Your breath

A worried Marcus is looking for Hati 

Why do I expect you to act like a normal, fully functioning adult? Running away like a child in the night, forcing me to look for you like a panicked father after his firstborn. Forcing your fellow soldiers to look for you despite the potential punishments they will get for your actions.

Freezing water splashes into my boot and I can’t help but wonder: Why am I here anyway? I could just let the others find out that you’re gone and let it all play out as it’s supposed to. As it plays out for everyone else.

But no, here I am, getting my boots wet like a fool.

If I didn’t look out for you, you’d be dead already. And this is the thanks I get.

Not that you’d thank me anyway. You’d just look at me like my face just ruins your whole day. Week. Month. Lifetime.

Frustration and something else that I can’t quite place makes me walk faster. Something uncomfortable in the pit of my stomach, something that flares up when I think of you getting flogged or thrown into the river with your hands bound.

How inconvenient, all of this. My jaw hurts, my socks are wet, this is shit.

Then, something in the distance. Something, someone, sitting on a tomb. 

Fuck. It’s you. You’re just out here, enjoying your winter morning like it’s nothing. Probably brought some snacks to fully enjoy the moment.

I try to ignore the relief lifting the weight from my chest and channel all my frustration in my stare as I look at you. 

“Moron. What do you think you’re doing?”

But nothing. You don’t…

• Turn to me, flip me off, and tell me to suck a bag of cocks.
  
• Shy away from me, hurt and beaten by my words and actions, making me feel slightly ill.
  
• Tell me to leave as if it's none of my business.
  

No. Instead, you treat me like I’m not here.

“Enough with the stoic crap, get up and we’ll talk about this on the way back.”
Nothing. You don’t move a muscle. The back of your head tells me nothing.

Dead or unconscious? 

I find myself hoping for the latter. 

I circle around to see your face. And it’s as expected. Completely unresponsive, eyes closed, it’s a miracle you’re still sitting upright. 

“Hey. Idiot? Can you hear me?” 

Nothing.

I brace myself for getting yelled at and step closer to check on your breathing. Your chest doesn’t rise and fall.

Fuck.

I bite the insides of my cheek until the taste of copper spreads in my mouth.

I move closer to your mouth, to your nose, to hear your breathing. Nothing. Not a peep.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I inch closer with my cheek to feel if a breath of life warms my skin.

Nothing.

I bite my teeth until my jaw feels like it’s breaking apart. Patience. If your breathing pattern is as slow as it seems, it’s normal that I wouldn’t feel anything at first.

Patience.

But the anxious thoughts start to take over with every heartbeat that passes. I will bring you home in a bag, I promise you that. I will bury you in the grove I destroyed. I will–

Warmth hits my skin. Your breath.

“$name.” Relief washes over me with an embarrassing force.