Top

[MiniKitty]

Madeleine

Levan

---

Top

---

It is not like I have trouble falling asleep. I am just way too awake right now. And what better time to have your mind overly busy, rethinking every choice you made, reminding you of every uncomfortable thing you ever did, than in the middle of the night when you are way too awake for sleeping. That's where I am now. Usually, I would just go downstairs and see what's going on, as there is usually always someone awake and around. Just as a distraction, until I tire myself out, draining the social battery.

This time, however, I just wanted to stay in bed, under this cozy duvet. I missed this comfort in the past few days when I was with my family, for mother's birthday. I don't mind my old childhood bedroom, but it just doesn't have the grandeur of what I have here with Levan... and Monique. My parents definitely wouldn't understand this awkward relationship. Their repeated requests to meet my boyfriend really get on my nerves.

Said boyfriend seems to have be dreaming right now. Rapid eye movements, as his brain stem processes all the input of the past few days. Experiences, emotions, thoughts, stimuli. Science has revealed that dreams are nothing but a byproduct of neural activity, and yet, even now that cybernetic augmentation of the brain is no longer science fiction, dreams remain a concept of mysticism and superstition to the masses.

His little moans are actually quite cute. Must be a nice dream, this time. Good for him, a welcome change from the occasional nightmare that haunts him, often resulting in involuntary screams or even sleep paralysis. We talked about it a few times, and he is very embarrassed by it. On one hand, he really, really hates sleeping alone, now that he has grown used to having Monique and me by his side, but he feels like it stains our view of him as an otherwise controlled man.

His movements and sighs are getting more prominent. I'm lying on my side, watching him. I like to believe I don't care about him exposing weaknesses to us, but I know that it ends up as ingredient to a stew of many factors. The way I look at him has considerably changed from our first days to now, from this mysterious, weirdly successful bad boy, to an amicable yet wounded and scarred man from another world, who has no idea what to do with his life as nothing gives him the satisfaction he seeks.

His breathing is shaky, his chest trembling, his voice breaking through unintelligible whispers and exhales. Before I'm able to question the nature of his dream, he opens his eyes, with an involuntary sound escaping his lips. Sweat ran down his cheeks. He tries to catch his breath, gulps, looking at me for a moment, only commenting the situation with a testament to his extended vocabulary: Fuck...


As if able to see in the dark, he lifts the blanket and then just falls back onto his pillow, groaning in annoyance . His breathing slowly turns silent again. His angled legs reshape the bed landscape into a mountain. Like that, we remain for a bit. I simply stare at him while he avoids eye contact as he calms down. My hand seeks his, and our fingers intertwine. A few moments later, he vanishes into the bathroom. I hear the bathtub filling. A pleasant fragrance escapes, luring me to join him. I take the bait.

Levan still avoids eye contact, despite me sitting right in front of him in the bathtub. Steaming, foamy water surrounds us. It is a large, square-shaped tub , so there is enough space for both of us. We rarely bathe together, so I appreciate doing this with him right now , even without a single word spoken. I lean back, placing my head on the rim, idly glancing up at the neon-illuminated ceiling. The light comes from the floor-end of the walls, throwing shades of vibrant colors onto the surfaces. Mood-setting, calming, if not a little playful.

Of course, the unusual nightly activity caused my pet to wake up. The slightly chubby ginger feline peeked over the lip of the tub, sniffing, unending curiosity behind pitch-black, reflective eyes. White mittens stabilize the creature's current bipedal stature. Catapulted by powerful hind legs over the threshold, my clumsy little idiot fell right into the water, diving into the foam and causing panicked ruptures in the water before escaping the tub and running away to spread the moisture trapped in its fur all over the apartment. Involuntarily, Levan and I laugh.



I sit on a towel on the toilet seat. He kneels before me, carefully wiping the scented water from my feet, then my legs. The gentleness is rare, simply for the lack of opportunity. Gestures of reciprocation and appreciation. Maybe, in a way, with a hint of what could be considered love. We both struggle to define the word, and this relationship questions its meaning almost every day. We're mates, despite both of us denying it. A non-relationship. And hardly ever going to be more than this.

It pains me how fleeting these moments are. Because I know what happens next. He will get ready for the day, brush his teeth, brush his hair before styling it a little bit. Then he will put on one of his suits, with pants and jacket over it, grab a bottle of water and a tube of Synth Paste, get his duffel bag, and leave for his ship, having his own life, disconnected from anything happening here on the planet.

And in the meantime, I live in my own non-lethal world, where the biggest issues are instabilities in the stock market, one of our tenants either breaking equipment or the law, and the unstable relationships the people of the Den bring here. The other day someone bumped into my car and made a big kerfuffle about it instead of letting the insurance handle it. LPI arrived, looked at the evidence, and took the guy with them. One for the weekly quota, maybe.

Days later, Levan comes home, depressed, throwing himself on the bed. I don't even bother telling him about Texas possibly getting fresh meat. Veronica cheating on Bryce, giving another guy head in a parking garage , high on drugs. The heater in the apartment on the fourth floor broke during the cold season. Tim's sleeping on the couch downstairs, in the Den, to stay warm. Food's on us, naturally. Mika went outside, took a few steps in the snow, then instantly went back inside. Next month is a concert I'd like us to go to , in Crichton. Bought myself a new dress ; do you like it?

He killed another Rogue. Another gunboat that got in his way. Banter, insults, threats, death. Nothing in my life has this gravity. My boyfriend comes home with a huge paycheck from the local law enforcement vessel. He is still shaking, hugging the pillow, questioning his entire being. The issues of my world are pale, fading away in the presence of my boyfriend having murdered someone, getting paid for it so handsomely that he, even if he had been bankrupt at that very moment, never needed to work again. At this point, the money means nothing anymore, as does the life of anyone in space. The value of a life is as expensive as a bullet. A fraction of a credit. A mother's child died, if not more.

Granted, every dead Rogue is one Rogue less to blow up a transport of water heading to Pittsburgh. Death to those who enjoy violence. Chivalrous. Karmic. Utterly depressing.



I look at him, this hero lying in bed, exhausted, mentally spent. Monique and I join him in bed, trying our best to calm him down, to distract him. Monique, being a considerably simpler woman, is impressed. She is aware of the mental toll it takes not only to kill someone, but to emerge from battle as victor and survivor. What a bad boy. What a thrill it is to be with a rich guy, a powerful man, capable of fighting, killing, extinguishing someone's life, just like that. Without being called a murderer, but celebrated as a hero. The good guy. The man who makes Liberty safer. All packaged as a handsome boy with a cute chuckle, smooth skin, gentle hands, and enough stamina to handle both of us.

I look at him, watching her attempt to cheer him up. Rewarding the champion. But it is nothing more than a distraction for him. His mind needs time to process what happened. How he took another life. How he risked his own life. Was it worth it? Did he make an impact? How often can he pull it off without dying? When is it going to be the last time I see him get out of bed, put on one of his space outfits, grab his duffel bag, and vanish for another empty adventure?

It drives me insane to think about it. I join them in bed. His distraction is my distraction as well.


Another night without sleep. I watch him sleep. I love him dearly. I dread the thought of him not coming back. How can I keep him planet-side? What does it take? More girls to share the bed with him , Monique and me ? More money, more kills? What can I do to stop him? I want him to stay. I want my problems to be his problems, not his problems to be mine . I want to see him argue with the guy who bumped into my car, maybe exchange some fisticuffs with him. I want Levan to sit on a bench at the mall, groaning in annoyance and boredom over me taking ages to pick the right dress. I want him to sit on the couch downstairs and play games with the other boys. Can't he boast about having two girls? Can't that be the biggest thing to upset me?

Waking up from another dream, he looks at me, turning to lay on his side, facing me. This time he didn't luck out. Not a nocturnal emission, but a horrible nightmare. I scoot closer, hugging him tightly. No words spoken. No other action taken. We just hold each other. Pure warmth. Silent admiration. The only time our completely different worlds overlap. My mundane life as a landlord, model citizen of Denver, and occasional hedonist. His empty world of space and nihilism and deglorified lethality.

Only the here and now seems to matter anymore.

---