I reach up for a bar to help me dismount from the bed and then realize that I don’t need that here. It feels weird to not pull myself into my constant companion, the wheelchair. I tentatively climb out of bed using my legs. They’re shaky with exhaustion.
I yank the sheets, blankets, and pillows from the bed and throw them unceremoniously on the floor. I use the comforter as a cushion and cover myself with the silken sheets. The floor’s hardness isn’t exactly restful, but at least I can get my heart rate under control.
Dreamlessly, I drift from the dull ache of loneliness to the phantom pressure of fingers tightening around my neck. My hands reach down to my stomach and probe for any remnant of the silver cord, but none is there. That world, it’s lost to me.
Eventually, light peeks through the razor-thin gaps between the curtains. It’s a cold relief to be able to set aside the pretense of sleep.
I pile the bedding on top of the mattress in a heap, then slouch over to one of the high-backed vermilion chairs. I sink down and sigh. It’s a beautiful chair, but designed more for looks than use. By this point, I’m not bothered by the discomfort.
I blink twice and call up my astral iPod. For the first time ever, I regret that it’s 98% filled with dance music. I need something more organic… Some music that’ll help me feel and navigate this endless pain.
I scroll until I notice Johnny Cash. I’d forgotten all about that album! Dad bought it for me as a present. Though I didn’t share his love for it, the thought had been touching, so I’d ripped it to my iTunes collection.
“I hurt myself today, to see if I still feel. The old familiar pain, the only thing that’s real.”
His lonesome, weary voice tears me in two, but this time there are no sobs. I sit frozen in the chair and let the song play from beginning to end. The pain, the suffering… somehow the melody lends it proper context.
Letting myself feel every part of the pain helps. Of course, I’m sad — I’ve been murdered. Anyone would be ruined. But I’ve built myself back before. I’m not ready for an up-tempo montage healing journey, but I am ready to actually sit with the loss.
Mentally, I start a list of all the things I’ll miss, but a faint knocking interrupts the process before I get past Dad and Lucy.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Breakfast, m’lady,” Gloria’s perky voice answers.
Human interaction this early? Even with the cute maid, that’s way beyond what I can handle right now.
“Just leave it outside the door. I’ll get it when I’m hungry.”
“Certainly, m’lady,” she answers, a hint of disappointment in her voice. I suppose gawking at the castle’s pet dragon must be what passes for fun around here, I think cynically. I instantly shake my head to banish the uncharitable thought.
Food is the last thing I want right now. Instead, I start up the album, this time starting from the first track. That raspy, sad voice lulls me. My chin drops to my chest, and I drift into sleep.
Knocking pulls me from my dreamless sleep.
I wipe a strand of drool from my mouth, blink my eyes a few times, yawn once, and then ask, “Who is it?”
“It’s me, m’lady. Miss Gloria Porta. You remember, from the boat?”
“Weren’t you just here a second ago?”
“No ma’am, it’s been four hours. I’ve cleared breakfast and have lunch for you. Shall I leave it outside the door again, m’lady?”
“Lunch, already?” I guess I’d slept longer and deeper than I’d thought. I was about to send her away when that familiar ache of loneliness hit. “No, you can bring it in,” I answer.
“Yes, m’lady.” The door slides open, and she steps in, a tray of food levitating behind her. She curtseys deeply upon entry, though I do notice her eyes briefly dart towards the mess on top of the bed.
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“I’ll make the bed myself, don’t worry about it. Just set up the food, please.”
“Oh, m’lady, I couldn’t have you do any housework!” She sounds shocked at the mere suggestion. “I’ll be happy to take care of that once I get your meal ready.”
She walks over to a table on the opposite corner of the room from me and begins to fuss with the food setup. Watching her like that, it’s so domestic, simple, and normal… Three things that feel more alien to me than all the strange wonders of this astral world. That normalcy? Something to hold on to.
“Can you stay? For lunch? Please, I don’t want to eat on my own,” I say, hoping that the depth of my anxiety doesn’t show through in my voice.
“What?!” She yelps and almost drops the food she’s plating. “M-me? Oh no, m’lady, I couldn’t possibly… I-I can see if the princess is available, instead — I think you’ll find her company more suitable,” she insists.
With the mention of Tanza, my mind flashes back to the intensity of our kiss last night. She’d kissed me back, hard. It’d been trauma that pushed us together, but in the cold light of day, I was too fragile for romance.
“No, don’t bother the princess. Please, Miss Gloria Porta, have a seat.” She pauses, unable to answer. “Don’t make me order you,” I say, walking over to the food and pulling out a chair for the maid.
“I-if you’re sure,” she says with a combination of timidity and excitement.
“I am,” I say as I beckon her towards a chair. “Sit,” I order.
I take the seat across from her and open up the dome of the serving tray. It’s fish, bread, fruit, and seaweed. The bread smells faintly of lavender, and the red fruit—which looks like a tomato—smells like an orange.
I cut the fish in half and put it on a saucer. I push it over to Gloria.
“Here,” I insist.
“Oh no, m’lady, such fancy food would be wasted on me.” She waves the plate away, but I won’t have any of it.
“First off, this is too much for me to eat, so it’ll just go to waste. Second, can you please call me JayMay, not m’lady?”
She freezes, like a webpage loading on dial-up. The thought coaxes the ghost of a smile to my lips.
“Oh, come on, you know you want to,” I tease. “Of course, if you don’t want to, I could always feed it to you myself!”
She blushes furiously at the idea, and it’s enough to break her resistance. She cuts into the blue flesh of the fish with a knife, stabs it with her fork, and takes a bite. She chews slowly, relishing the flavor.
Her obvious enjoyment makes the food a little more palatable to me, as well. It’s not a taste I’m familiar with, but it’s warm, and well-prepared, and that alone is enough to ground me. I’d been so lost that I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed to eat.
I’m so absorbed in eating that it catches me by surprise to see Gloria looking at me with stars in her eyes. That look? Oh God, she looks like a schoolgirl in love—how did that happen?
I’ve had guys approach me like this, but with girls, there’s always been subtle signals and codes to work through first. The openness of her attraction is surprising enough that I can’t help but question it.
“Gloria?” My voice startles her out of her reverie.
“Y-yes?” Her cheeks burn a brighter shade of purple at being found out.
“In this world, is it socially accepted for a woman to love another woman?”
She collapses in a coughing fit.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think about how that would land. I’m just… I’m not hitting on you, I promise you. Class difference is a real thing here, and that alone would make it sketchy as hell, but I’m just curious about how things work here.”
“It’s only natural that everyone has their own preferences,” she says, but adds a little more cautiously, “isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I agree,” I sigh.
I’d been more out than most of my friends in the community, but even so, I’d dated Ricky. I’d also spent more conversations than I’d cared to arguing with girls over which Backstreet Boy was hotter, when really I’d have picked Britney any day of the week.
“Well, at least there’s one thing better about this world.”