was at a dark time in my life where that didn't matter to me; all I wanted was that self-satisfaction, I thought he would provide."
"I did something to him that I regret even now. I was young at the time; I didn't know better, I keep telling myself."
"Should I be concerned?"
"Oh heavens no. I would never! I just confessed my feelings to him, that's all. But?..."
"But what?"
"He rejected them. Of course they would. After that they slowly changed too, became a very different person then they were, didn't want to associate with me any longer. Even got angrier too. Then, slowly over the years, I tracked them down to here."
"How did that make you feel?"
She looks away from me.
"How old were you at the time?"
"I was 10."
"That's pretty young? Have you ever considered that the fact they became like that wasn't because you confessed, but because of the circumstances you were in?" I lean closer.
"I, well, no, that wouldn't be it. They were perfect, resilient, and not afraid to stand up for me. Knew everything too always thinking ahead. Sly one that guy."
"Maybe that's all they ever let you see. Think about it—the children here at the school, I don't think any of them would be able to wander the lands at that age and not be impacted especially after losing parents."
"No, they're kids, too young."
"But weren't you also that age?" I counter.
"That… that was different. How to explain it… I-I… I just can't. But no, it's just impossible. They would've told me; I would've noticed something." she stammers out.
"You would be surprised. People often see only what they want to, and people only show what they want to too."
"The motivations of others cannot be easily read, understood, or interpreted. Especially if you think you know a person. You only had a version of them you remembered from your past; that wasn't the current them, but instead, it was a phantom that you remembered. You had built a vision of this person tied to those memories and what they meant to you, that you lost sight of what and who he really was. or who he wanted to be."
"If that was the case then how do you ever really know someone." She scoffs.
"That's just the answer, you really are never sure."
"It's all awareness. Not to make a judgment once and stick with it, but to constantly recontextualise the world around you."
I cough into my hand.
"I've thought about this a lot. To me I've myself seen how its hard to reconcile the fact that people can rapidly change in the ways you least expect. Because you have already built up an image of who they are, if they don't live up to that image in your head, then you often feel discomfort, confusion, or even anger in ways you can't explain, for reasons you can't explain too but try to justify anyway."
I point four fingers in her face.
"For example, if it were me in a position to take care of you, as a younger adult I wouldn't want you to see that side of me for various reasons:
- To protect you from the world,
- To make you more willing to follow my lead,
- To experience struggle myself,
- To keep your view of the world innocent.
And those are just the logical ones. You would be surprised how many conflicting ideas and motives drive people's actions, so you shouldn't feel too bad.
You're not responsible for another persons change; they are an autonomous individual who can make her own decisions now. And so are you."
"I, uh, never thought of it that way before. It seems so obvious now that you say it, but it still feels wrong." She scratches at her nose.
Tilting my head, my eyes soften.
"Wrong? How so?"
"You are basicallly telling me that the reason I'm so lonely is that I've never found a partner or person who surpasses this image of perfection I had for them?
Even though I thought I grew past that childish crush, I still have that emotional attachment. It was that very memory of what I felt about them that I clinged onto as a comparison of what I value in others. That security, vulnerability, reliability, relatability that I could feel."
I shrug.
"Maybe, maybe not, I'm not really sure, but if that's what feels right."
"That's even worse! Why don't you have the answers? You're making me think of things I've never thought of before; it's tiring."
Looking away from her, something I never thought I would say escapes my mouth.
"I'm sorry."
Tsk.
"So, at the end of the day, not even you, a random stranger, can help me."
She throws a bottle. It whistles briefly before shattering against the cornerstone of Shakie's empty grave. Glass trickles down, cutting holes into the open clover-field grassland.
Then she hangs her head in what I see, is shame.
"So then explain it to me: tell me what it is that you really want out of life then." I cross my arms gently.
"I"
"..."
"I guess I don't know. I must seem like a loser to you, desperately clinging to the idea of all the things I want out of life, but unsure what it really is I'm searching for. Fulfillment, intimacy, love, surely—but I can't be fucked to make any changes to make it happen anymore."
"And even if I did receive it, as you said, now I'm not even so sure that it will reach the expectations of those feelings I had.
I could be very well too focused on the chase of hunting my prey of so-called hopes and dreams. Even if I caught it with my two hands, I wouldn't know what to do with it.
Would I prefer the satiation of eating it, or let it go and start chasing it all over again? I must be no different than a hungry predator chasing some prey."
"That makes sense to me, for the most part." I let out a deep hum.
"What? What don't you agree with?" she crinkles her nose back up at me.
"Well, the thing is... I like to think that being aware of our love for the hunt makes us a little different from those… 'other's'. Better. More humane or just different I haven't decided yet, but let me tell you how I see things now."
I pause; the next words I attach together with tremendous care, thinking carefully before I speak in absolutes.
"Dreams. They seem like an escape to me—you have them, they can carry you to your destination, yes, but also they can get crushed.
Why rely on something so fickle?
Consider this, even the best outcome to having such a wild ambition leads you to a destination. Once there, you simply stop moving forward. This is complacency.
On the other hand, if you never reach your dream, your actions can falter too, losing meaning… but what they never lose is purpose.
To me, purpose is the only thing that truly matters. All actions have a purpose, but not all actions have meaning. You can have a reason for everything you do and still feel empty inside.
My purpose isn't tied to motive or result; it's a constant state of being. Always hungry."
A small grin grows on her face, and she punches my shoulder. "You little rascal, looking down on everyone and the world like that. No wonder everyone talks mad shit about you behind your back."
The fuck? Who's talking shit about me? No, Play it cool. I mustn't lose my integrity now.
"Oh yeah, I think I heard them say a couple of things. Well, I can't remember now; I'm too bothered with other more important things."
"You liar." She punches my arm again. "Stop trying to be cool. It's all good. If you want the truth, I like this side of you, dude."
"Thanks for listening." I wryly respond, eyes narrowing on her wet chin.
"They are right though. You won't last long in this world overthinking everything like that. I'm amazed a person like you even exists. Say, Do you want to be friends? It seems like you need some of them right now."
"Ah yes, I'm the one who's desperate for friends, but I guess a hand as good as yours wouldn't hurt me in any way."
She holds her hand out and spits in it.
I do the same.
We shake.
Everywhere I look, I see parts of myself and wonder: Are we truly as unique as we think, or is it just that suffering is a universal part of the human experience.
Either way, I hope neither of us wash our hands, just for tonight.
"Names Desmond Darker" I keep my grip tight.
"Ileane. Jones" She responds simply crushing my hand tighter, just before letting go.
She sputters, mumbling until she finds her words unclogged. "Oh, good luck finding that body from earlier, Dude."
My legs quiver.
"Wasn't that your job!"
"Was, til I stalked up all the wrong predators, told I should take the rest of the day off to, what was it he said, 're-prioritise my priorities' or some shit, said that those goons weren't ones to mess with."
"I see, so do you have any advice for me then detective?"
"Detective, I like the sound of that. To you well, I think that Todd fella is super suspicious. He definitely knows something or is hiding something too, many woman have reported him for his behavior and he's always just lurking around that guy. Sends shivers down my spine. Creepy. And that note you got."
"What about it?"
"Oh shit, I was told I can't tell you that."
"What? Do you know something I don't?!"
Frowning, I glare at her, but she looks away.
"I'm sorry Desmond, this was my last chance. I will make it up to you. Promise."
"Wait, tell me, was the note right, is Timothy really safe?"
Reaching out my right hand, I try to grab at her but it's bound by a rope.
When did you?
But before I can yell, she stumbles away, disappearing into the night the only evidence of her existence is the bottle in my hand.
If only.
If only you didn't say 'his name to me, If only I could sleep properly, so I too could keep my end of this promise.
Biting at the knot below, I manage my escape.
Standing awkwardly in the night, I take another step in the darkness, approaching town again.
There never was rest for the wicked.