Breakfast

.-.-.

She sat across him while he was eating. She leaned on the back of her hand and watched.

Observed what he was doing. She did that a lot now these days. She never know why, or what might trigger him today. But there was always something. Anything. One thing could be enough. Unstable and tricky, that was Sands. But not insane, because he knew the things he did where wrong and he knew he heard voices that weren't there.

Your not insane if you know you are right?

Maybe that was the answer, maybe he was but pushed it away. As he pushed everything away that came to close to confess. Or care, or love. Things that had hurt him long before she ever knew him. You can't erase a past, you can't not even when you try real hard. You might be able to give it a place, but it'll never go away.

She knew that and he knew that. The big difference was, she could give it a place in her life and was now trying to move on.

He ignored it, beat and kicked everything away that might get to close and lived a lie. He wasn't going to be ok. He wasn't going to be like everyone else. Wait, no. That last line didn't fit. He never wanted to be like everyone else. He wanted to be better, stronger, smarter. He wanted to be like a God.

And for a long time, at least she thought, he succeeded. He'd been that 'God'. Unreachable, able to get everything what he wanted from whoever he wanted. He played everything right, and if he didn't he would just kill and smile while he walked over the bleeding body.

That had been Sands, the CIA agent. For a long time. Somewhere deep down he still carried that piece of God. She figured it out, that piece of God was one of the voices.

But it was no longer him, it was there but not him. Not him, not him. She had to keep telling herself that. He chanced, she saw that. She needed to see that.

Frowning she lowered her head and run her fingers over the deep lines from the table. Scares the wood mounted one night. When he played a game.

A cold shiver caught her and her fingers jerked back as if she'd been burned.

A game.

One night she'd woke up by something ticking, tapping. Stabbing? With a mixed up feeling she opened her door and started walking through there house, heading for the kitchen. She took her time, catching a breath to scream. Because you never knew what you where going to find.

The door was already open she bit her lip and stepped in. As she'd expected the room was dim, logical because he didn't need any light. Sometimes she forgot, stupid. So stupid to forget. And it's not even forget, because she only knew him being blind.

When she walked in she switched the lights on, hoping he would be there in one piece. Not with the gun, not with the pills, not with the alcohol. Just sit there and snap because she interrupted him.

But as she had exceed that wasn't the case.

He sat at his seat, hunched over there dinner table. On hand on the wood, one hand balled around a kitchen knife. She stood there, unable to move.

He rose the knife, shifted it slightly in the air and thrust it down. She closed her eyes and heard a tab. She reopened her eyes and saw him jerking the knife back out of the wood.

Her feet made a slight shifts on the floor and silently she watch him raze the knife again.

Tab,tab,tab, every time the knife sunk between his fingers, tab, tab, tab. With every tab her breath got taken away. She wanted to scream at him and beat him so hard his head would hurt for days. But she couldn't, she seemed hypnotized by his concentrated movements.

Suddenly he stopped and stretched his back. 'I won. I don't need to see.'

'It was all a game for him.' Just a challenge he needed to win. Prove himself, to be better then the voices. Be the God and stand above it all, like before. Only now playing with fire, with his life.

He could be so unliveable.

"Can you stop looking at me?" He lifted his head slightly up and placed his fork down. "You know I can feel it when your looking at me."

His glasses had slightly shifted down his nose and she was able to look behind them. Two gaps. It sounded twisted, but it looked okay. Everything what was left from the drill was healed. No irritation, no infection. Just scars and hollowness.

"Sorry." She muttered and stirred through her cornflakes.

"Fuck sorry."

She glared up, annoyed by his boldness. "Fuck you."

"I love to, sugar. I've been a year without." He took of his glasses. "Tell me, is it the look?"

"It's the attitude that goes with it." She snored, passing her bowl aside. Sure, it was the look as well. And the fact he never got out and would beat, spit and kill everything that came to close.

Except her, she could come pretty close avoid the blows and threats. You needed to know when to ignore and went to scream back. And if you chose the wrong method, you would know.

Words lost there value most of the times. He cursed, called you shit. Such awful things, but it meant nothing. At least she hoped.

"So what are you going to do today?" He asked, uncomfortable with the silence that fell.

"Dunno, not much." She answered. "I've been thinking about getting back to school." She stood up and picked her bowl up, keeping an eye on his reaction. When she reached in to pick up his plate he grabbed her wrist.

"Not so fast, school explain."

"School. Learning. Education. Job. Enough?" She jerked her arm loose.

"No, your not making sense. Why do you need to go to school? Your have a few million to look after. Don't tell me your afraid to spend that all in a lifetime."

She gulped and sat down next to him. She'd predicted a reaction like this. "Don't be so suspicious. I never finished high school and I would like to be able to get a job."

"Why?"

"Because other people have jobs too."

"Your not 'other people'. You don't need a job, not when you have so much money."

"I-" She closed her mouth. How on earth could she tell him she needed a way out. Be able to leave for a few hours and live life like she was suppose to do. Because the things she dealt with on a regular basis weren't normal. It was everything she knew, but it was not normal. And not healthy. Right now, her only option. But one day that option would die. By a over doses, by another hole in his head or just by age (which she doubted). What would be left for her then? Nothing at all, just enough money to stay alive. But no friends, no family and no way back into the system.

"Thought so." He stated and got up. "I'll ditch breakfast stuff, you do the dishes."

With tears in her eyes she nodded. "Sure."

.-.-.