museworks: (Lucrezia)
[personal profile] museworks
One day I woke and it was light. There was a face above me, but it was full of gentle concern; it was Jovan's face, and it was his hand cupping my cheek. I know my reaction was instant and instinctive at that point-- fear. I had come to be afraid-- terrified, even-- when I saw Jovan's face, or just his eyes in the dark. I would have scrambled away like a frightened rabbit, as much as it shames me now to admit, but his touch kept me pinned in place with no effort on his part.

"Shh, it's alright," he said, in a voice more tender and loving than I had ever heard from him. "You've been ill, hallucinating what must have been terrible things. But we think you will be well now."

I did not understand. Hallucinating? Ill? I had experienced all of the previous months' (or was it years at that point?) torment. I know I had. I could feel the aching on my back, on my backside and thighs, the various stinging welts and cuts that had been Alamir's work. I know I shook my head at Jovan, wanting nothing more than to shove him away from me and run, but I could not. I was dimly aware of actually wearing an item of clothing for the first time in I don't know how long. I closed my eyes but felt his hand move over my cheek then gently stroke my hair.

The insidious little thought inserted itself into my mind, I recall: What if he were right? What if it had been a hallucination, or a nightmare, or both? But why do I hurt so? I opened my eyes again to see some casualties of this 'hallucination'-- the remaining frame and stand of a shattered floor-mirror, a large curio cabinet similarly broken, things that could very well be responsible for my injuries. And Jovan-- he was being so concerned, so kind. I so desperately wanted to believe his words that I let myself do so. I apologized to him-- I apologized to him-- for everything, for being ill, anything done in the throes of hallucination, breaking anything. I was so desperate to believe that it had all been an extended nightmare or hallucination as claimed, so I clung to that. I clung to the kindness he seemed to be showing me and was already convincing myself of the truth of his words, and feeling ashamed that I had believed what was surely false. I did not want him to believe me mad, either, even though I myself was starting to wonder about such.

I do not think it was unreasonable to want to believe such, or even weak of me; it was so much easier to believe what was more pleasant at that time because everything else was in itself unbelievable.
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museworks

July 2011

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