The flickering lights teased Charles' eyelids. Within the
phosphene, he could see several lights dancing flirtatiously with each other.
He opened his eyes to see the bulb which emanated the lights.
He tried to sit up but the intense pain reminded him that
his initial position was currently the best for his body state.
He tried to recollect the last events before he fell
unconscious. All he could remember was falling upon Christina before suddenly
waking up in this location.
He turned around - trying to understand which environment he
was in. There were flickering flashes of lights if he remembered correctly and
if he had been abducted by the people holding those flashlights. He would most
likely be in a hospital and of course, that spelled doom for the resplendent
Christina.
To his amazement, he saw posters of different plants and
animals hung around the room. His face unconsciously creased with astonishment
as his eyes kept darting from one poster to another.
The bed he laid on was very small and his tall muscular
frame was barely enough for the bed.
He recognized the bed model, it was usually designed for
girls due to their relatively smaller frames but this made no sense. The only
way this was possible was if...
All of a sudden, the lugubrious sounds of vomit reached his
ears. He recognized the sound - it was Christina. He couldn't tell much but
based on the way she sounded, she was in intense pain as the vomiting sound was
accompanied by groans of agony.
Ignoring the pain in his body, he threw his legs out of the
bed. He collapsed to the ground and looking onward, he crawled towards the
door.
Gritting his teeth with all he was worth, he didn't relent
as he pushed forward.
After crawling for a while, he resolved himself and stood to
his feet. He felt his knees tremble with every force he exerted but the groans
coming from the other end of the house were his motivation to keep moving.
Each second felt like a minute - time had a knack for moving
slower when one is in pain. But after what felt like an hour, Charles had stood
to his feet.
He tried his hardest and walked towards the toilet. If he
could run, he would have but walking was all he was presently capable of.
Following the sounds, he soon came upon poor Christina who
was vomiting tirelessly in the toilet. Her face was pale and swollen - her eyes
dried and red as if she had been crying.
She had a statuesque figure but this time, she appeared lean
and dehydrated. There were open packs and tins of food scattered around the
area where she was. Charles felt pity for her and he didn't understand it - it
was the same feeling he felt yesterday. "What was it about this girl that
makes me feel things I have never felt!" Charles would never realize he
had spoken aloud until he saw Christina's head turn in his direction. He was a
bit stunned but her next reaction astonished him even more. As soon as she
looked at him, she dramatically turned away - her eyes opened wide, her lips
spread apart briskly, and a red coloration appeared on her cheeks - as if she
saw something she wasn't supposed to see.
As expected, Charles was even more confused. He looked down
and saw the reason for Christina's sudden turn. His genital was erect - he had
been in so much pain and worry that he had completely forgotten about his
morning wood.
"I have a boyfriend," Christina said, her face
still turned away from him.
"Ooh," Charles' demeanor dropped - his eyes turned
to the ground as he was left speechless.
Christina turned at him, she also couldn't deny it. There
was something she felt for him but she had been with Jason for a long time. And
yes, he cheated on her with his sister but that doesn't mean she would throw
away all their memories.
Perhaps, if she had met him earlier, things would have been
different but she already had someone. If she remembered correctly, Jason had
tried to get her so he couldn't be that bad.
Charles didn't know what to say but he recollected a memory
when he and his father had gone fishing while he was ten years old.
Charles had trouble expressing his emotions, and most times,
he didn't feel any emotion even when he was expected to.
As a result, he had trouble fitting in with other kids but
he could never bring himself to care. He remembered once while he and his
father were walking through the forest.
The pond was on the other side of the forest so usually,
fishermen had to pass through the forest to hunt for fishes. Fortunately,
the only wildlife present in the forest were deer which were only hunted during
a particular season.
The day he and his father walked towards the pond was an
off-season - not the period where people could hunt for game in the forest.
His father had spoken and laughed excitedly - his face was
as cheery as a sunbeam. Charles looked at his father, and unlike his father,
his face was devoid of any emotional expression. He was indeed the paragon of
autism.
All of a sudden, a gunshot was heard. The excitement on his
father's face disappeared immediately and the lines on his face curved to show
anger.
Turning in the direction of the gunshot, his father ran as
fast as he could. Charles took after his father even though he didn't share the
same sentiment for the event that took place.
His father soon came upon an injured deer, a man was walking
towards the deer - he was young and his facial features resembled that of a man
in his early twenties. He looked pleased with himself but Charles' father
didn't feel that way.
Charles looked in the distance and saw a baby deer running
for its dear life. Based on the tracks, Charles could infer that the initial
target of the hunter was the baby deer, the mother must have jumped in the way
- the mother's tracks seemed to be heading from the west while the hunter came
from the south meaning he was probably aiming north. It would have been
inconvenient for him to aim at either the west or east as the dense vegetation
would have made that a herculean task.
The only clear line of sight was in the north and the only
creature with consistent tracks in the north was the baby deer. The mother must
have sensed her son somehow and leaped in the way just to ensure that her child
had a chance to live.
He didn't know what to feel and frankly, he didn't care. He
just understood what happened but he didn't feel the emotions that the event
was supposed to invoke.
He heard his father's footsteps come behind him and it was
then that his eyes turned at the young hunter.
The hunter laid on the ground, his forehead swollen as his
father had beaten him to a pulp while Charles was trying to understand what
happened.
He turned to his father who was crying profusely. It was
ironic - his father was the most emotional man he ever met and he, the son
rarely felt any emotion.
"Father," Charles began weakly. " Why did the
mother sacrifice herself to save the child? It can just mate with another adult
and make more kids."
His father's face suddenly metamorphosed to show his
astonishment - he had not expected such a reply.
"It's love, son," his father said after a while.
"My prayer for you is that one day you experience that love. And when you
do, you protect the object of that love at all costs."
"Object of love?"
"Yes, like a person," His father replied as a
solemn expression of contentment washed over his face. "In my case, it was
your mother."
"I thought it was wrong to objectify women."
"You know your statement has woman has an object,"
his father gleamed brightly.
"I'm sorry for neglecting your teachings," Charles
bowed his head curtly. "I promise to do better."
His father laughed heartily as he turned at his child. He
was indeed a piece of work but he loved him regardless. "It's a joke, son.
Who knows, your object of love might cause you to understand the spectrum of
emotions that is available to humanity."
"Are you saying that's the sign? If I can express the
emotions that everyone else does. Does that mean I have finally found the
object of love?"
"No, son. It's just a joke," his father laughed.
Charles looked at his father and thought to himself. 'Father is not happy but
yet he smiles. I know this because his orbicularis oculi is not contracted.
He's usually this way when he has to lie. Does that mean the object of love is
someone who will make me feel these emotions? I don't know what emotions are
but Father wants me to. Father loves me so it must be good - I promise you,
Father. If I ever find the object of love, I will treasure and protect the
object even at the expense of my life.'