I spent the better part of two days huddled inside my house. Going out would be impossible until things returned to normal.
Instead, I passed the hours stewing. Working out wasn't difficult. My weight bench had been replaced a week ago after a decent paycheck. The weights were racked off to the side. I lifted, not really for the exercise, but to tire myself out.
My body wasn't back to normal by any metric. Responses felt slow, muscles ached when I turned, legs were sore. The wounds across my back felt like rumble strips when I laid down. No position felt comfortable enough to rest in for long. On the first night, I woke up with a damp sheet that probably wasn’t from sweat.
I couldn't see the liquid to find out. Fretting was beyond me right now. Thirty minutes of fumbling was enough to replace the sheets and lay down on my side. Sleep was broken up by shaking, shivering, and unsteady hands. I grabbed some water and tucked back in for another few hours.
Food was a bit more awkward. I broke two cups and a plate. Then cut my hand getting down to sweep things up. Sure, I could take a punch, take a claw, but only when that switch was flipped and there was a fight. Right now my toughness was on par with any human. Which is to say I banged into every surface in my house at least twice. There'd be bruises on my body for sure.
Towards the middle of the second day, there was progress. I was rooting around my house trying to figure out where my cell phone charger was when it nearly lit up like a beacon. Not from my eyes, but from my tracking senses. It helped to have the matching cell phone in my hand. Feeling the smooth plastic of the charger and the small tiny bits of wiring inside felt fantastic.
Things got easier as the day passed by. Nothing extremely far away from me could be sensed but the objects in my house were simple enough. I owned them all, some things for a decade, others for days. Time was largely irrelevant next to perception.
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Later that evening I went outside to look around. Things grew dim beyond the threshold of my doorway. I concentrated. Tried to flip a switch and connect to something out there. Something that I could use as a lifeline to some other place.
Active tracking should be okay if Daniel's paranoia was to be believed.
There were only a few cords. Home was behind me, the wrong direction. Evan was north, and that went into a wall. Kahina was north as well but in a different direction. I dared to try and track her connection, for only a moment. Not my wisest decision.
Miles. Lands of compressed leftovers sail by below. Free now. Numb too long. Will seek Dangerous Mate. Brain nags. Says this is enough. Isn't. Must check that which is mine.
This was a terrible idea. I started tracking Kahina, and couldn't bring myself to stop. She should be asleep right now, hopefully, it felt like there was still some sunlight left out here.
Her home. Our second home. Given, earned. Fought for. Past people, past wood and brick, through air and branches. Forward. Follow cord of purple and red.
The connection zoomed somewhere else. Not her hidden bed. Not the place she locked up inside of during the day.
She was in the master bedroom. Naked. Unconscious. With him and a glazed smile of happiness on her face. I shattered the connection and gasped for air. She really was gone and had married him. It wasn't just a dream. I wasn't drunk or muddled and incapable of straight thought. That was her life, and it wasn't with me.
Because I was four days sober, and a very tough man, there was only one sensible course of action to take. I laid down on the sidewalk outside my front door, clutching at a long faded purple ribbon, and bawled.