Chapter 5 – Deep Space Spectres #4
But the person in the dining room, sitting on the floor by the arch into the little kitchen, his elbows on his knees and his head tipped forward, was Araxis.
The dim light painted the whole room in shadows, and I was reminded at once of the shuttle here: how pretty he'd looked bathed in pink and white, against the stark black of the void outside; how his fingers had felt against my skin; the hook of his smile, the gleam of his eyes.
I reached out and rapped my knuckles softly against the metal of the door frame, to let him know I was here. At once, Araxis's head jerked up, his black eyes flashing upwards. I saw his eyes tighten, even across the room. "Hi," I said, quiet. I nudged the door shut behind me.
"It is late to be up," said Araxis, his voice a little hoarse. His hands were clasped in front of him; he was wearing something that looked soft and relaxed, as if he'd been in bed. "Are you alright?"
"I can't sleep," I said, edging around the dining room table toward the kitchen. "Did you want tea?"
He made a soft sound in his throat. "I meant to make some. Here, I will –"
"Sit," I said, brushing past him and into the kitchen – the source of the soft pink light slicing across the dining room. "I'll do it. You tell me which one."
He directed me to a little canister with loose tea that smelled floral and herbaceous and, I don't know, soft somehow.
I followed his instructions, and we didn't talk beyond murmured directions for how much tea, which tea pot, which cups.
All the while, Araxis still sat on the floor, perfectly still.
Once I had placed the teapot and cups on the tray he'd told me to get, I brought the whole lot out and sat it down on the floor before sinking down next to him – our shoulders and hips only a few inches apart.
"Why can't you sleep?" Araxis asked quietly, once I had settled in, tipping my head against the wall to look at the shadows of the ceiling.
I blinked up at the darkness, rubbing my right thumb across the pads of my fingers thoughtlessly.
"Bad memories," I said finally, figuring that there was a special type of honesty permitted this late at night, this far from home, when you were this close to the end of your life.
"Why can't you sleep? Or is this just where you like to spend your nights?
" I looked at him from the corner of my eye, and saw that he was staring at the teapot as if it might solve all of his life's problems.
"Hm." He fluted out a soft sound, like a sigh, blinking slowly. "I have been feeling quite upset with myself today."
I frowned. "Why?"
He tilted his head to look at me, hands still clasped in front of him. "I wish to apologize to you, if you are willing to hear it."
I stared at him, shocked. He leaned forward and lifted the teapot with his elegant hands, pouring two cups before setting it down gently. He reached and picked up one earthenware cup, holding it out to me – an offering.
I took it, the heat from the cup instantly soothing; Araxis's fingers lingered for a moment against mine, and my chest constricted, an unfamiliar sensation. "Okay," I said in the dim light. "I'll listen."
He picked up the other cup, cradling it in his hands.
"Last night," he said, voice soft in this barely lit space in the deepest hours of the night, "I spoke about abayan gender as if it is a monolith: it is not, although that is how it is presented in the more traditional creches.
Many abaya feel that…" He trailed off, the skin between his eyes wrinkling.
"Feel what?" I asked, watching the steam rising from the lip of the mug.
The smell reminded me of something from years ago, but I couldn't place it; it was a good memory, though.
Those were the ones I had the hardest time holding; they were like clouds drifting by, fading to nothingness the moment I tried to catch them in my fingers.
He fluted out a sound that was like a sigh, barely louder than a breath.
"This is not something we tend to speak about.
In traditional culture, you are as you are.
That is immutable. Those who are not are skoshas – the ones who do not fit.
Skoshas are dangerous; they threaten our way of being.
They are often exiled from their creche and sent away from our communities.
This has been a point of much debate in our government, how a creche is to deal with skoshas.
In the way that it was bad with your humans to be virra, it is bad with most abaya to be skoshas. "
I watched him, not understanding, but feeling that he was leading up to something. "Alright," I said. "That's traditional culture, you said. So that means that there must be some… disagreement?"
Araxis looked relieved to not have to spell it out.
"Yes, you understand. Creche Thiel believes that skoshas are the shadow selves, who show us the forgotten sides of the paths we walk.
The things we lose when we stop looking for new routes to chart.
It was never bad, to Creche Thiel, to be skoshas.
Or to be more than… what you are expected to be.
There are more ways of being than what the Concord dictates.
That is what my creche believes, although it has cost us greatly in our time. "
He set his cup down gently, carefully, as if it might break, although he hadn't taken a sip yet.
He chewed on his lip, like he was working up to something, so I just stayed quiet.
"I thought about our conversation and – it would be very hypocritical of me to tell you that you must be virra, that it is clear to me, when it does not matter how you appear.
It matters… how you feel. Even if others do not see.
I will listen to what you tell me about who you are, and I will believe you.
So I am deeply sorry, Sashen. Perhaps it felt like a small thing to you, but I believe I did you harm, and I have been thinking about it all day.
Egnax was right, I was distracted, and it was my fault for being careless. "
My chest was tight again, and for some reason, I could feel heat prickling behind my eyes, as if I was going to tear up.
When was the last time someone had apologized to me?
He'd hurt my feelings last night, but not in a way that should have been big enough to count for anything.
Just another careless elbow in the place I was bruised and raw.
Except he'd seen that and he'd felt badly all day, and then he wanted to make amends.
He'd even tried earlier, except I'd brushed him off.
It was like my pain mattered to him, and that was new and strange and made me ache in a deep, dark part of myself I didn't know could feel that way.
"Well," I said after a moment, my voice a little hoarse, "what you said did feel…
right. It's just hard to hear, I think. I spent a lot of time being told exactly who I had to be, and being told that there were parts of myself I had to hate, to cut out, in order to…
be worth something. It wasn't easy to leave – I mean, it really wasn't easy; I had to plan for months, and I still can't believe I got away with it – but I knew I had to be in charge of my own life.
I had to know who I was, and make sure that no one else could tell me that who I was, who I am, was wrong or…
repulsive. So I think I probably just… reacted to being told I'm virra because it felt similar, maybe.
Like there were these lines being drawn around me to define who I am for me, to dictate that for me, so that I was left without any say about who I am or how I feel.
I know that's not what it means. I've thought about it a lot.
But I think that might be why I was upset, because of that feeling. "
A thin whine sounded, a subvocalization from Araxis's pale throat.
His shoulders tensed slightly, his black eyes gleaming in the dim light between us.
"I understand. I am very sorry to have caused you distress – particularly because I…
implied something I do not even believe.
" His words were raw, and it was his tone and that subvocal whine – which sounded like pain because he'd hurt me – that made something soft and fragile in my chest give way.
I turned my head away from him, blinking furiously.
There was no way I was crying because someone had been kind and apologized to me.
No thank you. I swallowed hard; I tightened my fingers around the cup; I forced myself to draw in a long, even breath.
When I spoke, I managed to keep my tone almost even.
"You're incredibly nice, I hope you know that.
Don't feel bad: that was the best apology I've ever gotten.
Of course you're forgiven. I don't think there was anything to forgive, really; we just didn't know better.
Besides, I'm pretty sure you were telling me that I'm alluring, so.
I'm not exactly insulted." And then I forced myself to drink some tea, even though my throat was still tight and my eyes were still hot and wet.
Araxis shifted next to me, just slightly.
"I am looking forward to spending more time with you," he said softly, his knee nudging mine in a gentle touch.
I glanced back, and he was smiling – something small and private, there in the quiet of the dining room while everyone else on the ship slept.
I tilted my head toward him as it rested against the wall, watching his dark eyes, the way the shadows caught on the sharp line of his jaw and gathered under the collar of his shirt; how his fingers looked as he reached to hold his cup once more, throat bobbing as he drank his tea.
I watched him in silence, and I felt… content.
Well, almost.
I wanted to kiss him then, to reach out and catch his chin in my fingers and press my mouth gently to the corner of his.
I wanted to lick the taste of sweet tea from his mouth, to drink him down like a balm.
I wanted to savour every drop of kindness he had so that I could remember what it was like to be treated gently, as if my feelings mattered, like that was something I could carry with me when things ended.
I looked at him and my heart ached, and I didn't understand why.
But I knew I wanted him, and it wasn't in the way I'd wanted him back in the den.
I wanted his softness too. I wanted that for myself, greedy; I was voracious, like I'd been starving my whole life, and here was someone offering up a feast and smiling at me while I devoured every scrap.
I don't know what he saw in my eyes, then. Maybe he read it all; maybe he just saw hunger and thought I was being particularly virra. Or maybe he started to feel guilty, even then, when he realized what he'd done to me and how happy I was to follow his lead: guileless, gullible, naive, desperate.
Regardless of what he saw, Araxis set his cup on the tray before standing. He gathered my empty cup too and took the tray back into the kitchen. "You should try to sleep, Sashen," he murmured, offering a hand.
I reached for him like a drowning man, and he held me at arm's length – then, at least. Was it guilt?
Or was it calculation? I don't know, but I think it was in that moment that I first felt myself fall toward him, inevitable.
It was then when the first seeds took root, something new and unfamiliar.
I just didn't know they'd grow into poison later.