The Vaticinator

by Namita Singh

I said, it doesn’t really matter now.

  I unwrap the food on my tray and take small bites from it. My mind absentmindedly goes wandering. I wish we could contact Aakir or father or anyone. We certainly can contact, if we borrow someone’s phone or use one of the phones on the ship, but what would be the point? They are as much helpless as Neal and I are. According to Neal, the occultists will be coming to the Realm at around midnight of the tenth day from now. That’ll be the day when we’ll get off the ship at Krasnoyarsk. Upon questioning about how he knew about the timings, he simply said that Aakir informed him so.

  I have been so out of it for the past twenty four hours that I am unaware of half of the things Neal has managed to do or know. But he patiently answers any question I have.

  Yet, I find myself entertaining more number of questions in my mind, which I am sure Neal doesn’t have answers too. What will happen when we reach the headquarters? How will father react? He will be pissed, no doubt. How will the council react? Will they surround us like fugitives and throw us in front of the Occultists? I have never encountered even one occultist, don’t mind twelve of them, in my life. Father deems it a miracle and utter good fortune to have spent your life without encountering one. Those words of him are now making me feel deplorable when I imagine the various scenarios of standing in front of twelve ugly witches.

  My appetite vanishes at the depressing thoughts. Despondently, I turn towards Neal.

  “At what exact time had you drunk the repellant?” I ask impatiently.

  Neal looks at me, blank at first. Then as if he understands my question a second later, his face contorts into a scowl.

  “I didn’t drink the repellant.” He stresses on his words, making sure that they ooze bitterness.

  It takes me several moments to get over my confused state and understand the accusation in his tone. Neal has been acting so normal since morning; answering any of my questions, taking care of me and whatnot. I almost forgot about his angry stance the previous night and the reason behind it. As I remember the ‘kiss’ through which I had forced Neal to swallow the liquid, my face flames up in embarrassment.

  Obviously. He didn’t drink the repellant. I made him drink it. Literally.

  We haven’t discussed that issue since. It hasn’t been much time, only about twenty four hours. But within that twenty four hours I fought with five therians with a broken arm, escaped a hospital like a mental patient, travelled almost half of the city with my brother, in a hideous looking state, finally settling in an even hideous hotel where I passed out from physical and mental exhaustion, but even then lived through the pain of narrating my antics to my brother, and on top of it had my partner ridicule me and take care of me at the same time. Not to mention the dreamless sleep I succumbed to that would have remained unshaken even through the apocalypse, and then have my partner drop the bomb of returning back to the headquarters, deciding through which I was forced to undergo various turmoil of emotions.

  It were a very long twenty four hours.Though I shouldn’t say that it is only natural I’ll forget about the whole kissing thing because of so many things happening at once, but really, it really is natural that I’ll forget about our personal issues when a much larger issue is looming above our heads.

  We sit in awkward silence, only slight whispers of other passengers from outside our room reaches my ears. And that’s probably because I am a therian; I am sure Neal cannot hear even those. Both of us keep staring at the front. We are sitting diagonally, facing each other. So, I am looking at the wall behind Neal, while Neal must have his eyes trained at the door behind me. Though Neal doesn’t say anything, I can see from the corner of my eyes how rigid he is siting, his palm occasionally fisting.

  He is irked, if not overtly angry.

  I am almost regretting bringing up the subject and we haven’t even spoken many words over the issue. Jeez, is it going to be like this every time we skirt around the topic? This is ridiculous.

  My face burning red, I gather up the courage and clear my throat. Neal doesn’t respond, staring straight ahead.

  “Eh…” I begin, “I’m sorry.” I say quietly. Neal minutely tenses up, but doesn’t respond. I sigh, continuing, “I feel really bad for…um, tricking you like that…but, it’s done…and I made it…and…Just…sorry, I shouldn’t have k-uh…shouldn’t have made you drink that…forcefully. Um, yeah, I shouldn’t have made you drink that forcefully….I just…couldn’t think of anything…and…well…we were running out of time and …and I didn’t want to fight…and you wouldn’t have agreed if I tried to persuade otherwise…and just sorry, it somehow…seemed better to fight afterwards…”

  …wow, can I, like, get the award for the most awkward speech ever? I cringe and clear my throat again when Neal doesn’t speak up.

  “I am just sorry, okay?” I say, running my good hand through my hair, “We had limited time…I needed a quick distraction to-uh-, well I needed you to-”

  “So,” Neal interrupts, his voice steely. He is looking straight ahead, refusing to turn towards me. “Forcing me or persuading me, you anyways were going to make me drink that?”

  “Uh…”

  “What are you sorry for exactly?”

  “…”

  “For ‘forcing’ me?” he hisses, his hands clenching on his sides.

  “Yes.” I blurt.

  And it’s the truth. I am not sorry that Neal escaped the hospital safely in my stead; hell I don’t think I’ll ever regret that decision of mine. I just repent the kiss because it has brought unwanted tension between the two of us. If I hadn’t forced it through a kiss, maybe, just maybe, we wouldn’t be this awkward.

  Apparently, my thoughts are wrong. And so is my answer to Neal. Neal gets a hateful scowl on his face. He even turns towards me, seething and glaring. I don’t know if I have ever, and I really mean ever, seen Neal this angry and that’s saying something. Involuntarily, I shrink inwards. I have a feeling that Neal is having a hard time in preventing himself from screaming.

  I let a distresses sigh escape me as Neal looks away, now glaring at anything in sight. “Neal-”

  “Fuck off, Lichinsky.” His voice is quiet, but cold. And he is still glaring in the front.

  I shake my head, finding this amount of anger a little unreasonable. “Why are you so angry?” I say quietly, “I apologized, and-”

  “For something irrelevant.” Neal interrupts me again.

  I give a pause at that. Apologize for something irrelevant? So. Our kiss, or whatever the fuck it was, is irrelevant? Well, nice to know that. Seems like I am getting riled up for nothing, I think bitterly. Alright. Fine. But if he expects me to apologize for something ‘relevant’, like supposedly making him go from the hospital, then he is in for a roll. And I state the exact thing aloud,

  “I am not sorry for making you leave the hospital.”

  “Then get your fucking priorities straight!” Neal hisses, keeping his voice low.

  “I have got them straight, alright.” I snap.

  “Oh, yeah? It’s fucking peachy to know that my wishes don’t stand anywhere.”

  I look at him, appalled, “I made you leave so you’ll be fine!”

  “At what cost?” he says through clenched teeth, “A therian could have knocked me dead anytime today, and you would have been busy soothing your worn body in some la-la land, so deeply asleep that even an explosion wouldn’t have woken you up.” He shakes his head slowly, as if trying to calm himself as I look at him agape. He continues, “So what if they would have caught me and taken me back to the headquarters? We’re going there now anyways, aren’t we? What was the point of you suffering so much? What was the point of you being stubborn when my theory was making sense? You couldn’t even stand last night, Lichinsky. Hell, I doubt you could even see straight. And, alright, let’s believe that I wasn’t making sense, that my theory held no credit and I was probably speaking from a gone-bonkers mind. Even then, couldn’t you just respect my wishes? You said we’re
to be together through life. Am I to expect my wishes to be thwarted every time? I fucking pleaded to you, Lichinsky. And you thought it’ll be all good, all fucking peachy, if you just landed one on me.” he ends in sarcastic bitterness.

  He looks away, closing his eyes as he calms himself. But I am anything, but calm. I am completely taken aback by his outburst. I don’t even know what to say. This is completely unexpected. He seems to be…hurt, which is absolutely uncharacteristic of him. Though, from his speech, it’s quite uncertain over what exactly he is hurt. He has expressed his distaste over my battered body, me disrespecting his wishes and our ‘kiss’ all at once. Still, I can somewhat make out that he is most upset because I disregarded even his earnest pleas and that I am physically hurt because of him.

  Neal doesn’t seem the type to ask for favors, much less plead someone for one. And he has already been guilty over my father’s predicament. I can only imagine his distress to see me physically hurt because of him. Both the thingsseem to have hit him the most. Especially disrespecting his wish part; that I didn’t even consider his plea, that I gave no weight to his request; as if it doesn’t matter what he keeps asking of me, I’ll end up doing what I see fit.

  It’s embarrassing that the thought has me guilt-ridden.

  I never meant to demean his request.Or make him feel as if his opinion doesn’t matter to