Savages

2: That Emptiness Inside

Sannah let the heavy book drop back onto her knees and closed her eyes. She'd been trying to read about spinning, teach herself to knit a winter hat, but she was failing. She couldn't concentrate. She could never concentrate, now. It's like the words were falling out of the hole in her soul, leaving her blinking and empty.

There was a time she'd had a photographic memory, been able to recall any printed word with ease after the most cursory of glances. It made her excellent at exams, and she'd accepted the offshoot of that—that she was an intelligent, competent person—without question.

Dear God, that couldn't be more different to now. She'd never felt less intelligent, less competent. Her life skills (memorising large tracts of text, coding, being able to find good resources online) were less than meaningless here, on the island.

Here, she was completely useless. All the other kids busied themselves all day with these practical, necessary actions that they somehow knew they had to do. They knew they should collect wood, or drill seeds, or check a sheep that showed signs she might lamb.

They all knew how to live out here. Even Judit. She'd been in that field station less than a month before their trip into the wild, yet she somehow seemed to know what to do. Sannah had now been out here seven times longer than the duration of Judit's training, yet she couldn't close that gap.

It didn't help that her heartbreak weighed down her limbs and fogged her brain like an illness, like a witch's curse. She couldn't think of anything (Saint) her thoughts were all disjointed (Saint) there was no room anywhere for anything (Saint) except him (Saint).

She shouldn't have left him. The truth was, she hadn't. He was everywhere, and because she wasn't with him, she was nowhere. Especially not here.

She knew that she should try harder, connect with the island's other ten inhabitants, but she couldn't. She was polite and false and frail and distant. There was a moat around her and she couldn't breach him. Him, a man they didn't know, couldn't understand, and wouldn't care about.

How do you get close to people? Talk about your feelings (Saint)? Share your thoughts (Saint)? Tell your memories (Saint)? Everything inside her was him. It was a sickness and she had no cure. So she floated along the surface of things, present but never really present, silent, trying to make herself disappear in public while inside she suffered alone.

She broke into tears so frequently, inappropriately, embarrassingly, it was best to avoid company. She didn't want to get to know anyone anyway, if she was honest. Everyone was perfectly nice, but two-dimensional. Monochrome. Too... not Saint.

Of the nine people she now lived with, was dependent on for her survival, the only one she wanted to talk to was Brock, and she couldn't. She couldn't because he was male, and of the island's four male inhabitants, he was the only one with a girlfriend.

Sannah was acutely aware of how it would appear to Lintie, the other half of his couple, if this strange cold girl nobody knew, their friend's sister, the girl who'd apathetically rejected all Lintie's beautiful and kind and persistent efforts at friendship, yet still insisted on seeking out her mate.

She also couldn't do it because all she wanted to say to Brock was this: you were there, in a room with him, once. Back in Caledia. Do you remember? Can you describe his face? Can you report to me exactly what he said, the emotions lurking behind his glances? Do you know the way he moved? Did he check his pockets that way he does, hang his head slightly to the left when he's listening? Please. I need more of him. Please.