“Are you okay?” they both ask after a short glance my way, their faces an image of concern.
“You're so pale, Hales.” Tasha rubs my cheek with the back of her hand. “...and cold,” she adds, her face constricted.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I mumble incoherently, and they have to ask me to repeat myself. “Can you guys walk me to my car?” The last thing I want is to cause some kind of a scene with all my co-workers around. They both immediately, unquestioningly follow. Ian takes my hand in his and I can hear him whispering to Tasha, worried, “She's shaking.” They watch me quietly, in noticeable alarm, as I sift through my bag looking for the car keys.
“Hales, talk to us,” Ian coaxes me quietly, rubbing my arm.
“You're scaring me.” Tasha’s voice comes next, soft and alarmed.
Holding the keys in a death grip, I turn my head, which is now thudding, to look at them both. “That was Iris on the phone. They believe that the group Daniel was traveling with…” I take a breath, but still feel suffocated, “…was taken, hos…tage.” My voice breaks over the horrifying word.
Ian’s eyes tear open the same moment Tasha’s hand flies to her mouth, covering it in disbelief.
“Believe?” It’s Ian who asks.
“Apparently there’s a government official among the group, so the information they disclosed to the families is vague,” I manage to answer, this time in a complete, coherent sentence.
“I gotta go home,” I mumble, and point the remote toward the car.
“Not by yourself, you don’t,” Tasha says, resolutely.
“And you are definitely not driving, Hales, you're completely shaken up and have had enough alcohol.” Ian, poised and determined, takes the keys from my hands. “Girls, get in. Tash, you stay with Hales in the car, I’ll run back to let Josh and Rafael know we're leaving.”
Tasha opens the back door and scoots in next to me, saying nothing though giving me the exact kind of consoling I need with a comforting hug.
We drive. In silence or not, I'm not sure. I'm in my own universe, looking blankly at the passing scenery thinking and not, perfectly numb. The few words that manage to penetrate my detachment are Ian asking Tasha if she knows where the remote is, or something along that line.
~~~
“What do you want to do, Hales,” Tasha asks hesitantly as I take my place on the couch. “Do you want me to bring you something?” I shake my head and with a weak voice mention I want to try and watch the news. There’s nothing about any US civilians taken hostage, though there’s a lot about riots in Bangkok that just back up what I already know. It's almost an hour after midnight so I decide to let Iris sleep, if she's even able to. I’ll call her first thing in the morning for more information.
“Should I get you something, Hales?” Ian tries in a gentle tone. I shake my head.
“I’ll just have a short shower,” I murmur. What I really mean is I want to be under running water, behind a closed door. Alone.
Chapter 33: The Morning After
Finally I fall asleep in the living room between Ian and Tasha, after staring, in a fog, at a movie they watch. I manage to stay asleep for less than two consecutive hours during the entire night. Horrid nightmares keep periodically waking me up. Each time I’m pulled out of oblivion I am sweating and shaky.
The room starts to clarify with the first touches of pre-dawn light. I look at the two slouched bodies at my sides and tiptoe around putting blankets on them. I walk sluggishly through the corridor to the bedroom. Lying on my side, I pull Daniel’s pillow to my face, embracing it tightly, taking in a lungful so big it ends up with a sharp pain in the middle of my ribcage. I turn the flat screen on to the news channel. When the international news comes on there are updates about the wild street fighting between protesters and troops in Bangkok. The fighting has apparently left 15 people dead and hundreds wounded. There's still no mention of any foreigners or about anyone being taken hostage. There's no mention of any foreigners at all, for that matter, only images of armored vehicles, Thai soldiers shooting tear gas at antigovernment protesters, and the stories of witnesses. My stomach knots, sending me running to the toilet to puke up everything in me, and everything that’s not. I end up on my knees, trembling uncontrollably on the bathroom floor.
I shut my eyes and my mind, trying to evade the images and sounds, and think about my last communication with Daniel. With all my heart I hope that he received my last text telling him that he is amazing and that I love him. My throat is clogged but I'm not able to cry. I am numb.
I walk to my nightstand and take out the velvety box from the upper drawer. I curl my fingers tightly around it and bring it close to my heart, holding it as if it were my sole source of existence.
He is aggressive and possessive, always gets his way, brings me to new heights of irritation, but all in all he is mine, and I love him more than anyone or anything in this world.
Hearing footsteps coming my way, I stash the box back in its place and instead take out my sketch book. I'm scribbling aimlessly when Tasha appears at the door. After seeking my consent she enters the room and sits herself by my side. “Is there anything new?” She gestures with her chin at the TV.
“Not much.”
“Do you want me to get you anything?”
I shake my head.
The only thing I want is nowhere to be found.
My throat closes tighter.
“Hales, I think you should spend the rest of the weekend with us.” To my objection she adds, “Just be with us, don’t stay here alone driving yourself crazy, thinking. We can go somewhere quiet, or not. Whatever you want.”
“The only thing I want is to just be here at home.”
Where we were together last
…
She hugs herself at the waist and contemplates.
“Then we’ll stay with you.”
“Tash, really, I don’t need babysitting. You guys just go, enjoy your weekend.” She shakes her head.
“I’m going to wake up Mr. Sleeping Beauty and see what he has to say.” Without leaving me enough time to focus on my sketching, they both appear in the room. Ian rubs his hands over his still not-fully-conscious face and combs his hair with his fingers. Both hands threaded in his hair, his arms spread wide, he studies me with sleepy eyes.
“The verdict,” he says hoarsely, stops to clear his throat, and resumes. “We are going hiking.” Tasha and I exchange skeptical glances.
“Since when do we do hiking?” Tasha voices our similar thoughts.
“Since I’ve decided.” Ian shrugs.
“I’m pretty comfy with our usual lazyass activities,” Tasha tries to reason with the dictator.
Ian scratches his abs. “Then hiking it is. Anyone want coffee?” He yawns, turns on his heels, not exactly waiting for an answer, with Tasha grumping and grunting right behind him.
“Hiking, what the?” I can hear Tasha’s voice fading in the corridor.
I can’t really explain how, but about a couple of hours later I find myself on the scenic Lands End trail listening to my friends banter about everything from which movie is better to who has a hotter boyfriend. I roll my eyes, though I can’t argue with the fact that this break was a good idea and that they're actually managing to distract me from my misery, and have even occasionally put a smile on my face.
“Hales, now objectively: Josh or Rafael?”
“Tasha you are not asking me
that
.” I wrinkle my nose. “Not taking part.” I keep avoiding the answer by taking long sips of my Evian.
“If you had to do one of them, who would you do?” Ian smirks, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“You guys are sick and c’mon, really, my boss is one of the candidates!” I flare and shake my head.
“Hey, I’d fantasize about your boyfriend any given day.” Tasha snickers and smacks Ian at the back of his head, shaking her own.
“You
are
sick,” I pout.
With the mention of Daniel, I draw back into my thoughts. Ian sends a concerned look my way, nears me to hug my shoulders and kisses my temple.
“Sorry. Let's go sit by that rock.” He points at a large rock about half a mile away. “In the meantime, let’s play association words,” he suggests, animated.
“Are we on an elementary school fieldtrip?” Tasha dismisses dryly, but still looks eager to start.
“I’ll go first.” Ian disregards the jibe. “Euthanasia.” We both look at him, grimacing.
When Ian shrugs Tasha murmurs, “Morbid subject.”
“Hey, one word only.”
“Sick,” Tasha corrects, pointing at Ian.
“Meds,” I add.
“Ian,” Tasha snickers, highly amused with herself. I give her a half smile.
When we finally reach our picturesque resting point we are at “Bestiality” which is associated with Ian’s former landlady, Mrs. 100-year-old-frustrated-virgin. Ian’s words, not mine. I sit at the edge of the rock looking at the amazing view spread before me and can’t shake the thoughts of where Daniel is being held right now and in what kind of condition he might be in. I close my eyes, and the air immediately deflates from my lungs as my imagination conjures alarming images that play behind my shut eyes.
“Whatever it is you're thinking about, stop.” Tasha squeezes my knee, studying me closely.
“You may as well just ask me to stop breathing.” My response comes out dry.
“The thing is, Hales, they're just speculations. Yes, something went completely wrong but you're not really sure what it was, so try not to torture yourself with the worst possible scenario,” she says, trying to sound calm.
~~~
The next day, when Iris calls to shed some additional light on the matter, we're at the farmer's market buying fresh produce for a feast Tasha and Ian are planning later tonight. Iris informs me that the group Daniel was traveling with was in fact taken hostage by “the red shirts,” anti-government protestors, and that there is contact with the group via neutral diplomatic authorities. She adds that the fact that there’s a government official among the detainees could be also the help catalyst as it is the appealing target.
All through the weekend my two guardian angels leave me only to take care of absolute necessities. On Sunday evening, resolute and authoritative, I summon them both for a talk.
“Guys, you are truly amazing and I love you hardcore, but this is where you stop and go back home, back to your lives.”
When Tasha twists her pointy nose and Ian is about to speak up, I raise my hand and shake my head. “Don’t. Let me finish. We don’t know how long this thing will last, and we all have a life to return to after the clock strikes midnight and the weekend is over. I’m okay and I can manage by myself, and I promise that if I need you, I’ll let you know.”
“Hales, you know you can’t hold yourself poised and cool for very long. You’ll break down eventually, and I want to be there when it happens.”
I shake my head again and bite my cheek to stifle the choking that is about to stiffen my throat, yet again. My voice comes weaker this time. “I promise. I’ll let you know if I need you.”
“I can move in with you, gorgeous, just for the time being.”
For the time being? It’s like living in limbo, waiting. Waiting for what
? I dread the thought.
“No, tonight you go back home. I need some alone time. Let me cope in my own way. Please.” The end of my sentence is so quiet it's hardly audible.
When they eventually leave, it's way after midnight.
I lie down on the hard wooden floor of the living room and stare at the ceiling, praying him back. The infinite fields of emptiness in my heart leave me without the ability to express my pain. When I finally make myself get up, I step into the bedroom fearing the night, frightened to face the darkness of my dreams again. I find myself fighting to stay asleep through episodes of insomnia. It literally hurts to stay awake.
Chapter 34: Numb: adjective
, 1.
deprived of the power of sensation
As I brush my teeth I stare at the mirror. I resemble myself but there's no depth in my eyes. I am my own synthetic clone. I don’t feel. I hear but I don’t listen. I look but I don’t see. Empty would be the best word to describe me. And any thought or memory that threatens to make its way into my head is like a direct infusion of venom to my heart, killing it piece by piece.
On automatic mode I dress, drink, drive, live.
When Josh sees me he asks me to walk with him to his room. “Take a seat please, Hayley,” he says, his eyes a mirror of sympathy. “Ian told me.” All work formalities are immediately gone.
I nod, not sure what he expects me to say or if he expects me to speak at all for that matter.
“You can take a few days off. You don’t need to be here,” he adds, somberly.
“Thank you, but I’d much rather be here,” is all I say. My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.
“I see.” He rubs his jaw. “But just so you know, if at any point you feel that it's too much and you need to get away, just go.”
“I appreciate that,” I say, colorless. I nod, and leave to go to my desk. The looks and whispers around me are coming from every corner. I have the urge to scream to the space:
stop, let me be!