::TEN::
A day and a half. Back to me in less than thirty six hours. How can it seem so long? Time seems to crawl. I hate my own internal clock right now, no matter how well it has served me the rest of my life. Right now it is a traitor to me, my torturer. I had tried to sleep, hoping that in sleep enough time would pass, and it would be closer to the time when he would be here. Maybe five or six hours of peace. I lie in bed for another hour, awake, hearing every sound, hearing nothing.
The scent of him so strong in our room. I won’t allow room service to clean, I want to smell him. Even if it’s torture to me. To not even have the scent of him would drive me to despair, wondering if he was ever coming back. A thought that haunts me. Spurs me to get up, before I panic. That I could even be driven to such panic shows how far this has disconcerted me. I need to get out of this room, or the smell of him will break me, and he’ll come back to find me crying. I have never cried in front of him, ever. It would…hurt him.
I leave his shirt on, wanting the smell of him on me, even if I have to wear nothing but this shirt until he gets back. Wear silk underneath, liking the feel of it, the whisper of it against my skin. It makes me think of him, but I’m going to think about him anyway. I don’t want to not think about him, I just need a break away from the scent of him, here, in this room. Silk underthings, Riddicks worn shirt, and an old pair of cargo pants. I don’t care if I look odd, I feel closer to him, just wearing what he likes.
I didn’t really have a plan, when I left my room, other than to roam endlessly. The Midorian is huge. Three decks, more than four miles across. I really could wander all day, and never see all of it, and that’s just staying to the main hallways. The warren of service corridors could occupy me for weeks. I find a kiosk, to get coffee, shrugging away the offer of fresh pastries. I still can’t eat, but the coffee is nice, the cup is hot.
I feel a little like an urchin, in my baggy clothes, holding my coffee in two hands, walking through the hallways. Nothing seems to interest me. Given the vast array of what can be found here, that’s saying something. I’ve simply lost interest. Occasionally stop to look in a window, or listen at the door of a lounge. All I feel is disconnected, distracted, lost.
How I ended up here, I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t want to admit it to myself. The docking bays. I ended up at the third floor docking bay. Which gave me a view of the other two below me, as the bays were slightly terraced. Is this why I came up here, why I wandered this way, without even really thinking about it?
I sit down, at the edge of the bay, near the corridors. Out of the way. To watch the docking traffic. Not wanting to admit to myself what I’m doing. Sigh. I’m watching. Waiting for him to come back.
Rest my head on the railing, my legs swinging over the side, into space. I swallow hard, feeling utterly empty. I wouldn’t know the ship even if I saw it. I can’t tell one apart from the other. Riddick has made a point of teaching me how to land, how to take off. How to plot a course, and some other very basic things. Which I do well enough that he’ll let me do them on my own now. But, to be perfectly honest, if it were not for him doing those things, teaching me those things, I would never have learned them. My father was a pilot, before I was taken. With Riddick, I have learned something of the love of flying free, and gotten over my fear of it, but I’m not a pilot. I was taken too early, and taught to kill instead. I can’t tell one ship from another. I look down, at the hundreds, several hundreds, of ships, in the three bays spread out before me. Any one of them could be Riddick’s, and I would never know.
The hundreds become thousands, I bite my lip, forcing my eyes closed, fighting back my tears. I will not cry. He will come back. A sigh. Force myself to get my emotions back under control. He WILL come back to me. A momentary weakness. Riddick deserves more. I will not cry. But I leave the loading bay, walking back to the quiet spaces of the corridors, just to be on the safe side.
Back at the door to my room. I’m not tired physically, but I’m emotionally drained, spent. Feeling a little childish and ridiculous for how much this is ripping at me. Kick out of my baggy cargoes, the moment I get in, leaving the light off. Maybe fool myself into another couple of hours of sleep. Lie back on the couch at the foot of the bed, nestling my head into the arm, trying to find a comfortable spot.
Breathe deeply. Damn, Riddick. Why do you have to smell so good? One hand over my eyes, rubbing my temples. The other slipping under my panties, the pressure firm, the response almost instant. Wet. Give in to it. Slow circles, a shuddering gasp, as I breath in the scent. Saying his name aloud. Riddick…
“And here I was feeling bad for starting without YOU…..”