Under The Tent Top (COMPLETED)

Twelve

MARIUS say quietly beside me. He didn't touch me, in fact he left just about half a foot in between us. Slowly he reached over.

I peaked through my fingers. There by my face was a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. My eyes gazed up towards him.

His face was soft but his eyes stayed ahead.

I gingerly took the jar. He smiled. Slowly I took the a spoonful into my mouth, feeling a little better being fed.

"Sixteen years ago," he whispered. "When I was about twelve. My dad had woken up from a terrible nightmare about the nukes. My mom, did as she had always done, and tried to calm him down. But his tempter had always been a problem. Even before the war. On that morning was that first time I saw him grab my mother. He had struck her with a fist. Cried and apologized. She forgave him. Again and again. I didn't because I will never forget how hurt and broken she had been."

I turned towards him. "I'm...sorry."

"Don't apologize. Just fight back."

My gaze fell. "It's not that simple."

Marius took a slow breath in, and carefully grabbed the spoon from the jar, filling his mouth with peanut butter. He swallowed before speaking. "No, you're right. But don't write it off as an option."

"I already have." I muttered placing the jar on the prop box.

Marius slid off from his seat and stepped towards me. "May I?" He offered his hand.

I took it.

"When you're on this," he softly said as we made our way to The Nightingale's swing. "What are you thinking about?"

I laced my fingers around the ropes. "Depends, I guess. Sometimes I think about the next line in the song. Sometimes I think about whether Samil enjoys the song I chose. Most of the time. Nothing."

"That doesn't seem like the right things to think about."

I shrugged.

"What do you want to do?"

I raised a brow. "What?"

"What do you want to do?"

I stared at the swing's wooden seat faded from my touch. I sat down. "I want sing."

"And?"

I swayed my legs to move the seat. "I want to maybe just forget about who's watching me."

He stood in front of me silently as I closed my eyes, finding momentum.

"I don't want to be worried about the after party. Or whether I'll be able to sleep that night." I could feel the air run past me, the wind lifting my dress to dance with. "I want to feel proud of what I do. Of who I do it for."

I smiled imagining myself as one of the aerial dancers instead of the final bow. Floating through the fabrics and getting lost in my skills. Performing, and forgetting about the ring leader, forgetting about my hunger, thinking of nothing else but being heard and appraised for my work. Not for my body.

I jumped off the swing, and had a sudden urge to wrap my body around the silk. Marius ran after me and held out his hand as if he understood.

My arms pulled myself up the fabric as Yana had taught me. In a sudden instance and instinct flashed through. I unraveled the silk from my foot and used all my angry might go wrap it around my waisted. My arms up and down the aerial piece, supporting my crazy mind. I looked down. In that moment, the ground seemed inviting.

I let go.

Whether or not I had wanted it to happen, Marius' arms caught my fall. He cradled me close as I caught my breath. A soft smile spread through across my lips. The adrenaline shot through me like it had never done before, and I felt almost alive.

When Marius let my feet touch the ground, he smiled too and reached his hand out. "Marius." He stated.

I shook his hand. "I know."

~*~

In a mutual decision, Marius and I found ourselves walking outside. His hands stayed his pocket, his body giving me space, but his eyes never left my gaze.

"So, Marius. Who are you?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Marius. The son of dead parents. Odin's guard and maintenance man for some time. Currently part of The White Top's backstage crew."

I laughed.

"My family and I used to live in a fairly nice place near what used to be Las Vegas. My mother moved from Chihuahua, met my father, had me and we lived pretty well for six years."

"Then the East got angry."

He shrugged. "Actually, the war started when I just turned eight."

I stood still. "Oh..."

He shrugged again. "He'd always been short with us. I assume he had been hurting my mom behind closed doors for some time, before I saw it after he came back from the front lines."

"Marius..."

"Anyways, by the time I was fourteen he died. Militaries took the city as a base, hiding us all in underground shelters for some time. I think I left with some others to the surface at nineteen?"

"Your mom?"

His eyes fell. "She passed away before the first group was able to leave the bunk safely."

"I bet she was an amazing person."

He nodded. "She was. She just forgot how strong she was. And by then it was too late."

My heart skipped a beat. For a moment it had seemed he was talking about more than his mother.

"Well," He teased. "What's your story? You must have more to you than your songs."

I smiled. "I don't know ...um. I suppose I can tell you that before the world ended, my parents and I lived in small town by Toronto. When I was nine, my brother and I were on our way to my grandmother's in Hawaii for the summer - my parents were worried the war would move closer. Our plane landed on Washington when the first bombs hit the New York coast. My brother was seventeen, and left to fight with the Washington guards. He died in Manhattan."

He shook his head. "What about you? Who are you?"

I laughed at the familiar words. "I spent eleven years in a bunker, spending time in the hospital wing. A nurse there sang to her patients, so I followed her like a puppy. I didn't leave till the third group of my bunker did. Before I was twenty two, Samil had been well known and when he stopped at the area I was in one day...he told me he loved my voice. He said I'd be loved by everyone and I would be able to help a lot of people. I'd make the world better. I believed him."

"Whether he means it or not ...I believe in what he said about you."