chapter 19 - sense of control

We wrote until our hands were crying for rest, until words no longer seemed real, and until the darkness loomed over us to warn us that it is time to stop. The mission passed in this way with no issues at all, but I could not relax. Each day was the same and could not be differentiated from another. Day after day we would ask the same questions to different people and if they spoke of different things, I wouldn't know. My mind had become accustomed to tuning out the ramblings of everyone. The more days that had passed, the greater my boredom grew. In that boredom I began wondering what would happen if we came across bandits, or if a natural disaster were to take place, or even an epidemic had begun to spread. My mind conjured up as many frightening scenarios that it could and threw them at me to pique my curiosity but it had only made me all the more anxious.

I was my own worst enemy.

Each day came with a new fright but I continued on, knowing that others would be unable to understand my internal battles. How would I explain that my difficulties stem from within, from nothingness? Occasionally I would wonder if perhaps I had hoped for something terrible to occur so that I would have a reason for my suffering. Very quickly however I brushed aside the thought, afraid of what a terrible person that would make me. On the final day we had finished early to get enough rest before the journey back home, if I could even call it that. I began packing my things, wanting to leave as soon as I possibly could even if that was not determined by me alone. I was being chased out of the village by an invisible force that I could not fight.

My erratic packing was only brought to a stop by a knock on the door that shook me out of my own head. I opened the door to find Klaus awkwardly standing in front of me, staring at the ground until he slowly looked up and his eyes fell on my cheek. I could almost hear the gears in his head working to find something to say to fill the silence we were in. When that didn't work he let himself inside, without having the slightest regard for my own wishes or comfort. The awkwardness felt impenetrable as I closed the door and began following behind him, silently waiting for him to break the ice. The longer the silence lasted, the heavier it weighed on my chest making it harder to speak. So instead I watched as he looked at my half packed luggage, making no attempts to clarifying his being here.

Still looking away from me, he began to speak.

"How is your injury?"

"I would hardly call it an injury, but it's fine." I spoke to the back of his head, somewhat pleased that I did not need to look him in the eyes as we spoke.

Again came the silence. As I continued to watch him I noticed his slightly clenched fist and I wondered if he too had picked up this tendency when he arrived in this world. It made us all the more similar. Perhaps he also struggled with being in a stranger's body and wished to feel that he was himself. Though it was far more likely that I had assigned meaning where there was none. My mind was too imaginative recently and ran away from me before I could do anything about it.

"How have you been in general?"

"Fine. The same as usual." My response came out more as a question. Unsure of how I was and why any of this concerned him.

"As usual." He scoffed, the words clearly filled with anger.

"Tell me something Max. Is being struck by an arrow the same as usual for you?" He gave no time to answer before he continued.

"Is it every day that you find yourself surrounded by men with weapons aimed at you? Is it within the norm to just about avoid being blinded on an otherwise uneventful day?"

There was nothing I could say in response. Partly because I knew he was right but I didn't wish to admit it, and partly because it concerns me more than anyone else.

"How have you been?"

"You already asked me that." I responded bluntly, quickly becoming tired of this entire conversation.

"And I will ask again and again, until you answer me honestly."

I almost wished I could see what face he was making right now, but I knew that it would have only made me feel that much smaller. Right now I was in the position of a child being chastised by an adult.

"And I will tell you again and again that I am fine, because that is the truth!"

As soon as I had finished the sentence, Klaus turned around and swiftly pointed his blade at my neck.

"And now?" He challenged, but the shake in his voice gave away his terrible attempt at callousness. In stark contrast, his hand was steady but strategically placed just far enough that the blade did not touch me yet close enough to send the message.

With my palm above the flat of the blade I pushed it down gently and sighed.

"What is it that you want to hear from me?"

"The truth."

"And what would the truth do for any of us? Don't you see, the truth changes nothing."

"Now you know that is not true."

"Do you want me to stand here and tell you about how afraid I have been? That I can hardly rest because I feel like I have barely escaped a terrible fate that continues to chase after me? Why? Because then you would be able to provide me with some form of comfort and make yourself feel better?"

"You do not get to make me out to be a terrible person for worrying about you!" He made a face I had not seen before, somewhere between anger and hurt. It was an expression I knew all too well.

"And you, Klaus, do not get to force me into a position of vulnerability to regain the sense of control you have lost. Now then, I would appreciate it if you would leave so that I may finish packing up my belongings."

He flared at me for a few seconds before pushing past me and exiting the room. As the door slammed behind me I wondered why people want the truth if it does no one any good. Is there something appealing in knowing the pains of others?