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My new morning routine had become repetitive to the point of nearing boredom- but not the sort of boredom where you just sit around and wait… no the type of boredom that a small, hungry, irritable infant feels when they’ve been crying and yelling for hours straight, and despite the fact that they’ve managed to keep anyone in the house from sleeping, has not received a modicum of fussing over, so they become accustomed to just screaming and crying until their voice is hoarse yet their sheer, stubborn will pushes them. I was that damn child. Or maybe I was more of a rat trapped in a little ball in the house of a cat owner; each step carrying me further and further, forcing me to move more, and no matter what I cannot calm myself down enough to try to stop or understand what the hell is going on because the damn cat is on my ass 24/7. Yet, I slowly and infuriatingly became accustomed to it’s presence.
I was both. I was both of these creatures. Every morning I screamed as I set the table and ran while cooking up a little home-grown meal for that vile creature that was my... tenant. Then, it's as if the said ball with the rat dropped down a flight of stairs, or maybe the child fell out of its crib. I found my way to the basement and was greeted with a shadowy figure. It was almost comical how antagonistic he looked, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if the bitch stepped into the light and revealed that he had tentacles growing from his back, or maybe furr sprouting along his appendages. Perhaps pectorals so swollen they ripped straight through his shirt, accompanied by a snout and pointed ears.
I rolled my eyes. This was an ordinary man, and it was comical how seriously he seemed to take himself. Yet, as I stood there in the dreary, dank nether region of our shared living space, I couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated when I saw the blade in his hand catching the light. I scoffed. I looked away. At least I was here. Of course, the room was too cold, moist, cramped, and generally uninvigorating for a spark to easily come and light the invisible fuse between the two of us, ready to be set aflame. It wouldn’t light without the two of us rubbing some damn sticks together and making our own fire. But again, at least I was here instead. At least here, in the dark, I couldn’t see well enough to notice anything but the shadowy frame and his sword. Blinding light no longer seared into my retinas. All I could feel was the tension. It was almost paradoxical- upstairs there was light, and warmth. There was generally more going on. Here it was dark and cold… yet I felt warm.
Oh. It was him. He was looking at me, that was why. It was because in the daily hustle and bustle, the repeated rush and buzz, and the general ruckus of my husband’s life, I was lost. Not here. Here it was just us. Here I was known. Here I was protected even when that metal came slashing toward my chest, forcing me to parry. No one cared if I burnt myself frying eggs in the morning. At least this guy would stick around to dress my wounds if he happened to cut too deep through my skin. That being said, we had been working together enough these past few months that we both felt confident in the fact that that wouldn’t end up happening, and he wouldn’t need to do that. Right? He was careful and calculated. And he cared. Behind that callous glare laid that fuse. It just needed to be lit.
Whatever. I was getting in my head. He quickly pointed this out
“Eyes up here.”
I realized that I had been scanning his body. Had I done that before, it might have been more reasonable. He was right in my face. It was too late to try to think things through. This was the time for execution of a plan. I had none.
He stared me in the eyes and I was not granted the privilege of looking away in submission. I grit my teeth and glared into those shitty triangle shaped shades of his before bringing a leg up to knee him in the crotch.
“Cheap.”
He spat, bringing his sword downward, the two metals screeching together. He jammed the hilt against my kneecap. The shooting pain I felt was akin to the sharp jolt of slamming your elbow on the edge of a counter just amplified tenfold. The force of it combined with the momentum and weight of my leg made me stumble forward a bit, and the specific placement triggered my patellar reflex. I grumbled when his free hand came out to my bicep and pushed me back against the wall with ease. He gave me a rather exasperated look (or, at least, as exasperated a look he could give, seeing how stone faced this man was). It was only detectable by the slight raise of his brows and a relative tightening of his chapped lips. I huffed in his face. My sword arm disabled momentarily, I could only move my forearm. That was just enough to bend my elbow and at least place it in front of me, but I wouldn’t do much damage. The katana, meant for slashing and combat of more distance than was between us wouldn’t really do much for me in this position. At least it would keep him from getting closer as long as I placed the sharp edge right… there. I tapped the blade against his stomach feebly. I then gripped my sword tighter to hold it, but my ability to wield it well was compromised. The sword being lower in comparison to my shoulder, I usually would have used the muscles in my upper arm. They were disabled in his harsh grip. He gave me a short scoff and placed his own sword against my neck. The cold metal on my skin was like a soft bite to the lip- exciting, but a subtle warning. A threat. A reminder of the dangerous potential possessed by those canines which laid behind the lips of a human being.
I sighed. I was sort of over this whole routine. Maybe I would come to resent this, too. Could I? I would have to be admitted. This adrenaline was the thread I was hanging by. My indignance earned me some space, and for a second I was relieved. Until, that was, I realized how nice it was to have the heat of his body trapping me. The bone-chilling temperature of the room came back to bite me. He turned his back to me. I had to crane my neck to see him rubbing his temples.
“What?”
I said with an accusatory tone, throwing my hand up and pushing off the wall.
“Your stubborn will fails you only when inconvenient. Never when a sense of motivation- maybe some fucking self preservation- might actually serve you. You are selectively clever in a way that almost borders suicidal. Seductively mysterious at best. Reckless at worst.”
He responded flatly, turning to me, raising his chin, and looking down at me.
“Is… that some sort threat?”
I didn’t speak incredulously. I was genuinely curious as to what the hell he was talking about. It wasn’t easy to follow what he was saying. However my question was clearly somewhat rhetorical. I at least trusted him enough not to give me any long term damage. Maybe leave a scar, but not in a way that would eliminate the function of the chosen part of my body.
“No. It’s annoying. And discouraging. As if you are deliberately refusing to put any effort forth.”
“What, exactly, are you referring to?”
“Well,”
He started, maintaining a calm demeanor
“You failed to consider your surroundings. The moment you stepped in, it was clear your mind was elsewhere. You aren’t focused. It wasn’t that difficult to put you in a compromising position as you simply weren’t paying attention to where you were in the space. The moment you found yourself in said position, you gave up. You’re clever. Had you been genuinely trying, you would have used your other arm.”
He took a step toward me and gestured to my left arm. I swallowed and looked down. He was right. I hadn’t much of an excuse. I fucking sucked at this and, hell, I was scared. I needed him. The fact that he was doing all this was to make a point, I thought. To make the point that I would never live up to his skill. To make the point that the moment he left the vicinity I was fucked. It wouldn’t be such an issue if he would just… stay, instead of disappearing at random intervals. It wasn’t as if I was uninterested, either, and I didn’t appreciate the implication that I was. In fact, that made my blood boil to the point where I could almost hear it hissing like a kettle. I pursed my lips, suppressing the urge to growl. I looked around, avoiding the sight of his infuriating face. Turns out I wasn’t imagining Jack shit. The hose in the corner was leaking and sputtering. It wasn’t my blood. Had I genuinely thought that for a moment? Maybe I was crazy. I shook my head and threw my sword down. If he really hated this so much then who was I to keep him here? I started towards the door before hearing him call out.
“You think you’re done here?”
I huffed, then turned around. I resisted a new urge; the urge to stomp my way over when I went to pick up my katana