The Vaticinator

by Namita Singh

an idiot when the same excitable feeling returns which his touch grants me. Once the shirt is completely detached from my body, Neal clumsily folds it and keeps it on the bed. He snatches my t-shirt and thrusts it towards my direction. Emotionlessly, he waits as I grasp the t-shirt from his hand.

  For no reason understandable, I feel exceptionally self-conscious while standing there half naked with my partner. But that is again something that I cannot comprehend. Feeling the rush because of Neal’s touches is something that sensing his aura largely explains. But getting flustered when I am simply standing without a shirt in Neal’s vicinity is not explained. Especially when the person in question is actually looking bored of out of his mind, as he waits for me to pull the t-shirt on my frame. How is Neal managing to be so casual? He has been equally red faced as me through our uncomfortable conversation through the day. I scowl at the various gay implications revolving in my head and eventually concentrate on the task at hand.

  When I fail, miserably so, at getting the t-shirt past my neck, an exasperated Neal steps up and starts helping me.I feel like a child as Neal makes my injured arm get through the t-shirt first and then easily pulls it down the rest of my body.

  The next part is no doubt much more embarrassing as I fiddle with the strings of the hospital pajama that I have on. Neal is stoic, as he collects my denims and waits patiently for me get over my ‘shyness’. I hastily pull the strings off and let my pajamas fall, feeling glad that I am wearing boxers instead of briefs. Neal, uninterested, hands me my denims which I pull up myself. Only when I have to close the button do I face problem with one hand. Neal notices my vain efforts and again sighs. Nonchalantly, he brings his hands to the buttons of my denims and close them, not looking fazed for a single moment. I, on the other hand explode in millions colors ranging between red and pink. Ignoring my abashed state, Neal turns me around again and starts fastening the clasps of the straps of my sling.

  Once done with the whole procedure, I take a deep breath in. I don’t know if it’s due to relief to be done with the awkward situation or disappointed that Neal’s hands are now far away, depriving me of whatever small amount of pleasantness I was receiving. Even at the expense of my embarrassment, Neal’s aura holds a higher ranking.

  With my back pack finally packed, we motion to move outside. I am carrying the bag and my jacket single handedly as we move out. Absentmindedly, Neal holds the bag’s strap as well and starts tugging it towards himself. I don’t let go of the bag though, even though it turns into a little game of tug of war as we enter the corridor. Knowing well that he cannot get rid of my hold, Neal turns to give me a boring look.

  “Give me the bag.” He says plainly.

  I snort, “I can carry it.” Call it the rage to prove a point, but I really want to prove to Neal that I am not as ‘weak’ as he has been suggesting since afternoon, consistently referring to my inability to move my injured arm without biting my lip.

  Neal rolls his eyes, “I didn’t say you cannot. I just asked you to hand it over.”

  “And I said I can carry it. Just because my one arm is wounded, doesn’t mean I am suddenly an incapable girl.”

  “Oh, yeah? Says the guy who blushes exactly like that incapable girl.”

  As if to prove Neal’s point, my face explodes into another blush at his comment. Jeez, he obviously wasn’t bored or uninterested during our rendezvous. Definitely not if he kept an enough keen eye to notice where I am being the most uncomfortable.

  “Sue me.” I snap, “It’s not every day a guy dresses me up.”

  “Hold your horses, Lichinsky. By the looks of how compliant you were being, you didn’t exactly dislike it.”

  If possible, my face gets even redder at the implication. That’s the downfall of revealing to a guy what effect his skin can bring when placed on my naked one. And this is one lesson I am learning. From now on, doesn’t matter how bored Neal looks. I should always assume that he is being as perspicacious as he is always capable of.

  “As you’re enjoying using the information I reveal against me?” I say, as we enter one of the elevators. “Thanks for warning about what I shouldn’t babble from next time.” I let go of the bag after my bitter comment.

  “It concerns me, so I am invariably entitled to know.”

  “Not if it’s just a topic for you to use against me.” I snap, feeling pissed.

  “Don’t be snappy with me. It’s not my fault.”

  “And it’s high time you realize that it’s not mine either.”

  We fall into a tense silence. Embarrassingly, I notice that few of the other people inside the elevator have started to eye Neal and I. Neal seems unaffected.

  We get off the elevator when we reach the ground floor. As one, we move towards the reception, our feud almost, almost forgotten. Our feuds, as explosive as they may be, are never long lasting. That’s something for which I always feel glad.

  Neal informs the lady sitting on the reception desk about our plans to move out right now. She hesitates in the beginning as she checks on the patient details. But as she notices that I am anyway going to be discharged in the morning, she starts filing our checks. Neal starts digging cash, which father has left in Neal’s responsibility, from the bag. When I murmur about so much cash, Neal informs me that father doesn’t want us to use credit or debit cards. Hence he left a hefty amount behind in Neal’s hands.

  “Josh Lichinsky?” the reception lady says, addressing me, “You were in room 709?”

  “Uh.” I say, not really aware what room number I was in.

  “Yes.” Neal answers for me.

  “Oh, you just had visitors. I sent them up to your room just moments before.”

  My heart skips a beat. Visitors? I am pretty sure father and Mikhail are extremely busy to visit me, not to mention it will take them quite a number of days to be in Dudinka now. Aakir doesn’t exactly require to pass the reception in order to greet me. The rest of my family is out of Krasnoyarsk, hell out of Russia for all I know. I do not like the sound of getting ‘visitors’.

  Neal chuckles nervously, “Did they give a name?”

  The lady shakes her head, frowning at Neal, “I didn’t ask for it. They wanted to see Josh Lichinsky and I sent one of them to your room.”

  “One of them?” I ask.

  “They didn’t address themselves as relatives, so I could only let one of them meet you. The rest must be in the waiting room outside.” She gestures towards the opening doors at the end of the corridor, the top of which bears the board ‘waiting room’ written in both English and Russian.

  “Uh…” Neal says, as much at loss as me, “They were all men?”

  The lady frowns again at Neal’s questioning, but answers nonetheless, “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “Four-five, maybe?”

  “Okay, thanks.” Neal says and proceeds to give cash for the bill. The lady hesitates again, as if expecting us to turn around and greet our ‘visitors’. But looking at the alarming expressions on Neal’s face, she accepts the payment. Her processing seems to go on a freakishly slow pace, or my nerves are probably getting to me. Once done, Neal collects the receipt and we turn around. Instead of following the corridor, towards the end gates that succeed the waiting room, we turn the opposite way, seemingly going further inside the hospital.

  I didn’t expect us to land in such a situation, with a therian on the upper floors and more therians towards the exit. I try to bring a little optimism. Maybe it’s not the therians from our Realm. But my optimism only runs as long as realism compliments it. So I snuck the thought and let the panic overtake me.

  Out of everything, it’s Neal I am worried about. I just got him back and I sure as hell not planning to let him be slipped by again. To prevent from fully hyperventilating, I unconsciously grasp Neal’s upper arm. Neal gets startled by my sudden hold, but his steps don’t falter as I keep walking towards the end of the corridor. Only when we reach a secluded sub hallway do I slow down. Reluctantly
, I let go of Neal’s arm as we come to a stoppage. Whatever calmness I was harboring vanishes as soon as I let go.

  “Okay, what the fuck do we do now?” I say, turning to stand face to face with Neal.

  Neal runs a hand down his face, looking pretty shaken up himself. “I don’t think there’s any other exit.” He mutters.

  “We cannot risk any of them coming near enough to sense our auras.” I blurt in a panicky tone.

  “Of course…” Neal mumbles. “Looking for you in the hospital turned out to be a walk in the park for them.”

  I halt at his observation. “Exactly,” I murmur, equally quiet, “That means they are aware that they cannot find you.”

  Neal frowns at my sudden change in topic.

  “They are looking for me.” I elaborate.

  Understanding dawns, “Because they will be repelled away if they start looking for me.” Neal says, looking slightly annoyed with the revelation. “But, it’s impossible to not have me in mind while looking for you.”

  I hesitate, “Yeah, I suppose. At least at the subconscious level they cannot get rid of thoughts about you…maybe that’s why we are on the ground floor and the therian from the councilis on the upper floors. We didn’t even encounter him in the elevator. He must have taken the other elevator.”

  “You’re right. My aura must be repelling them. Somewhat.”

  “Alright, we’re not taking chances on that thought.” I speak with a