The House

Chapter 38 - Day 4: Disconnection Experiment

David is using a spade to dig near the foot of a peach tree at the edge of the orchard when I find him. He is still shirtless, his muscles rippling beautifully while he works. I think he'd just finished burying the crow in a place where what's left of its desiccated corpse could at least feed a tree any nutrients it might still contain.

I watch him pat down the ground and dig the spade into the earth next to the grave, and he jumps a little when he turns to discover me standing near him, watching him with rapt attention. I'm happy to report that his limp is gone, and he is once again moving with the mesmerizing grace of a cat.

"I don't think you have another clean shirt, do you?" I say, stepping closer. The tank top and shirt he'd worn when I met him (was it only yesterday?) are still soaking in the downstairs tub. "I'm sorry, the stuff on the t-shirt you slept in is oil paint; it's not likely to come out even if I use turpentine or thinners on it, but I'll try. You can wear this if you want to." I hold the shirt I brought with me out to him.

"Thanks," he says, pulling off his work gloves and dropping them to the ground before he takes Craig's old lived-in university rugby t-shirt and pulls it on. I love to lounge around in that shirt. It is a tent on me, but it fits David quite snugly, showing off his muscles in a rather pleasing way. "Don't worry about that t-shirt; it's not worth the effort. It's quite old. I could actually still wear it to work out here if you'd rather have this back now."

"I've already dumped it in the tub with the other things," I tell him, shaking my head and stepping back to create some distance between us.

"Did... did you get your coffee?" Yesterday, I felt so comfortable around David, now I'm wound as tightly as a ball. I'm feeling frustrated and energised, and extremely confused. I don't know how to get that comfort back again. He is having a hard time even looking me in the eye, and I think it is because he blames himself for what happened to us while we were sleeping.

Seriously, has the man heard nothing I told him about sleepwalking and other non-awake activities? This is not his fault. If anybody is to blame, it is me. I invited him into the bed. Sure, I was just being compassionate and wanted to give him a comfortable place to sleep after making him wrestle with clocks and play hide and seek... and beating him with a poker.

Besides, as strange as it might seem, I don't feel violated. I just feel lonely. Especially when I look at him, and he is here but also so far away. I'm mostly upset because if I am going to kiss this man, I want to be awake and aware of doing it.

"Yes, thanks," he smiles. "I made you some too, but you didn't come, so I drank it. Sorry."

"I was getting dressed," I shrug, but I'm sure he can see that. I'm no longer wearing cheeky alarm clocks and his paint-smeared t-shirt. I'm wearing track pants and another of Craig's comfortable old T-shirts. This one has a washed-out smurf on the front, making a rude gesture and sporting the words 'Smurf Off!'

Yes, it's a crude t-shirt, but I used to love the Smurfs when I was a kid. Now I just think they're weird, and I find this shirt handy when Craig is irritating me. Looking at David grinning at my shirt, I regret wearing it. I don't find David irritating; I don't want him to Smurf Off at all.

"I was thinking about what you said earlier about being used," he says, suddenly serious again. I'm pretty sure I didn't put it quite as nicely. "I don't believe in spirits hanging around and messing with us, taking over our bodies to do what they would like to do. I also don't think that building behind you is anything but an old house. One that I happen to love."

I nod my head slowly, not sure I know what I believe at this point. Being here has been challenging every idea of what is normal that I have ever had. Where is he going with this? Has he changed his mind about my mental health?