A Modern Myth

by Clara Wake

  Sure, they are all doing their own thing and focusing on their own battles and goals in their own life, however, to Nickolai, he stands out in the crowd. He always does, and he never wants any form of attention. Yet, he always receives it.

  The moment they park in an underground carpark is when the nerves become erratic and he’s burying himself in his hands. Trying to rub and flush away the strain from his face.

  The unfamiliar sounds, loud clashes, and screeches. The very subtle sounds of conversations nearby – it’s too abnormal for him. The back of his neck burns and his stomach bubbles. Beads of sweat start to collide with his brow.

  His chest is tight and heavy as he tries to contain his breathing. He tries his best to stand tall and rise above, like he always has. Standing and walking beside Desmond, he keeps his head down with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his hoodie.

  The crowds are close, and the murmurs became loud as they enter the main streets of the town where various shops are open and engaged with shoppers. Clattering sounds of footsteps on the hard-concrete envelope with chatter and buzzing from mobile phones and other various digital devices he’s never seen or heard of before.

  “You've got nothing to be afraid of,” Desmond carefully tells him, as he strolls beside him and attempts to have him look around at the new beginnings and surroundings. The aromas that sealed the air around them, the many smiles on people’s faces. The world is cold, but it is beautiful.

  Curious eyes narrow with his scar and steer to his unnatural and odd-eyes. Double takes as he passes and heads turn. If only their heads rolled right now, he’d be happier.

  His head would bow each time his eyes connected with a stranger. The fear glistened in his eyes each time someone stared and showed any form of interest or curiosity.

  His vibrant eyes dart around, watching the small buildings and the occasional tall buildings at his sides seeing their structure and how different and modern they are. Most buildings are white, and they all share the same thing. A logo and a company name. Now that he thinks about it – being as observant as he is – he realizes that this company or name is almost everywhere.

  Large, thick lightning blue letters spell the word ELYTE with a large blue triangle behind the words. He points it out almost every time he passes most of the stores. Hell, it looks like he is being watched and it sends his nerves flying.

  He feels abnormal and naked, most of all because he isn’t carrying. He doesn’t have his bow or his combat knife. He is completely defenseless, with only his combat experience to hold onto as comfort.

  Moving towards a larger section of the strip, Nickolai’s muscles tense and his jaw clenches the closer they moved in. Yet he continues.

  He constantly tells himself to keep walking, that it’s all in his head – no one is going to hurt him. He is doing his best until a piercing jolt of pain shakes his ears and the familiar sound sends him flinching and stumbling and smacking his back against the nearest wall. Instantly, he covers his ears and shakes uncontrollably from the sounds that hammers his ears and sends him into a panic attack. The buzzing and whirring each time the needles pierced their skin. He knows it so well, all too well and he can’t bear it.

  Desmond freezes, witnessing Nickolai’s fall as he holds his ears. He looks around frantically before seeing the tattoo parlour five stores up and cringes. His hearing really is good; he didn’t think it would be that powerful. With all the background noise colliding with almost every sound that surrounds them, he remains stunned for a moment before he finally drops to Nickolai’s aid. “Hey, it’s okay!” He finally attempts to coax him, before others notice something and start hovering and moving around him, trapping any form of space and air.

  “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

  Desmond helps and tends to Nickolai’s sudden attack and does his best to shield him from the incoming and overbearing crowd that insists they know what is happening.

  Desmond places his own hands over Nickolai’s as he raises his shoulders and lowers himself. He applies pressure, trying his best to block and knock back any of the sounds that traumatize him.

  Leading him carefully back towards their car, He spits and barks at anyone in their way, making sure Nickolai makes it back safe. However, he feels guilt starting to lean on his shoulder – he shouldn’t have pushed him.

  The words scream in his mind, and the images flash and burn each time he sleeps. The scorching desire to know if Jake is alive keeps him up every night. He’s lost everyone he loved, and he’s never felt or been so alone.

  While Desmond is a very kind man and is so eager to take him under his wings, he doesn’t trust him. How could he? Trust is the most limited thing in The Compound. Where would he have learned it from? Only from Jake and look where he is.

  He can’t just get used to this eccentric lifestyle. He is a stranger in a strange land. An alien, visiting earth. Confused and in a daze, regardless of being born here. He knows of nothing, only small things he pieces together like a puzzle. He is learning his first steps all over again.

  Maybe being so isolated and alone is his thing – a lone wolf - the only way he can live. Away from anyone, he’s a ticking time bomb, a beacon for chaos and anguish. What else does he know? He was born to bleed.

  He knows in his heart, mind, and soul that he doesn’t deserve this. Even after everything he was forced, pulled, and thrown into. He can never shake the idea and expectation that he deserves to be alone, unloved and forgotten. He doesn’t deserve this.

  All the pain and anger he’s held so tightly onto, regarding his parents has vanished, and he yearns to know where they are and if they are still alive. If they moved on or continued to search. He wants to know more about them, who they are and what they’re like. Who is he most like? His mother or his father? His mind explodes with so many unanswered questions. Finally, he can even ask them. He was nothing but a ghost until now, at least now he has something to go by.

  His mind is far too loud, and he can’t sleep. Sitting up, he sees the cat curled up at the end of his bed. She certainly did take a liking to him, and he doesn’t mind at all. She is adorable and comforting, just the soft purrs have him at ease at times, but not tonight.

  Moving slowly out of bed, making sure not to disturb the cat, he moves out of his room, and down the stairs. Lights are still flowing and glowing throughout the house – Desmond is still awake. Usually, he’d turn them all off, before hitting the hay.

  Light on his feet, as usual. He’s scared the shit out of Desmond too many times to count by now, while he thinks it is amusing, Desmond would end up trying to throw something at him out of fright and irritation – little shit!

  His first destination is, of course, the kitchen. It’s where the food is, and the food is the most amazing and perfect thing to ever exist in Nickolai’s eyes.

  The apple of his eye, he loves it, and he never stops at one bowl of cereal. Nope. He would eat two and settle for some toast, fruit, and anything else decent enough he can find. The food is comforting, and delicious. He’s missed out for so long. He favours everything, from new to old flavours and different cultures. He embraces it all and never refuses it.

  After finishing, he assumes Desmond is asleep. After all the noise he made in the kitchen, he was sure it would wake him. Plodding his way towards the hall, he begins to march up the stairs, until he hears a soft whimper from outside, and tilts his head, looking towards the back entrance of the house.

  Stepping down, he investigates. Slowly, cautiously, and of course ready to strike. Nickolai carefully moves towards the backdoor but finds Desmond in the back room to the right - at his computer - head down on the desk, burying his face as he continued to hit the enter key on the screen. Constantly hitting the send button, tapping on the monitor that glows and lights up the room while he sits in the dark.

  His throat becomes thick and tight, watching from afar. He sees the screen and clenches his jaw as Desmond sobs and continuously hits the send button.


  To: Jake (JakeE1@darkwyre.web)

  From: Desmond (OldDes@darkwyre.web)

  Subject: Where are you?

  Just the three words sent repeatedly. Desmond sits there, sending it, waiting for a reply from his son, but he’s receives nothing from him since the day Nickolai left. He’s torn, broken, and desperate to know, to hear from his boy. He tries his best to track him, to find him but he can’t. He did everything he could, hiring a private investigator, a hacker, but they came back inconclusive every time.

  Nickolai wants to say something, but his throat won’t allow him. He is left to watch, as he falls apart and the guilt weighs and drowns him even more. The more he stands there, seeing the real colours of Desmond shining as bright as day, he realizes how much he tried and did his own best to make sure he was okay and adjusting. They were both doing their best for Jake.

  These words were last spoken to someone he loved. These words were always said when something daunting happened. He hated these words, but he felt the need to say it, to tell him…

  “I’m. Sorry,” Nickolai managed to breathe, as his ears dropped with his shoulders. Uncertain on how Desmond will react, he stands in the doorframe and waits.

  Spinning around, he gasps and instantly wipes his face, attempting to mask the sorrow, as his eyes pin to Nickolai’s silhouette. He is shocked to see him there. He’s sapped for a moment before swallowing hard and letting out a shaken breath. Realizing what Nickolai said, and the low and guilt laced tone, he looks down for a second before bringing his eyes up to meet Nickolai again.

  “It’s not your fault,” Desmond carefully replies and attempts to clearly state that it isn’t Nickolai’s fault. Sniffling slightly and clearing his throat, he attempts to adjust himself, arching his back and stretching.

  “It is,” Nickolai bluntly states, shaking his head with a huff. How could he even start to believe that Jake’s demise isn’t his fault? “Don’t say it’s not. I’m the one who got him in trouble. He did whatever the hell he did for me. If I weren't around, he’d still be alive, and maybe you’d have your chance to see your son.” Nickolai is quick to continue, his tone harsh.

  Desmond doesn’t reply, as he takes in what Nickolai has just stated; he instead just shakes his head back at him. “No, he’d have done it regardless. He called you his brother, and he loved you.” He stops there, and lets the silence take over as his heart sinks.

  Desmond sincerely speaks and tells Nickolai the deeper thoughts that flashed through Jake’s mind, and his words carve deeply through his chest and leave him speechless and lost. Tears trace his eyes, “I-I should have…done something,” He chokes, regretting his frozen state as Jake pushed him to leave. “I just-I just sat there like an idiot!” He exclaims behind his gritted teeth, with anger roaring from his words. “I didn’t stop him!” He continues and cries aloud. So fed up, so angry with himself. He is nothing but a failure and doomed anyone who got close.

  “But you left, and that’s what he wanted,” Desmond attempts to cure him of his pounding guilt that towers over him so severely, but it only leaves Nickolai in silence, to reflect and deal with the loss.

  The realization that he isn’t going to see Jake again tears his heart, even more than when he lost Skye. After all, Jake gave him confidence, believed in him in ways he never imagined. He gave him the strength he never thought he had and pushed him to continue to rise above, like the Little Phoenix he named him.

  He has nothing left in him anymore – Love is non-existent.

  Now Nickolai can see just how much Desmond is truly heartbroken; while at first, on the surface, he seemed abnormally calm and collected as if he’d taken a dose of ecstasy, – after realizing his son never made it.

  He can see the shield he placed up and held onto the entire time he was around—to keep him sheltered from the burning agony that scorches and tears through him. He knows it all too well. He is doing the same thing. Never show pain, never let them get to you. Don’t let them see.

  Long and slender fingertips slowly run along the cold white keys of the antique piano in the back corner of the family room. The soft tones wrap around the room and leave Nickolai in a daze just for a moment before he takes a seat before it, remembering the last time he’d played, not since Dana passed. He never went back to that shed and never fixed his piano.

  He hasn’t forgotten, as he slowly presses the keys and plays the same tune he once played back then. It all comes rushing back to him, and for once he’s back there – as his mind travels – and he remembers everyone he’s lost. As the soft and dark melody plays, he’s reminded of those he loved. Each stroke leaves his heart reaching for his throat. He’s lost so much, and yet here he is. In a world, he doesn’t know, so different, so strange, and frightening.

  Constantly with his guard up, tense and shaking with fear – afraid of them finding him – taking him back to the foundation of his youth and never finding his way out.

  For now, he is trapped in a world he can’t find himself in. Still lost. With little knowledge of his parents, and if he can even find them, but at least he has someone. As much as he wishes it were Jake, he has someone who cares about Jake— who tried to find him but failed. Who did everything he could to get him home.

  Months pass and more large and courageous steps are made by Nickolai. Attempting and succeeding at entering the crowds and being around more than just Desmond. Although it is easier said most of the time. He doesn’t speak to anyone, more so just observes and watches them as they pass.

  Sometimes scared and alone, and other times confident and content with his progress. It all depends on factors he is unaware of. Trivial things, would surface and send him into a spiral of darkness, leaving him isolated and lost. The doubt, constantly creeps and seeps in and leaves him questioning everything he’s ever done. The bodies that hit the floor by his own hands. Whether on missions or otherwise. Everyone ended up leaving in some form, always alone and outcast.

  Happiness is a blast from the past – that’s if he ever truly had the pleasure of feeling such an emotion at all – he could only assume he was happy when he was with Skye and Jake.

  Judging, curious, and watchful eyes lingered and narrow on him, still the freak, the monster he truly believes he is. Even as his confidence strides, a quick grimace or startled expression sends him carving hatred through his chest.

  Desmond has tried to coach him through the process, to guide and ease his growing anxiety when it comes to crowds and socializing. Although most of the times it is a hit and miss.

  What Desmond heard from Jake through the e-mails was never enough to convey and paint the true turmoil Nickolai experienced and lived through. No one can see, feel, and hear every drip of sweat or pinch of pain he’s endured or the sheer sorrow and trauma he was dragged through. He hasn’t lived at all, he’s only survived the first eighteen years of his life.

  Another day and a spark of interest to try and blend in and taste the world once again is on this warm morning. The wind is harsh, but the sun radiates perfectly.

  Busy and buzzing like a beehive, the crowds are loud and heavy: the clicks and clacks of the shoes on the pathway, and the zooming of the cars passing through the overloaded street.

  The weekends are the worst. Almost too many people are actively doing their own things. Children screaming, and parents scolding, the occasional laugh and shout. All things, he tries and focuses heavily to get used to.

  Laughter has never truthfully been heard before. It is a lovely sound, and even more peaceful to witness. The smile and flush of red of their cheeks. Incapable of breathing, due to the extremity of the laugh – they are happy.

  All Nickolai has ever done is manage to chuckle and let a hum leave his lips. Never a rumble of his chest, and a burst of cackles. Never enough to push the dimple on the left of his cheek or spread his lips wide enough to give a bright and beautiful smile. Hidden beneath the cloak of shadows, unseen.

  Desmond is now giving Nickolai more space, as t
hey walk along the pathway window shopping. He keeps a close eye and distance to make sure he is all right. However, he remains a few feet back. Then again, Nickolai is extremely easy to find nonetheless, if he did lose sight. The boy is taller than most. If only he weren't wearing the beanie and hoodie, to expose his growing, vibrant crimson locks of gravity-defying hair and slim and unique elven ears to spot among the crowd.

  As close as he feels he needs to be, Desmond watches carefully until Nickolai suddenly jerks his head with a sharp turn - like a Meerkat. On edge, before he dashes towards that direction. Shit.

  Quick on his heels, Desmond dashes and attempts to follow him, but dammit he is fast, very fast and he hasn’t exercised in years.

  Hearing the very familiar sounds of cries, and fright, trembling tones and high-pitched screech, Nickolai darts towards the direction. Fast and agile once again as he snakes and swerves through the crowd; his eyes fixate on the road before he stomps out in the middle of incoming traffic and swipes his arm out and lunges towards a young girl, walking onto the road – stopping traffic – and turning wheels.

  The strong and burning scent of tar floats from the idle vehicles, and screams from onlookers are heard, as Nickolai lands and drops on his back, holding the girl closely to him. Safe on the sidewalk, he takes a second as his heart pounds and he’s soon crowded by many onlookers gasping and gawking at the scene.

  The young girl holds onto Nickolai tightly. Her little hands grasp onto his hoodie. Fingertips curled into the fabric until she shakes from her shocked state to hear her mother. She quickly looks out from behind Nickolai’s shoulder peering up to see her panicked mother.

  Nickolai is soon aware of the incoming woman, and immediately releases the girl, tensing, and feeling the sheer fright shake his body; the last time a mother came at him, he was left with a scar to remind him of his terrible deed.

  He flinches instantly and picks himself off from the warmth of the sidewalk, and creates enough space, until Desmond arrives, almost out of breath and gently plants a soft hand to Nickolai’s back, ensuring him it is okay.