You and Me

It's lonely down here. The carpet is softer here, that's true, but I would gladly exchange that for just a few minutes of someone else's time. Anyone, really. A child, a mass murderer, someone in between. If I had a family, then I would ask them to visit often, come to chat. As it is, I only have dust bunnies for company. They are numerous, but they don't have eyes or ears to show you that they're listening, or mouths to communicate with. But they're soft. Sometimes, I pretend they're my pets.

I wish you could install a light down here. Or at least your parents could. This place is always so dark and gloomy. In the daytime, the light from the open bedroom windows seeps into the shadows and pushes them back, and I can see my surroundings. It's... almost peaceful. Yes, I still live in solitude, but the light warms my spotty skin and brightens my life, if only slightly.

But at night, when the light is turned off and the sun has disappeared, the darkness is oppressing. During the nights I feel as if I am stranded in space, floating in an eternal inky sea. I feel claustrophobic, locked in. During these times, the urge to leave this cramped space becomes so strong that I almost actually crawl out from under the bed frame.

But then I remember you. And I stay put.

Because you are a wisp of a thing, a perfect sweet. You are unlike me in all the right ways: your hair sits atop of your head and gleams strawberry red; your skin is smooth and utterly fragile; your hands and feet are small and delicately formed. I have seen your feet and hands many times, actually. It's hard not to, from where I am. When you sleep, they often drop off the mattress and dangle in full view. Sometimes the nails are painted, and sometimes they are not. Sometimes they wear jewelry, and sometimes they do not. And then sometimes a cut or scrape along the nails mars your limb's breakable beauty, and I am once again reminded just how fragile you are.

From here, from this lonely space, I hear your ringing laughter and I feel when your feet hit the ground as you dance to some music only you can hear. I've heard you talk with friends. You talk about so many things with them, without a care in the world. It's as if you take them for granted. As if you didn't understand what life would be like without them.

I understand what it's like.

And I know I don't want you to ever live that life.

Because your emotions are as delicate as your skin. They bruise and hurt and sting in you. I have heard you crying as your father mutters his love for you. I have heard you screaming, begging for something that your parents won't let you have. I have heard you wail, and shout, and sometimes just sit on your bed and say nothing at all, and let your emotions envelop you. I know this because when you feel emotions, I feel them too.

It's almost strange, feeling so vividly. I never knew I was such an empath until I was assigned to you. Before, when I was among my own, when I trained for this position, those like me never showed off their emotions. If anything, they showed anger, to make themselves more scary. But nothing else. No sadness, no fear, no joy. It's not our purpose to show emotion, they would teach us. We have a job to do.

I went along with it, of course. But until I was assigned to you, I never realized that there really is emotion that comes with this job. Your emotion. And oh my, there is a lot of that.

Which is why I swore to do what I do.

To betray my purpose, all for that sake of your emotions.

Because if there is one emotion that is more fragile than the rest of you, it is your fear. Your fear of the unknown. You have such an imagination, delicate one. Who knew it could turn against you? I didn't. 

The very first night I stayed here, I did nothing. I merely stayed under this bed, listening to your breathing. It took me two whole days and nights to gather the composure to execute my job. To be honest, I was nervous. Dummies and drills are one thing, but the real thing is quite another.

I remember that night well. The wind was blowing at record speeds, howling as it raced by the bedroom windows. It was utterly black, that night. Not even the moon dared to brave the gusts whirling outside of the window pane.

Your breathing was uneven that night. It came in shorter gasps, slightly higher than normal. That was how I could tell you were awake. I remember thinking that that was good. That it would make my job easier.

And so slowly, ever so slowly, I crept out from under the bed frame. The carpet was coarser out from under the bed, but I still continued, on hands and knees. I slithered out like a demented snake, and then back in, quiet enough to only make the smallest hint of noise.

You didn't look at me as I crawled out. You didn't notice me until I was towering above you, stretched to my fullest height, all four arms flexed in the air. You were facing away from me, but I knew you were awake by your breathing. I could still hear it, even over the howling wind that raced just outside.

I remember that it took me a couple of moments to realize you weren't going to turn towards me on your own. And so I had to force you to twist over, somehow make you. I remember feeling nervous then, my heart pounding, even though I had practiced it a hundred times before during my training.

And so I hissed, like a snake. I didn't know what else to do. I was improvising, but at the same time my confidence was growing. Slowly, you turned in your blankets to face me, eyes sleepily pulling open.

And you saw me for the first time.

Before then, I thought of my body as practical, good. I figured that with a body like mine, I could get a job more easily. Now, as I consider how I look, I wish every night that I could change my appearance. I wish I could look calmer, tamer, with big eyes like yours and gentle skin and thin limbs. If I only looked like you, if I looked less frightening, then perhaps all of this could have been avoided.

But when you saw me for the first time, you saw me for everything that makes me terrible. For everything that makes me different from you.

I remember your face. That face still haunts my dreams. Eyes pulled open, screaming silently. They filled with tears in an instant. Your arms tried to cover your face, but I could still see through them. I could still see your eyes. They were wider than I had ever thought a human's could be. They were twisted, like they were unnatural, distorted with terror and horror and fright, and they looked as if they would shatter in an instant. I had never seen a human's eyes, but I knew they weren't supposed to look like that. Never like that. And yet, they did.

They were bright blue, the brightest blue, even against the darkness. And suddenly, looming over you, arms reached towards you, I could see what you saw. What you saw me to be.

You saw four arms where two ought to be, hands sharpened into claws that seemed to glisten like knives. You saw a mouth pulled back to cover half of my face, filled to the brim with needle teeth, bared and dripping with saliva. You saw my skin, tough as leather and covered with thin, matted hair that didn't quite cover all my pus-filled sores. You saw someone--no, something else, something unnatural, sick and twisted and terrible and waiting to eat you alive.

You saw a me as a monster.

The scream that ripped from your throat was as raw as the tears in your eyes. It was a warped version of your normal voice, distorted into something completely and utterly terrified.

And I froze in place. It felt like I had frozen in time. Dummies didn't scream like that. Dummies didn't look at you with such a mixture of revulsion and horror in their eyes. I had trained for this moment my whole life. This was my job, after all.

But I had never trained for you.

And so as your parents rushed up the stairs to see what was the matter, I slithered once again back under the bed frame to turn invisible, my heart pounding so hard that it hurt. My mind felt broken.

Humans were never meant to look that way. With terror and horror twisting their features into something ghastly. With helplessness written all over their faces. No one is supposed to feel that way. You were never supposed to feel that way.

And yet, because of my job, I made you into something horrible.

That is why I do what I do. Why I stay down here, only looking at your from afar. Why I never come out from the bed frame, not even while you sleep just to walk around. Because I may scare you. And you will look that terrible way once again. And I cannot have that. You are so delicate in your mind, body and soul. If I hurt you again... I cannot bear to see you like that again.

You have forgotten about me, I know. You think I was part of your imagination. And I hope that, to you, I stay that way. But perhaps one day, you will be less delicate. If not in body, for all humans are fragile in that respect, then in soul and in mind. On that day, perhaps I will again come out from under your bed frame, and meet with you face to face once again, and see your blue eyes calm, maybe even happy. Maybe, I hope, if you are not afraid, we can become friends.

I wish this with all of my heart. It is my dream, and my hope. But until then, little one, I will be here, staying out of sight. Staying here in the dark, the cold, suffering loneliness with the dust bunnies and my thoughts for company. It is hard much of the time, but I do it. Because somehow, I have grown to care for you, as fragile as you are. And I know that if I stay away from you, you will never feel so terrified again.