Fragile

“Pilar,” a creaking whispered voice called.

Pilar startled awake, her heart thumping, her stomach heaving as if she were falling from a great height.

But she wasn’t. She was in her bed, in her room. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, the soft orange running lights around the floor providing assistance. She vaguely wondered what had woken her. A noise perhaps? In her sleep-muddled state, she couldn’t recall.

The metal floor greeted her bare feet warmly as she climbed out of bed. Outside of the seasonal rooms, nothing on the Renicoff was ever too hot or too cold. The shipbound wouldn’t begin to comprehend what life was like for those planetside; having to wear slippers just to keep your toes from a chilled floor would seem barbaric.

Pilar palmed the button circled in a white light for easy access even in the dark, and her door silently slid open. Sticking her head out–no need to reveal her pajama-clad body–she found the hallway empty.

With a second press of the button, the door closed, and she pressed her back against it.

“Lights on.”

Her fingers curled and uncurled as she scanned the tiny single room she’d been reassigned to after Rory’s death. There was nowhere to hide. The bed, desk, wardrobe, and v-screen were built into the walls, as were the sustenance generator and the refuse deposit. The only free standing object was a chair, and it was much too spindly to provide cover for anything other than an insect–of which there were none on the spaceship.

Still, as the moments passed and clarity pushed out the fog of sleep, she became more and more certain it had been a noise that roused her.

Pilar speared her hand into her black hair, fisting it and tugging. “Get a grip,” she chastised herself before quickly walking back to bed. “Lights off.”

She sat on the edge, her hands gripping the side so hard her fingernails ached from the pressure on the metal. Her leg unconsciously bounced as her head hung low. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm her heart that hadn’t stopped racing.

She remained in that position for several minutes. Long enough for the incessant twitch of her leg to slow, then stop. Long enough for her eyelids to fall heavy, each blink lasting longer and longer.

Blink.

The bed was soft and warm under her butt and thighs.

Blink.

Her neck would hurt in the morning, but rearranging herself into a horizontal position was too much work right now.

Blink.

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Darkness. Nothingness. Perfection.

“Pilar.” A breathy, drawn out whisper. A whisper, and yet loud. As if the speaker was just in front of her.

Her head snapped upright, eyes widening. “Lights on!”

The room was just as empty as it had been, but that didn’t stop Pilar from pulling on a pair of pants without even bothering to remove her sleep shorts, throwing on a shirt without buttoning it, and racing out of her room with her shoes in her hands. She’d put them on when she was far, far from this room.

#

“I didn’t imagine it,” Pilar insisted for the third time.

Florence and Christof exchanged a look, the former reaching a hand across the mess table to tighten around the other woman’s wrist. “You know you haven’t been sleeping well.” Her voice barely carried over the ambient chatter and dish clinking of the hall. Florence always kept her voice low when speaking of Pilar’s…issues. As if everyone didn’t already know.

Pilar didn’t like that. She liked it even less when Florence shied away from Christof’s affections in front of her. It didn’t feel like support or solidarity. It felt like pity. She pulled her hand away from Florence’s grasp to hide it under the table, vibrating with her bouncing leg.

It was useless to try to convince them when all they saw when they looked at her was a broken widow.

Oh, Pilar, you can’t sleep?

It’s because of Rory. Her leg twitched faster.

You can’t focus?

It’s because of Rory. It twitched even faster.

You’re not hungry?

Rory. Faster.

You’re hearing voices?

Rory.

Rory. Rory. Rory!

Her leg was bouncing hard enough the empty water cup on the table toppled over with a clang that had the adjacent tables eyeing them. Christof quickly collected the remaining dishes without a word and walked away to deposit them.

Mustn’t make another scene, she thought bitterly. She forced her leg to still as she felt Florence’s eyes burn into her, but kept her focus on her hands, picking at her fingers.

But her aggressive attempt at cleaning under her nails stalled as well, her blood turning to ice.

You’re hearing voices? Rory!

“No,” she whispered, needing to convince herself. Rory was dead. The dead can’t speak. “No,” she said more forcefully.

“Pilar? ‘No’ what, honey?” Florence asked softly, so softly. She thought the widow was fragile. Weak.

Pilar blinked, composing herself and forcing a smile before she met her friend’s eyes, just as Christof returned. “You’re right. Of course, you’re both right,” she glanced at the other woman’s husband, “I need sleep. I’m going to take the day off to rest.”

Christof cleared his throat. “Didn’t you take two days off last week?”

She dragged her eyes slowly to the man’s. Blue, just like Rory’s. “I did.”

Her gaze didn’t falter, and he was first to break eye contact, patting Florence on the shoulder. “Ah. Well, as long as you get the work done, I guess,” he said awkwardly.

“Thank you for your permission,” Pilar said with deliberate slowness. Controlling, just like Rory.

Florence reached out again, but her hand paused in midair before returning to her own lap as if she thought better of it. “He didn’t mean it like that, P. He just meant…we’d be distraught if you were to lose your job and be reassigned to another ship.”

“Or worse,” Christof laughed, wiggling his fingers, “planetside.”

The blond woman side-eyed her husband; Pilar could read the unspoken message that she’d be reprimanding him for that comment later.

“I’m not going to be reassigned planetside,” Pilar said quietly, standing. “My work quality is excellent. I wouldn’t take the day off if I couldn’t afford it.”

Her friends would only have to drop one or two well-placed queries to discover that was a lie. She just hoped they trusted her enough not to check.

When Pilar left the mess, she didn’t head toward her room. No, her first order of business was getting a new room assignment. One without a bodiless cohabitant.