He Didn't Come

Jack woke up repeatedly throughout the night. Her nightmares were getting worse.

She looked at her bandaged arms, and recalled the look on Riddick’s face. She cringed. It made him so angry! He’d stitched her up, treated her self-inflicted wounds, but seemed enraged the entire time. She didn’t want him to hate her. She didn’t think she could stand it if he hated her.

She loathed herself for having problems. She hadn’t had a single freak-out since the one on the skiff. She had hoped that they were gone for good. She hadn’t been able to stop cutting, though. It felt so good, knowing that she had that power. The power to make herself bleed.

She started out using pain to fend off her freak-outs. Kicking things barefooted, biting her fingers, even hitting her head against a wall worked. The best way, however, was to cut. Cuts could be hidden by long sleeves, and it was so much more controlled than simply bludgeoning herself.

She thought about why her freak-outs had returned. She was always going to be moody, and she accepted that. But after so long without an episode, why did they have to begin again?

The answer was simple. She was safe. She could let her guard down on Riddick’s ship, and her mind could only handle so much stress. It made perfect sense that she should begin to experience the aftereffects of her whole life once she had settled with a murderer. My life has been like a night of bad booze, she thought wryly. Now I’m getting the hangover. Fuck.

She rolled over on the couch and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. It didn’t work, though. Of course not. It never did. Sleep would come when it chose, and unfortunately for her, that was a rare occasion.

She heard Riddick moving around in the cockpit. Should she go and see what he was up to? No… he was probably disgusted by her weakness. He was probably routing a new course to the nearest outpost, station, or planet to dump her sorry ass. She saw how he looked at her when he tore her secondhand shirt away. She saw her self-loathing reflected in his quicksilver eyes. He hated her.

Snap out of it, Jack! She scolded herself silently for allowing those thoughts. She sank into her cushions, trying not to drown in a sea of her own despair. She knew one thing that would get her out of this spiral. He took the shiv when she caught up with him, but he hadn’t searched her space yet.

She reached under a couch cushion. There was a small shiv beneath it, and she felt its coldness against her trembling fingers. She drew it and stared at it for a second, before bringing it to her arm above one of the bandages. The sharp edge bit into her skin eagerly. She drew it along for two or three inches, but stopped when the blood began to run. It jerked her out of her raging depression and threw her into a euphoric bliss. She looked at the dark blood dripping down her arm, blooming intricate blots on her bandages, and smiled.

“Ahh,” she breathed. Perfect.

~*~

Riddick decided to check on Jack. He knew she would probably be sleeping, but something told him to look in on her before he went to bed. As he approached the couch, however, his nostrils flared. Blood. Extremely faint, yes, but he was able to pick the scent out from anywhere. This was definitely blood, and it was coming from the girl.

Riddick stood over the couch and stared at her, aghast. A small shiv glinted merrily at him from her limp hand, and her face was calm and peaceful. A creepy, detached smile played at her lips as she watched the blood drip down her elbow from a very deep two-inch cut.

“Fucking Christ, Jack!” Riddick exclaimed before he could help himself.

She flinched at his words, and her face crumbled. “Don’t hate me, don’t hate me, please, please don’t hate me,” she mumbled without meeting his gaze.

He retrieved the medikit and sutured up her newest adornment. “Jack, I….”

All of a sudden, she did a complete mood-switch on him. Her entire posture changed, and her lip curled as she said defensively, “Yeah?”

He knew she was mad at him for catching her, and it showed in the tension in her arms and shoulders. He noticed, but ignored it as he continued tending to his unwilling patient. “I don’t know what to say. Why this time?”

She shrugged. “Felt like it.”

“Why? What made you ‘feel like it?’”

She shrugged again, avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t having another trance. He could see it in her eyes. She was shutting him out, though. Damn it, there had to be a way to get through to her! Suddenly he threw his arms around her and pulled her slender body close to him. Somewhat surprising him, she molded herself to his body as he hugged her.

“I don’t know how to make you stop hurting, kid, or I would,” he admitted gruffly.

That was it; the dam broke. For the second time that night, Jack bawled. “I know, I know, I’m such a fuck-up, Seth was right, I can’t do anything. I hate me. I’m sorry, I….”

Riddick’s mind whirled. Who the hell is Seth? No matter. He had to figure out what to do with the wailing girl in his arms.

It wasn’t too long before she cried her eyes out, and as quickly as she had unleashed the waterworks a few minutes before, she dropped into sleep.

He contemplated tucking her back down under the covers on the couch, but didn’t trust her not to do anything to herself if she woke up. Plus, he remembered what happened last time he tried to move her while she was asleep. Shit. So he was stuck with the kid sleeping in his arms. Not the most pleasant way to pass the night, but he’d been in far worse situations. Besides, she needed him.

He dozed off, and they both slept like that throughout the night and most of the morning.

Jack didn’t have a single nightmare. Big bad murderers apparently made great pillows.

The following morning, Riddick had many questions for Jack, but didn’t know if it was the time to ask them. She wasn’t suicidal that he could see, but the depression that plagued her worried him. She seemed all right at first. Her mood swings were freaky, yes, but he could deal with them. The cutting was beyond him, though. He’d made it quite clear that it was unacceptable, and she seemed to understand. Despite that, more cuts kept appearing in the days that followed. None of the new ones needed stitches, which avoided major showdowns where he had to suture her up, but their presence alone was terrible. There was a demon plaguing her that he couldn’t fight. It wasn’t like a ‘rat from the ship, something he could gut before it hurt her. No, this demon was something only she could face.

He resisted the urge to lecture her. She trusted him, cared about him, and he knew that if he pushed her the wrong way, she’d shut him out, too. She needed him. He could see it in the way she watched him when she thought he wasn’t looking. The thing was, he needed her, too. He was losing her to herself, and he couldn’t just let her go. She couldn’t just give up. He wouldn’t let her. She’d make it through this thing if he had to drag her through it kicking and screaming.

Speaking of kicking, he noticed her begin to thrash in her seat. It had been a few days since he let her sleep in his arms, and while she wasn’t doing any better, she hadn’t gotten any worse.

“Stop it! Seth, stop. Please…” she whimpered in her sleep. He went to her and watched her face contort in remembered fear. He decided to risk touching her. In a fairly normal voice he said, “Jack, wake up.” He laid a large hand on her brow and her eyes shot open.

“Seth, stay the fuck away from me!” she screamed shrilly.

He jerked his hand away from her face. Kneeling in front of her seat, he took her head in both his hands and positioned himself so that her eyes were inches from his own. She stared like the frightened child she was.

“Jack, what do you see?”

After a moment, she said breathlessly, “You.”

“And who am I?”

“Riddick.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Everything.” A pause. “Except you.”

At least she could recognize him. That was a bit of an improvement. He sighed and said, “Jack, this depression’s got to end.”

“It’s not like there’s anything I can do about it, Riddick. I just… get scared. I know that when I’m with you, nothing can hurt me, so it doesn’t make any sense.” She shrugged ruefully and gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?”

“For being such a pain in your ass. You’re got to hate me by now.” It was said in a resigned voice that made Riddick wince.

There was something she needed to understand, and fast. Riddick told her in a voice that he hoped left no room for argument, “Listen to me carefully, Jack. I will never hate you. Ever. Do you understand me?” He waited for her to nod before turning to a separate matter, one that he was deeply curious about. He suspected that it might be a key to all of this drama. “Who’s Seth?”