Benighted by Kit Whitfield

Author:Kit Whitfield
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780345495501
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2006-08-08T04:00:00+00:00

I sit in the canteen, nursing a cup of coffee. The vending machine spatters and gasps every time you work it, and my paper mug of liquid is not appealing; it’s coffee-flavored water and I can taste the water and the flavor separately as I sip. Still, it’s hot. The drink burns through the cardboard, keeping my fingers awake.

I’ve caught myself developing habits that I struggle to restrain when I notice them. There are moments when I catch myself thinking that if I can keep from being afraid I’ll be safe. There are moments when I catch myself thinking that if I relax for a second, that will be the second the attack comes. Mostly, there are moments when I catch myself thinking that I should be able to find some state of mind that will get me through this, that if I can just be right in myself, then the blow won’t fall. My mind tugs this way and that like a sackful of mice, and I know I have to stop doing it.

Entangled in my thoughts, I don’t notice Ally approach until he taps me on the shoulder. I flinch away, half stand, spilling hot coffee over my wrist. I stand up, shake my arm, cursing and hissing.

“You okay?” Ally reaches out as if to touch the burn, then pulls his hand away.

“Just a scald,” I say through my teeth. “Too painful to be serious, you haven’t burned any nerves out. Warn me when you’re coming up.”

“I tried, you were just staring into space.”

“Are you going to just stand there? Get me something cold, will you?” I glare at him, my hand covering the burned spot.

Ally looks at me a second, then goes off and approaches the drink dispenser and returns with a can of Coke. “Here.” He passes it over to me. It isn’t as chilled as it should be—none of our machines are in perfect order—but it’s cooler than tap water.

“You’d better drink this afterward. I hate Coke,” I say, pressing the metal to my forearm. The burn still stings underneath, but the cold smooth surface numbs it a little.

“How’s things?” Ally says. His hands drum together in his lap, a sound that irritates me. His heels tap on the ground as well. He’s restless as ever, but his movements are awkward, out of sync with each other. I suppose he’s worried.

“Not great,” I say, keeping my face turned toward my damaged wrist. “But then they wouldn’t be. I’ll live.”

“Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing. Not since I was told what happened. I keep waiting for the phone call that says, hey, it was all a mistake. Think it’s going to come soon?” I try to grin at him.

Ally frowns. “You aren’t staying at your own place, are you?”

“No, but I’m not saying where I am staying. No offense.” I don’t want him to know.

“Whatever.” He turns his head away from me as he says this, cranes his neck to look at the clock, tapping his fingers on the back of the seat.

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