Leaving Oz

Brit drew the picture. She changed crayons. She used the special ink that brought both motion and sound to the images. No matter what she tried, she could see the colors were not as wonderful as they had been. No matter how careful she was, the lines were not as sharp. Nothing was as good. She was no longer “better” and, what was even more disappointing was that she continued to slide from “better” each day.

Looking up at her husband who was going over the ledger to his newly opened shelter, she sighed softly. Ethan had become quiet and seemed slightly withdrawn during the past few days. While true that he kept her close, he drank less and did not offer to share with her. And so, she was fading in her enhanced abilities that made her better.

She stared at the page with her new drawing. A girl within a tornado made of flames. The flames crackled as they licked the girl’s skin and the girl seemed to glean energy from the fire. A girl she had met from the Voodoo Shop. The girl was pleased with the picture, but Brit found it lacking. She saw the difference that the girl did not. In time, Brit would not be able to differentiate. She looked at the other pictures in her book and tried to remember. She could tell which were done when she was better and which were done when it was her talent alone. Her fingers touched the pages for a while and she closed the book to simply watch Ethan.

She loved her husband, of course. She loved his patience, love, and gentleness with her but during the past few days, something had changed. On the derelict boat, they discussed the book he had selected for her to read. He looked over her drawings and grew quieter. At the end of the night, he hardly spoke at all. He told her that he was not angry with her. He said nothing was her fault. Even so, she felt his mood growing darker until he grabbed her and sank his fangs deep. Harder than he ever had and drank. Even after he stopped drinking, he kept his hold on her through the bite and toppled her to the floor of the boat.

The party raged on the pavilion barge next to the boat and Brit expected someone to board it. She laid on the bottom and was cradled in Ethan’s arms and listened to the music and shouts and laughter of the crowd. Normally, she would have enjoyed such things, but Ethan’s darkness clouded all of it. In fact, they seemed quite alone on the boat. Her throat hurt from the raw marks even if he closed them somewhat. The sharing would usually remove the bruises quickly, but without it, the bruises slowly healed over the next couple days.

On the third night, he engaged her in a game of chase as he often did before they were married. Even then, she felt a sense of playfulness about him was missing. He bit her as he chased, but not when he caught as he used to do. Brit ran and dodged. She could not lose him as she could before. Ethan said he was making it harder, but Brit knew it was due to the fading of abilities and attributes that sharing gave to her. She remembered long ago, after he had first shared with her, telling him that she had been better but it was fading. He told her not to worry about it and that such losses were normal.

Brit thought of the word “normal.” She knew that without his sharing, her state of normalcy was less than others. She realized during that first time that she could not think as quickly as others. She realized she could not think clearly as others either. It was the first time that Brit understood she was different and comprehended how she differed. It was an uncomfortable feeling. So many cared for her though and, when she told a few, they told her she had other gifts. Kindness was everywhere.

Looking back to Ethan, she watched. He was so beautiful in his movement. She watched the way his hair fell around his face like a black, inky frame. Would she notice it as clearly when she was normal again? She watched the glittery way the light reflected from his hair and the refined way he held his pen as he made annotations to his book. Would she notice the nuances of his actions tomorrow? Her thoughts were already shifting. She remembered the chase game where she so quickly winded and was unable to run any more. Would the games be as much fun for him when she could not run as far or as fast? And she noticed bruises on her throat when she bathed earlier. She had grown use to being healed come morning. Would he be able to sustain with her if she healed like normal? It was the last question that bothered her most of all.

Ethan closed his book and undressed to ready himself for rest. He helped her change and snuggled her to him quietly. Brushing her hair from her throat, he simply stroked the skin as if feeling her pulse beneath his fingers. He said nothing at all. He had bitten her earlier in the Shelter’s kitchen, but hard hardly been able to drink at all. The night was quiet and she could hear one of the inhabitants come in and stumble into his assigned room.

She wondered why Ethan stopped sharing. Pressing against him, she remembered the book. The things it said. Did he wish her to frenzy? To be a slave-like being? Maybe that was why he stopped. She never felt the urge to be either. While Ethan continued to drink slightly of her, and to stay near and close, she missed the sharing. She missed being better. She could still see in the darkness, but knew that ability would fade soon. It was less tonight than before. Soon, she would be ordinary again. No, soon, she would be herself again. She liked being better and she loved the closeness that sharing with him yielded but, once she was normal again, she hoped he would not share with her again. The feeling of her growing weaker and becoming less than what she could be made her feel more distant from him. The process of fading was unbearable.