to tell her that she doesn't need to see me like this.
I want to tell her these things, but I also want to preserve some form of dignity in front of Dylan. So I keep my mouth shut and listen to what he's telling me.
The rope is hurting my wrists.
And so he continues with his diatribe. His little song and dance about death.
I nod my head and act like I'm paying attention.
I act like I’m paying attention, yet I can't take my eyes off of Evaline.
She smiles.
I smile.
Dylan looks behind his shoulder and then back at me.
‘Are you listening to me?’
‘Death is my greatest teacher.’
He shakes his head. He looks behind his shoulder again; thrown off and agitated.
He leaves the room.
My stomach growls.
I'm starving.
I'm still tied up.
I start to pass out.
I dream of Evaline.
In this dream she tells me that she was cheating. I tell her that we've been together for centuries, we're bigger than one single fuck up.
When I wake up, my bones ache and my jaw is numb.
When I wake up, I open my eyes to a fist pulling back.
4
They say that you're only as good as what you can take.
I must be no good.
I'm ready to cry after the first swing.
And I yell: ‘Fuck off you asshole.’’
No one's listening
And then I feel a tooth go loose as the back of my skull starts to do a shimmy and a shake.
It's Dylan.
I start thrashing around, wildly.
My body aches and I can feel blood dripping from my smashed-in face. I yell again. Louder. No one listens. Louder. No one responds.
Another fist and my brains are starting to feel like syrup in my skull. And it's a pause and a breathe and a nervous twisting of nervous fingers as I feel my skull bounce against a wall.
Dylan asks if I'm ready to listen. If I’m ready to change. If I’m ready to acknowledge that everything ends.
I fail to understand.
I look at Evaline.
She's watching me.
She looks strange. She's looking distorted.
I'm not ready to listen. I don't want to listen. I don't care what this asshole has to say to me.
His diatribes about death, they're meaningless. All I want is information on Evaline. The real Evaline.
So Dylan stands up and paces around with an obvious frustration.
And I ask: ‘So you're the one that burns down all the buildings?’
And he looks at me.
Curly hair resting against his sweaty forehead. It’s angry eyes and heavy breathing as his fists begin to ball.
‘What does that matter right now?’
‘Well, I was just curious.’
And he doesn't say anything. He just stands there, hovering over me, breathing heavily. Clenching his bloody fists. I watch my blood drip from his knuckles. I watch it pool on the floor. The light from above reflects on it and provides a deep red coloring; like a ripe cherry.
‘I guess you don't have to answer that.’
And it feels like my voice is caught in my throat. It tries to move past the blood that slowly drips down to my gut, but it fails. My voice is rough and hoarse. My voice bubbles and quakes with the sound of a disrupted complacency.
And Dylan stops.
‘It was me.’
He crouches in front of me.
And I ask ‘Do you think you can just beat me into submission?’
He pauses with a thoughtful look. I feel tired as I watch him contemplate and eventually open his mouth.
‘I’m not trying to beat you into submission, I’m trying to beat you out of it’ and he looks at my broken face. ‘There is no sense of loss or fear in this world.’
And I'm listening to the words, but they're not making any sense.
‘Loss and fear?’
‘Why do you think I'm hitting you?’
Things have suddenly calmed down.
‘Because you're an asshole.’
I feel like I'm choking.
‘Because you don't know how to feel scared.’ He pauses. ‘You aren't scared and you don't truly know what it means to feel anything other than complacency.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘How so?’
‘I feel sad because I've lost
The Science of Leonardo: Inside the Mind of the Great Genius of the Renaissance