03-25-2019, 08:22 PM
Time was slipping away. With every passing minute, her plan to convince him became harder, the opposition from him greater, more resolved. He turned to her. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her.
His spike-y stare had caused the skin to prickle and her heart to go frantic, but she gazed back at him gently, her wet, red hands by her sides, dripping on her white overalls. What did he see? she laughed a little, odd laugh, and shook her head. She wasn’t altogether convinced she’d passed his test.
Nina went back to her corner and sat with her back against the wall, intending to steady her nerves by resting there. Only now did she realize how much she wanted a smoke, and there was a stale taste in her mouth. She was tired and upset from the morning’s endeavors, especially from the incident which had plunged her back into a world of helplessness that she hadn’t thought about in years. She’d never expected those unpleasant memories to come and find her.
The man who didn't want to be here looked at her with his disturbing eyes, and though the verbal abuse had not eased off, the first hit of insight hit. She wasn’t a “shit nurse”, but if that’s how he wanted to see her, that was fine. She didn’t actually feel a need to dispel his notions.
Nina didn’t mind the rudeness, though. She understood his reluctance to open up, but she also knew she had to stay, anyway. By now, she was used to Soren's venomous replies which were filled with bitterness, anger, frustrations at this time—that was understandable when you’re trapped in pain and self-loathing, and she’d helped lonely people who grieved for loss of their healthy bodies. It took a real effort of will for her to keep from commenting on the runes and numbers on his arm, curiously, admiringly. But she wanted to show nothing but utmost respect—to put her patient at ease; wanted to draw him out; helped him know that he’d in good hands.
And it was important for him to be the one who asked for help—because she had seen, how Soren watched her. She came without invitation, and Soren meant something to Nina— he was herself before she’d been saved by friends. She wondered what she’d have been like without meeting Bas and the gopniks, if her sister Rena had never existed; what it was like to lead a life alone, detached from their community? How she’d make choices and follow paths if they hadn’t chosen to love her? Even so—
A strong gust of wind lifted her hair from her smiling face, and blew up a pile of dried leaves so that they scurried and drifted across them. At this time, the man had withdrawn against the alley’s walls so that he did not have to linger too close to her… And she could see from his twisted answer her enthusiasm wouldn’t produce any results. Then what else could she do?
The strange thing was, it wasn’t the first time she’d seen this unpleasantness. She’d seen it hundreds of times, and only now did she recognize it for what it was; a shock, yet horribly familiar. His jaw muscles were clenched, his spine and the small of his back were damp; his pain reminded her she was needed, just as it reminded her who she was; who she was forced to be.
She’d never thought about it much; never felt much need to reflect on it; but she knew her memories of that time more than ten years ago were always there when she least needed them. Nina couldn’t be sure, but … she gets it, you know? She got the same thing in the slums growing up, and she remembered what particular patch of hell it was. How many times had she pushed somebody away because she didn’t want them to see her weakness? Or snapped at a stranger so they left her to her self-pity and suffering? And like the Nina back then, this person was suffering, she just didn’t have any of the details from him yet. The feeling’s familiar, that’s all.
Soren fished around for a pen, then he made marks on his arm. Her eyes rounded out of curiosity at his painstakingly transcribed numbers but she kept quiet. She had no wish to make him jump or disturb his work.
And he was most certainly at work. He’d scratched a series of numbers onto the accompanying symbols with his arm as canvas.
She would, she resolved, when Soren allowed, examine them carefully, and perhaps even learn from them. They were fascinating. They could contain wisdoms about hunting and gods. Or was this just a speck of false knowledge that had got jumbled up in his head?
In any case while his twisted answers disturbed Nina—it did not put her off. She would have tried more persuasion, but she paused and then started suddenly. He bent over, though little sound came out. Was he groaning? Cursing?
Striding like a headstrong child, she went over to him immediately. Nina bent down and laced her arms around him, and rested the side of her head against his chest, assessing his rate of heartbeat. It was the only kind that concerned her. The bad kind.
“… Your eye… how did you lose it?” she asked. “What kind of replacement is this?"
Expectantly, she waited for him to pull her arms away.
His spike-y stare had caused the skin to prickle and her heart to go frantic, but she gazed back at him gently, her wet, red hands by her sides, dripping on her white overalls. What did he see? she laughed a little, odd laugh, and shook her head. She wasn’t altogether convinced she’d passed his test.
Nina went back to her corner and sat with her back against the wall, intending to steady her nerves by resting there. Only now did she realize how much she wanted a smoke, and there was a stale taste in her mouth. She was tired and upset from the morning’s endeavors, especially from the incident which had plunged her back into a world of helplessness that she hadn’t thought about in years. She’d never expected those unpleasant memories to come and find her.
The man who didn't want to be here looked at her with his disturbing eyes, and though the verbal abuse had not eased off, the first hit of insight hit. She wasn’t a “shit nurse”, but if that’s how he wanted to see her, that was fine. She didn’t actually feel a need to dispel his notions.
Nina didn’t mind the rudeness, though. She understood his reluctance to open up, but she also knew she had to stay, anyway. By now, she was used to Soren's venomous replies which were filled with bitterness, anger, frustrations at this time—that was understandable when you’re trapped in pain and self-loathing, and she’d helped lonely people who grieved for loss of their healthy bodies. It took a real effort of will for her to keep from commenting on the runes and numbers on his arm, curiously, admiringly. But she wanted to show nothing but utmost respect—to put her patient at ease; wanted to draw him out; helped him know that he’d in good hands.
And it was important for him to be the one who asked for help—because she had seen, how Soren watched her. She came without invitation, and Soren meant something to Nina— he was herself before she’d been saved by friends. She wondered what she’d have been like without meeting Bas and the gopniks, if her sister Rena had never existed; what it was like to lead a life alone, detached from their community? How she’d make choices and follow paths if they hadn’t chosen to love her? Even so—
A strong gust of wind lifted her hair from her smiling face, and blew up a pile of dried leaves so that they scurried and drifted across them. At this time, the man had withdrawn against the alley’s walls so that he did not have to linger too close to her… And she could see from his twisted answer her enthusiasm wouldn’t produce any results. Then what else could she do?
The strange thing was, it wasn’t the first time she’d seen this unpleasantness. She’d seen it hundreds of times, and only now did she recognize it for what it was; a shock, yet horribly familiar. His jaw muscles were clenched, his spine and the small of his back were damp; his pain reminded her she was needed, just as it reminded her who she was; who she was forced to be.
She’d never thought about it much; never felt much need to reflect on it; but she knew her memories of that time more than ten years ago were always there when she least needed them. Nina couldn’t be sure, but … she gets it, you know? She got the same thing in the slums growing up, and she remembered what particular patch of hell it was. How many times had she pushed somebody away because she didn’t want them to see her weakness? Or snapped at a stranger so they left her to her self-pity and suffering? And like the Nina back then, this person was suffering, she just didn’t have any of the details from him yet. The feeling’s familiar, that’s all.
Soren fished around for a pen, then he made marks on his arm. Her eyes rounded out of curiosity at his painstakingly transcribed numbers but she kept quiet. She had no wish to make him jump or disturb his work.
And he was most certainly at work. He’d scratched a series of numbers onto the accompanying symbols with his arm as canvas.
She would, she resolved, when Soren allowed, examine them carefully, and perhaps even learn from them. They were fascinating. They could contain wisdoms about hunting and gods. Or was this just a speck of false knowledge that had got jumbled up in his head?
In any case while his twisted answers disturbed Nina—it did not put her off. She would have tried more persuasion, but she paused and then started suddenly. He bent over, though little sound came out. Was he groaning? Cursing?
Striding like a headstrong child, she went over to him immediately. Nina bent down and laced her arms around him, and rested the side of her head against his chest, assessing his rate of heartbeat. It was the only kind that concerned her. The bad kind.
“… Your eye… how did you lose it?” she asked. “What kind of replacement is this?"
Expectantly, she waited for him to pull her arms away.
Nina