Abyss

Chapter 9: Me, I’m not



Ayve spent the next days crouching in a niche not far from the fire in a state somewhere between being awake and sleeping. He looked as if he were fast asleep, but whenever Pheus came near him, his weary eyes would open and watch him intently.



Of course, this display of distrust hurt the proud man that had given up so much just to help his broken beloved. At the same time, he provoked this reaction again and again to be able to look into those light grey, sad eyes and know that he had truly succeeded in bringing Ayve back, albeit in a weak state. It touched a deep place in his soul to see Ayve when he fed him – which he still had to do – see the fluid moisten those lips that had not moved in ages, see – he had to admit it – how much Ayve depended on him. It was not the way he had dreamed of it, but Ayve was his, now. His alone. If only he were not so distant…



Sometimes, at night, he caught a moment when his patient truly had dozed off. He used those incidents to get close to him without that stare literally pushing him away, to lightly brush over his former lover’s bruised skin – there were even scars in his face – and gently place his lips upon Ayve’s soft mouth.



One morning after, he awoke to find himself holding tightly on to the skinny nymph. His face had rested against Ayve’s warm chest. Pheus looked up to see if he had been detected already. Ayve’s eyes were widened as he looked as far away from the man that was pressed against him as he could. His body was tense. He hardly dared to breathe. He was noticeably uncomfortable.



Pheus reached up and brushed a strand of Ayve’s hair out of his face. It was dirty, because Pheus had not been allowed to carry him to the river to wash. Ayve tensed further up because of the touch, so that his muscles shook in exhaustion. “Why are you like this?” Pheus asked him in a whisper, in nymph tongue, since that sounded gentler. “I am the one who has helped you, not the one who has hurt you, Ayve.”



Ayve showed no reaction. His mind was blank. Pheus’ words echoed in it seemingly unheard. Capitulating for the moment, Pheus let go of the nymph and went hunting to cope with his frustration alone.







Pheus tried to make Ayve talk. He was not a very talkative person himself, so his attempts were not very witty, but he was longing for some kind of reaction, for some kind of communication. Even he needed to socialise. Moreover, he needed to make certain Ayve was still in his right mind. He needed to know if his mind was blank out of his own volition, because he did not want to face certain thoughts, or if there was no such thing left in his former lover.



Every day, while he patiently fed to Ayve what food he had prepared, Pheus talked to him, told him small facts about their surroundings, asked Ayve what he wanted to eat or where his body ached. He could have sworn Ayve’s eyes held some amount of attentiveness, but he never received an answer.



Eventually, he even went to see the other nymphs again, even though he held no appreciation for them, to have something to report about their living situation to Ayve. Perhaps that was information that he would value. Indeed, Ayve held Pheus’ gaze longer than he usually dared as the black haired man told him with his rough voice about the surviving members of his tribe. Ayve even stopped eating. However, when Pheus asked the nymph whether he wanted to see his kinsmen, there once more was no reply.



Pheus dropped the bowl he had been holding in impatience, grimacing and hurrying to get away from Ayve before he lost control over his temper. “I just want one word, is that asking too much?!” he exclaimed with raised voice.



As he turned around, he was stunned by the change in his patient. This was the first time that Ayve showed emotions. His face was contorted in devastation. And fear. His eyes were watery, his breath hitching. He supported himself on one shaky arm, looking up at Pheus, whose face was still contorted by rage, mixed with surprise. Voicelessly, Ayve moved his mouth. Faintly, Pheus became aware of a voice in his mind. I cannot…



Pheus’ face slipped with dread. He rushed forward, evoking horror in Ayve with his hurried movements, and seized his former lover’s chin, starring at the thick scar that covered the other man’s neck. He locked eyes with him. His gaze darkened. With a sudden move, he let go of Ayve’s chin and left the cave in a run.







Two nights passed by before he returned. Ayve had consumed the rest of soup that Pheus had left behind in the meantime, just to get rid of the soreness in his throat. He had no interest in feeding or knowing what Pheus did; he merely wanted to rest, to forget. What did it matter anyway? What mattered at all?



Peace, nothingness…



He barely awoke when Pheus entered the cave. It was early in the morning; the sun had not yet fully risen. With a dump thud, a dead rabbit fell to the floor. Ayve looked drowsily up to the man who stood in front of his bed and gazed calmly down on him. His poise was slightly deferent, as if the nymph signalled that he knew he was the weaker person and begged for mercy. However, today that did not irritate Pheus as it had in the past weeks.



“I’ve got a present for you,” he sat gently and knelt down in front of Ayve to have a better look at him. Holding his gaze, he reached with one hand into a small pouch and took the present out. For a moment he hesitated, not sure how the fragile nymph would react, but then he held out his flat hand.



Slowly, Ayve dropped his gaze to the small item that Pheus presented to him. It almost seemed as if he had to adjust his focus before he saw what it was. Just as slowly, his brows were pulled together in a frown. The sight set something in motion in him. Disbelievingly, he looked up at the man in front of him.



Confusion plainly displayed in his features, he reluctantly lifted his hand. Nevertheless, he did not dare reach out for the object.



After a while of watching Ayve linger in this position, Pheus took the initiative. He seized Ayve’s hand and gently positioned his father’s ring on his middle finger. The piece of jewellery that specified the leader of the nymph tribe was usually carried on the little finger, but in Ayve’s physical state it did not fit there.



The nymph looked up at him. Pheus felt strangely numbed warmth rising in the fragile man. His eyes held tears again. Slowly, Ayve leaned forward and rested his forehead on Pheus’ shoulder. Now a wave of gratitude flooded the weak body. The tears were falling down.



Pheus wrapped his arms around his beloved and tenderly pulled him closer. “No one is ever going to harm you again, Ayve. Not while you are with me,” he murmured and rocked Ayve to make him calm down since his breath was troubling him again. What he had said was not only something meant to console Ayve. It was a promise, a dark determination that had formed in the bitter man. Ayve was all Pheus had ever truly had; whoever threatened to rob him of this treasure was going to pay dearly for it.







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