692Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ59tNb8VpCn
692Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYJAFyFrb8Y
***
"Akatua! Open the damn door!"
Kwamé told me to wait until tomorrow to confront Akatua about my mystical powers but I have to know the truth now. It can't wait. I knock on the door so hard that I feel my knuckles bruising, but at this point, I don't really care. The pain barely registers.
"Nya, don't be so rough!" I ignore him. I don't even know why Kwamé followed me. Something about not wanting me to massacre Akatua when she clams up.
"Akatua! Aka-"
"Yes, Nya?"
Her face looks nervous and concerned as she opens the door, but at the same time I can tell that she's trying to hide it. I spent twenty minutes sitting in my living room with Kwamé in my presence rolling everything over in my head. It didn't take me very long to come up with a sensible conclusion, but even that is vague. After all that time, the only words that come to mind are these:
River Mumma.
That's it, though. That's all I have. I know that it has something to do with Lu'lu, or even Zuhrah, but it isn't obeah, of that I'm sure.
"What's wrong?"
I don't even know how to ask her. How do I approach this without sounding accusatory? I spend no less than a good 15 seconds on her doorstep trying to come up with words to express my feelings. In the end, I have nothing, except for a lame "why do I make water splash?" It sounds like something that a small child would ask a parent while playing in the bathtub. I know that she knows exactly what I'm talking about, though, because as soon as the words leave my mouth, her face shuts down. I can guess her next words before she even says them. That doesn't make them any easier to hear, though.
"I can't tell you."
I almost punch the door in frustration when she says these words.
"What do you mean you can't tell me?" I screech. "I have the right to know! And I know that it has something to do with Lu'lu or Zuhrah so what is it?"
She looks down at the ground for a few seconds, the only sound, the crickets chirping in the background, before stepping aside to let me in. I stomp in angrily, followed by a nervous Kwamé. She shuts the door behind us and we all go to sit on the couch.
"I have a right to know," I say before Akatua can say anything. "Especially before she comes back."
"Akatua, maybe-"
"No, Kwamé. I know why I can't tell her, Kwamé."
"You can't tell her? Or you're not ready to tell her?"
While she's over there getting all righteous, I'm over here shitting myself. All of the different possibilities are amazingly horrifying, and just the idea of some are sending me into panic mode. Now that I'm here, in her presence, as she refuses to give me the answers I want, the whole deal of not knowing while the person sitting in front of you has the answers and won't give you — it makes maintaining sanity a lot harder.
What if I'm like Harry Potter where Voldemort accidentally had part of his soul attached to Harry when he tried to kill him? Harry grew up being able to speak to snakes using parseltongue, but really, it was because he had some of Voldemort's soul attached to him.
"I'm a horcrux," I mumble to myself as I shake in fright.
"A what?" Akatua asks in confusion.
"Something in Harry Potter," Kwamé tells her. "No, you're not, Nya." His voice is enough to calm me down, and from the way he addressed me, I know that it's nothing too bad.
It's still serious, though. I can move water, for f*ck's sake.
Does this mean that I can walk on it?
"Explain what she means," Akatua tells Kwamé.
"She thinks Lu'lu cursed her or put a piece of her - Lu'lu's - soul in her -Nya - when Nya was a baby."
"Oh, Nya, it's nothing like that," Akatua assures me.
"But it has to do with them, doesn't it?"
"Yes, Nya. It's nothing that bad, I swear. It's just that I don't think you're ready to know about this."
"Not that bad, huh?" I say skepticism in my voice. I don't believe her. Then again, it's hard to believe someone who continuously lies to you for the sake of "protecting you". "If it's not that bad, then why do you find it so hard to tell me?"
"There are some stories, Nya, that are better left untold."
"I'm leaving." I can feel my temper boiling over, and it's best that I leave before I say something that I might regret. I can't force her to tell me the truth.
"Nya-"
"Listen Akatua," I interrupt her, surprised by the calmness in my own voice, "I do care about you, and I respect what you're doing for me. So that you." I pause to take in a deep breath before continuing. "I know that you love me, and in a way, I love you too, but I really can't stand it when you do this. So I'm going to leave," I say, getting up. "Goodnight." As I make my way to the door, Kwamé follows beside me, head hanging low. He mumbles goodnight to Akatua, not making eye contact with either of us. I can tell that he wants to tell me, but his loyalty to Akatua is stopping him.
"I'm not angry with you," I say as the door closes behind us. To be honest, I'm not angry with Akatua either. Not really. Yes, I'm angry that she won't tell me, angry at my lack of knowledge, but at the end of the day, whether or not her methods are effective, she still loves me and is looking out for me in the best way she sees fit.
"I know," he responds, taking my hand in his.
"Good." It's all I can think of in the moment. My mind is still trying to recover from what just happened.
"So what are we doing now?" he asks. I don't know why, but it just seems ridiculous to go back to an afternoon of playing with Silver.
"I don't want to go home." I love her, but I'm just feeling for something else at the moment. I always leave the windows (which have grills to prevent thieves from entering) open in case of a fire or something so that she can escape.
"Where, then? A restaurant?" he suggests. Restaurant would seem interesting on a regular evening, but I don't think I could just sit and eat in this state. I have to do something. I shake my head.
"Where do you live?" I ask him out of the blue. The question just comes to me. He shrugs.
"With Akatua, or you. You don't really have your own house when you're running around as a bull."
"Why are you spending so much time with me? Not that I mind," I add to the end, just to ensure that he doesn't think that I'm ungrateful for the company.
"Because I want to make sure that you're safe." There's something in his voice, a deep seated concern, that bothers me. Is it really this bad? And if it is, why isn't Akatua telling me everything?
"Do you want to go to a bookstore?" he asks me getting back to the issue at hand.
Books are my Kryptonite, something that he would probably have noticed from looking at my extensive collection of books in my house. It's never a bad time for me to get a new book. Especially at a time like this, I appreciate the distraction.
"What time is it?" I ask him. He pulls out his phone and checks.
"4:55. They're still open, and there's a Sangster's not too far from here. Get a sweater."
"Why?" I ask him.
"Because," he says, "it's going to get cold." Just as he says it, I feel the temperature of the air drop a few degrees, wind speed picking up as the cold air lashes against my exposed skin. I don't bother to question how he knows that, I just shake my head. We're by my house now, but to my surprise, instead of following me inside, he goes to his car.
"I'll wait out here," he tells me as he unlocks the car. I find it odd, and I instantly know that something is up. I ignore it though, because I just can't bother with the confrontation at the moment. It's stressing me out, and for a moment, just for the next hour at least, I want to pretend that everything is okay. I walk up the steps of my apartment, unlock the door, and walk in. "Hello," I hear Silver say from where she's perched on the back of the couch.
"Hi, baby," I say to her as I pass her to go to my bedroom. It's a mess, something that I've learned to live with, because I'm so incredibly lazy. Just the thought of cleaning up my room can put me to sleep. Laziness, however, will not be good enough anymore, because of Akatua's proximity. I'll have to actually start studying, which sucks. Right now is not the time to think about that.
I don't have many sweaters, and the one that I typically choose is this thick, black cotton one. It's slightly too large, the bottoms of the sleeves engulfing my hands and the body giving me an unflattering shape, but it is quite comfortable, keeping me more than safe from the cold. I pick up my purse along with the sweater, and leave. When I rejoin Kwamé outside, I see why he didn't want to come into the house. He's standing beside his car, speaking in hushed tones, seemingly very concerned, for what reason, I don't know. I can't hear anything until I draw closer.
"What? Well, what does this mean? I haven't had this feeling since— I know, but it's not the same as that, either. You sure? Well, I'll try. I have to go. Talk to you later."
"What's going on?" I ask him before he can even hang up the phone. He grins a little at my eagerness, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"We'll talk about it when we get back."
His response surprises me. I was expecting him to say something like "don't worry about it". Then again, this is Kwamé, not Akatua, and his attitude towards me knowing things seems to be changing.
"Come on," he says, opening his car door and sitting before turning on the engine. I follow suit.
"Put on your seat belt," he commands as we pull out of the parking lot. I look over and realise that he's wearing his.
"I thought we couldn't die," I say as I pull it into place. He smirks and shakes his head.
"You want to know how it feels to break your neck and not die then?" he asks as he reverses alternating between looking at the screen and looking behind him. I realise that he's probably not used to modern day cars. It would be amusing if I weren't so shaken up by his words. I shudder at the sound of that experience and sink further into my seat.
"That's what I thought," he replies as he turns onto the main road.
The ride to the book store is short, and as I sit beside him, I try to think of which book I should get. I love fiction books, especially Harry Potter, but I have all of them already, same with Twilight and The Hobbit.
"You can decide when you get inside and actually see what's there," he tells me when he looks over and sees me looking as if I'm contemplating life. He's right, of course. I don't know why I'm sitting here wondering that when I usually end up going in and buying something that I've never seen anyway. I like giving new books a try, a habit that I picked up from my foster mother. She would always have some unknown books, and I'd read them in my spare time.
When I reach the bookstore, I find myself feeling shy all of a sudden. I wonder to myself if he'll judge me for whatever I pick up. Strange because I don't usually care about what people think.
"You coming out?" he asks teasingly as he stands outside the car. I roll my eyes and join him on the outside.
"Do you know what kind of book you're going for yet?" he asks me. I think about it for a second.
"Jamaican," I tell him. I want to get something that will support a local author. However, I don't know for sure.
"You could get one of the school literature books," he suggests. They always have at least one Jamaican book, or book with Jamaican parts, whether poetry, play, or prose.
"Maybe," I reply as we step into the bookstore. It's actually warmer in the bookstore than it is outside, and I take off my heavy jacket when I step in. The first thing I notice, as usual, is the scent. It's always been appealing to me, the scent of freshly printed books, along with with something else that both Sangster's Bookstore and Kingston Bookshop usually have. I'm drawn to the literature section, where I presume the recommended high school texts for the different grades are.
"Hmm," I mumble as I glance over the books, reading the summaries until something grabs my attention.
"Plays For Today". It's a collection of three plays presumably by Caribbean writers, one of which is "An Echo in the Bone". I know that play specifically, because I've heard more than one persons suggest that it be shown in Jamaica. I pick it up without hesitation, and then look at Kwamé.
"That's all you want?" he asks me.
"Yes." I don't want to buy too many books and not read them. On top of that, I'm a waitress that works on the weekends. It's a high end diner, but still. The money from my foster mother was a lot, but it's still finite, and I'm paranoid about running out.
"Okay," he says before turning to walk to the register.
"You're not paying for it," I tell him, realising his intent. He turns back to me, one eyebrow raised.
"Yes, I am," he informs me. "It was my idea so I get to pay."
"It's my book," I reply stubbornly. There's a certain dignity that comes with being an adult and paying for your own shit. I'm not letting him take that away from me.
"You're a waitress who only works on the weekends. I think that I should get to pay for it."
I look at the price. Two thousand, six hundred and seventy five dollars. It might not be a lot to others, but it is to me. I gulp, but I stand my ground.
"How do you even have any money?" I ask him hotly. From what I know, he's spent most of his time running around as an immortal cow spirit. How could he possibly be in a position to pay for anything?
"I got a job," he answers cooley. I don't know whether to believe him or not.
"What job?"
"I work with Akatua and Cecile. We sell plants. It's actually quite lucrative."
"You sell plants," I deadpan, the skepticism clear in my voice. I imagine Kwamé picking out herbs and leading clients around the makeshift greenhouse with the walls of green mesh-like fabric moving in the wind. I actually giggle a bit.
"Yes," he answers, completely serious. "Specialise in herbs, but we also sell decorative plants." This does sound ridiculous, but I can't rule it out, because when it comes to Kwamé and Akatua, you rule nothing out.
"I have an inheritance, though," I point out to him. He rolls his eyes at me.
"I saw your face when you looked at the price, Nya. Give it to me." It's at this point that I realise that I won't win. Grumbling, I concede, but not before giving him a look to express my displeasure.
"Cut your eye all you want, it won't change anything."
I decide to not let it get me too down. I still have a book, after all, so it's still a win, right? Still, as he pays for it and refuses the plastic bag that comes with it for "environmental purposes", I feel this lingering sense of being treated like child. I try my best to shake it off, though.
The drive back is filled with some tension that I can't name or place. I can feel Kwamé's discomfort radiating from his body the closer he gets to the house. It's making me nervous, too. I figure that it's whatever was bothering him before he went in the car. We're close to the apartment now, I know that he said he'd explain when he gets back, but I can't wait any longer.
"What's wrong?" I ask him, the concern evident in my voice, and a hint of fear, too. When I say it, it's as if the acknowledgement of something being wrong makes me more concerned, nervous and afraid.
"I don't know." The way he says it tells me exactly what he means. He doesn't know exactly what's wrong, but he knows that something is wrong. I close my eyes, but I can feel it now. Feel it in the air, feel the tension.
"There's this... feeling that I get whenever any major supernatural event is about to occur. Something tells me that this one... this one won't be pleasant."
"When did you start to feel this?" I ask him.
"Today after we left Akatua's. I called an old friend who I reconnected with over Facebook."
"Where's he from?" The way he says it makes it sound as if he's not on the island. If he were, Kwamé would probably already know where he is. Small country after all. Wait, why am I assuming it's a man?
"He's from St. Lucia," Kwamé says absentmindedly. Something tells me he's not another rolling calf. I don't even think they have them in other countries. Strange how different places seem to have their own individual spirit realms all connected by a greater spirit realm. On that thought, something occurs to me.
"Can you leave the country?" I ask. Maybe that's why they're never seen anywhere else.
"Yes," he says, seemingly a bit amused by my question. "But all of us originate in Jamaica. It's pretty much a law."
"What are the criteria for being a rolling calf?"
"Be a biologically male asshole and die here. Most of us don't feel the urge to leave though. Like I said, we like to be bulls. And when you're a bull, what are you going to do? Sneak your huge ass onto a cruise ship?"
I chuckle at his bluntness as he parks the car, and he smirks when he cuts the engine. I unbuckle my seat belt and move to get out, but I move too quickly, almost landing on the ground. Quite embarrassing actually. I'm surprised that I catch myself in time, but what's even more surprising is Kwamé's silence. He would usually laugh, comment, say something. Instead, he's silent. That's how I can tell that it's not because his little story is over, there's a meaningfulness behind his silence. The cold energy from him, it's so abrupt, takes me completely by surprise. I look up and see why I'm hearing nothing from him.
On the railing of the stairs leading up to my apartment is a a parliament of at least ten owls, all looking at me. I feel my entire body go cold.
"Oh, f*ck," I hear Kwamé say behind me, before they all rush me. I do what anyone would do when rushed by a shitload of ol' higues descends upon them. I run. Something tells me to run to Akatua's house, and that's the direction I head in, but I stagger on my third step, and fall onto the ground after the fifth one. I kinda just stay there after that, and ball up as if it will protect me. Of course, I know it won't, but it's instinctive. As I wait there for death, I hear the sound of something being blasted, blazed, like... fire... along with screaming voices. Many screaming voices. They aren't just screaming, they're wailing in agony. Just as I begin to wonder what the hell is going on, I smell it: burning. Definitely flesh, along with other things, I presume. I pretty much have no idea what's happening, but I stay there on the ground, because what else am I supposed to do? I'm powerless.
Then I remember... I can't die.
Or maybe they can kill me. Or weaken me. Or whatever. Something about them feels dangerous, wrong.
"Nya, get up." Unable to truly understand what's happening, I continue to lie there, frozen in fright. I squeeze my eyes shut as if me being thrusted into darkness will protect me. I want to get up, want to move, but I can't. His voice is frantic, fearful, something that I'm not used to coming from him.
"Nya," he says again, but I can't move. He sighs, sounding quite exasperated, and before I know it, I'm off the ground. My eyes fly open as I look around to see what has happened. I'm in Kwamé's arms, and the place... well, it looks like a shit show. I now realise what has been burned — dead, disfigured owls lie across the pavement of the parking lot. This must have been what Kwamé sensed. I look up to him so many questions in my mind. I shouldn't be surprised to see his eyes glowing red, I shouldn't be surprised about anything anymore. It does surprise me, though. It frightens me, because I'm completely unprepared.
"Don't worry," he tells me, but how the hell can I not?
"Did you do this with your eyes?" I ask him as he walks up the steps. It's a question meant to distract me from the fact that I had just been chased by some things that may or may not have been attempting to kill me.
"Yes," he answers, standing outside of the door now. "Gimme your keys," he tells me, not letting me down. Awkwardly, I search my pockets for a second before pulling them out. I hand them to him and he hurriedly opens the door and closes it behind him. If someone had told me even four months ago that I'd have a rolling calf as my friend/ man crush Monday/ subject of my one-sided love, an immortal obeah woman as my mother, river mummas as my allies and enemies, find out that I myself am immortal, and that I'd be chased by ol' higues, I would have laughed at them. Not too funny now though. I still giggle, despite the gloominess of the situation. It's not an amuses laugh, it's an "I don't know what the f*ck to do" laugh. It's a manic laugh, a laugh of desperation. I know that Kwamé knows that something is wrong, because he gives me a look of concern. He doesn't have time to comfort me, though, and quickly sets me down.
"Lay rice in front of the doors and windows."
I don't question it, surprised that the rice myth isn't a myth after all for ol' higues. I stumble to the cabinet where the rice is kept, but as I try to pick it up, it falls to the ground and bursts.
"Rass, man," I grumble, looking at the rice grains now scattered across the kitchen floor.
"Get a bowl," he tells me, already reaching for one. We put the rice everywhere, in front of every door, hallway, entrance in the house. I work like a machine, not really thinking. Still, I ensure that every base is covered, the thought of keeping out these things in my mind, but apart from that, I can't think. It's a defense mechanism, I guess to keep me sane. I'm hollow. Even as I go to sit on the couch and Silver crawls into my lap — I'm hollow.
"Will you be okay?" he asks, and I know that it's because "are you okay" would be a dumb question to ask.
"I don't know," I tell him as he sits beside me, not knowing what he can do about it anyway, other than stay with me. That's what he's been doing for the past few hours as I sit and stare into space. He fed me, cooking some pasta himself, before washing up both our plates by himself. I don't expect him to leave, especially not after an event like this. He looks at me with pity in his eyes, for just one second, before he closes them. I have no idea what to tell him, but I know that he's probably just as stressed as I am.
"I don't know exactly why they came, Nya," he tells me.
"But you have a hypothesis?" I know that he does. He might not be inclined to share it, though.
"Yes," he tells me, and straightens up in the couch beside me. "Two, actually."
I look at him and wait for him to speak. He clears his throat for a second before continuing.
"Okay. The first one I thought of, is that Lu'lu sent them to weaken you. It was a lot of them to be attacking you at once. It's not normal. The second one could be that they were drawn to your energy." He looks at me with overwhelming concern before I state the horrifying truth.
"It could be both," I mumble to myself.
"Yes, it could," he says. "That's actually what I'm most worried about."
If I weren't somewhat involved in the supernatural, I'd be freaking out, but since I am, I just remain... numb. I stare in the direction of the television and I know that it's on, but I have no idea what's showing on it.
"Nya, you should sleep," Kwamé tells me. I am tired and drained, but if he honestly believes that I can sleep after what just happened, he's delusional. The birds flying towards me, the sound of them burning... I don't think I'll ever get over this.
"Can they kill me, Kwamé?" I ask him.
"No," he tells me, but I know that there's more from the odd tilt in his voice that he gets whenever he's going to say something that is anything but fun. "... but they can weaken you, make you susceptable to Lu'lu, or just turn you into a hollow, weak person. It can take a lot to recover from them, and being in that state is anything but pleasant."
"So they're like Death Eaters, then?"
He smirks a little, probably because of the repeated Harry Potter analogies.
"Your soul is still there, and you can recover, but in the sense of turning you into a hollow shell of what you are, then yes. They just end up killing normal people."
I squeeze my eyes shut, some of the feeling coming back to me. Fear is the greatest one, but I also have this overwhelming sadness. Sadness at what my life has become. I feel as if I'm a prisoner to this world, and in a way, I kinda am. This world now dictates everything that I do. I'm trapped, and with what I've experienced today, there's no way that I can sleep on my own.
"I'm staying out here tonight," I tell him, knowing that I'll just end up looking through the television for the next ten hours.
"Why?" he asks me curiously. "And where am I supposed to sleep?"
"I don't know, my room?" I ask him as if seeking permission from him.
"This is your house, Nya. I'm not going to sleep in your bed while you sleep on the couch."
"I'm not going to sleep," I inform him, and that is when his eyes light up in understanding. I know that I don't habe to say anything else, but I still find myself saying, "I can't."
"You have to. Staying up isn't healthy."
"Nether is having nightmares." I'm not trying to be dramatic at all, I'm just acknowledging the fact that if I fall asleep, I will have a nightmare. Maybe more than one. "Do you get nightmares?" I ask him. Stupid I know, because can't anyone get a nightmare?
"Yes, sometimes," he admits, "when I sleep alone." Because of the stress that I'm under, it takes me way too long to understand what he's trying to say.
"You think that we should sleep together." Just the idea of having someone else in my bed has me relaxing.
"I'm doing it to comfort you, nothing more," he tells me, but he also sounds as if he's trying to convince himself. I shake it off.
"Yes, just let me get ready," I mumble as I drag my feet as I walk. I end up bathing again since I'm now covered in sweat and dirt. I put the temperature at somewhere between warm and cold, trying to cool down my body, but not altogether freeze it. This time as the water clings to my body, reminding me yet again that things will never be the same again, never be normal again, I break. I fall to my knees in the shower as the liquid rains down on me, my eyes overflowing with tears. Even as I cry... I make no noise. It's as if the sound is trapped inside my larynx, incapable of escaping, of coming out. Still, Kwamé must hear my uneven breathing from outside, because he comes and knocks on the door about five seconds after I start crying.
Can he hear when I'm pooping on the toilet?
A ridiculous thought to be having at this particular moment, but it pops out of nowhere. It's probably my mind trying to keep itself sane, and it kinda works. I laugh at the absurdity of the thought.
"Nya? Are you okay?"
"Yeah! Gimme ten minutes," I reply as I try to pull myself together. The man is already stressed out enough. He doesn't need to be worrying about me on top of everything else. I sniffle a few times before getting to my feet again.
"Okay, uh, I'm gonna go shower, too."
I'm out of the bathroom in ten minutes, teeth brushed and all. I ignore the water as it falls from my body, and dress myself. I sit in bed and wait for him to come in, so that I can get a break from all of this. I think about how awkward this would probably be, if the circumstances weren't as stressful as they are now. Awkwardness has no place in a situation like this.
"I brought some water," I hear him say as he walks into the room. He has two glasses of water balancing in his right hand, and between his arm and his chest, and a bowl in the left. He places the bowl on the bed and hands me a both glasses.
"I figured it would relax you," he tells me. "Can you hold mine for me please?" I look into the bowl and realise that it's more rice.
"Can never be too careful," he tells me, sprinkling the rice all over the room. I watch as the white grains fall to the ground all around my room, and sigh to myself. Who knew that rice could end up being so useful.
Kwamé ends up being the big spoon as I face my bedside table, seeing the glasses of water from the moonlight coming through the left window. I snake one hand around his, grateful for the company. This actually feels... normal, human. What's more, he smells like Irish Spring body wash, so painfully human. Maybe... maybe, one day, he'll feel the same way. Maybe things will be normal, and I'll get used to this. I look towards the glass, ironically mine is about half empty, or half full depending on how you look at it. I'm going with half empty. I stare at it as if looking for answers, and almost as if the world is trying to communicate with me, the water splashes, similarly to the way that it did earlier today.
"Go to sleep, Nya," Kwamé tells me.
Nope, never getting used to this.
***
Hey guys! This is the longest chapter that I've ever written for any of my Wattpad stories, well over 5k words (not including the author's notes). Do you guys prefer longer chapters? I try not to bore people and I try to update frequently, but if you prefer it this way, I'll try not to go under 3k.692Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqxHBoyrQZL
692Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1gWhBchIRU
What do you guys think? What kind of creature do you think that Kwamé's friend from St. Lucia is? Why do you think that Nya can manipulate water? Let me know your answer in the comments or message board, or pm me if you don't want anyone else knowing. I love hearing from you guys. 692Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKstVsmNUfW
692Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVNBbdprmQb
