The Undying Devotion Of Alexia

Someone once told me I was inhumane. This, however, is not the case. It is not that I cannot feel emotion, it’s just I choose not to. For example, when my parents were killed in a house fire, I looked at the bodies and all I said was: "Make sure they're cremated"
The ambulance men looked at me weirdly, I guess they were wondering why someone whose parents had just died in a fire, would want them to be burnt again. I didn't say it because of any kind of sentiment. Simply because I liked the way the word rolled off my tongue. Cremated. It wasn't very often a girl of my age got to say it.
I stayed with Godparents until I was ten, at which time, the wife (lord knows what her name was) fell ill with some fatal disease of some sort. And yet again I seized the opportunity. I told the husband: "If she dies, please get her cremated." He went a strange green colour and shouted at me. I took no notice and used the time to examine the mole that had positioned itself above his left eyebrow. It helped me ignore his scratching, irritating voice.
Eventually I found a home for a few years. A reasonably nice old lady, who just wanted company, took me in and told anyone who asked that I was the most polite, well-mannered girl she had ever known.

I respected the old lady, and as I grew older I respected her more. I began to realise that with other humans, they tended to speak unbelievable amounts of crap. With her it was simple. She, like me, did not care for emotion. "Rots your soul" she always said. Her husband had left her for another woman when she was 27 and she had never recovered.
When she died, I did not ask for her to be cremated but stood with a solemn face, watching the paramedics take her away from me. I didn't cry, I never had.
At twelve years of age, I was completely alone. I had lost all contact with relatives - not that, that was a bad eventuality in any way. But I did not wish to be placed with neighbours. Not knowing the cruelty that was about to devour me, I packed my bags and left home. I was sent to the country, where the old ladies niece lived. I remember nothing of the journey but everything from the time I spent there. The cottage was small and always darkened by the stables the stood beside it, blocking the sunlight. The windows were never opened, yet the place always had a chill. Every stair creaked angrily under my feet, and there was always a locked door to open that held a mystery. The flowers no longer bloomed happily, but were blackened with death from lack of sunlight. The only place where the sun shone on my face was the stables. I learnt to ride the horses quickly and woke up early every morning to care for them. The seven horses became my world.

The house itself was dismal. The lady and her husband were nice enough. Although it was their three-year-old daughter: Tania I was most interested in. Kind hearted and forgiving, she was everything I wouldn't allow myself to be. I observed her regularly, waiting for the pain to strike at her as it so often did at me, but it never appeared. The house was rather odd, with its secrets overshadowing everything. I wasn't afraid. Don't get me wrong, my heart pounded and my senses sharpened but mentally I was incapable of feeling fear. Or so I liked to believe.
The first time my emotion rose was when I was fourteen. I was in the barn attending to Marie, a small haflinger pony, when I heard Abby protest. Abby was the youngest of the horses and I had been waiting for the day when I could break her in and ride her. She began to buck and neigh loudly. I walked towards her frowning, until I saw the flicker in the corner of her stable. The bright golden flame was both beautiful and terrifying, I had seen it before and relished in its destructive power. Fire. I began rapidly unbolting the other stable doors, letting the horses run out of the rapidly burning stables. The fire didn't take long to spread, and thick smoke engulfed me. I ran towards Abby, no longer able to see her but following her cries. When I was almost there, I could see her panicked face with her eyes wide with fear staring at me - pleading me to help her, I felt iron hands clamp onto my shoulders pulling me away. I hit and punched, struggling to get free of the strangers icy grip. "No! Mum, let go!" I shouted out, but the stranger held me tight until Abby stopped calling to me, so I stopped protesting. I watched the stables burn with rivers soaking my cheeks. In my confusion I hadn't noticed the crowd that had gathered to watch the show. It was only then I realised the fire could not have started itself. I hated humanity. Once again I had made the mistake of having emotions. My reputation was tarnished. "Rots your soul,” I mumbled.
The world I stayed in for the next two years understood me. I was isolated, alone but never questioned. I ignored the pitying and 'understanding' looks, and people began to accept my isolation. These were the best two years of my life. I never smiled mind, but made sure to say cremated as often as possible. I was no longer afraid of the darkness surrounding me at a constant rate, not that I ever was. I stamped on the angry floorboards to please Tania, who was now five and often wanted me to scare the monsters away.


The day he entered the village was no special day. The clouds were gathering in the corners of the sky and heading towards us at a snail-like pace. I managed to take Marie around the paddock before the rain struck. I saw the car turn the corner through the sheets of rain. It was hard to miss the vile piece of material. I hadn't been near modern material in what felt like centuries. No one had a car in these parts. No need for one. So, I narrowed my eyes and watched as the family emerged. A ten-year-old girl and her
mother stepped out of the whirring metal, each clutching an umbrella to shelter themselves from the magnificently large clouds that had collected themselves. The word hidden stuck faithfully to my mind. A boy, no older than seventeen also climbed out. He didn't hide from the rain but embraced it as it dampened his clothes. He saw me watching, but I did not hide, I had no reason to cower from him. I watched him until he had to follow his family. When he had finally gone, I moved away from the window and sat down on my bed. I found 'Jane Eyre' and continued where I left off.
It wasn't until three days after the arrival of the family that I was confronted with the boy. I was clearing out the stables, wiping cobwebs away from the corners and taking the spiders gently into my hands, then crushing them into my palm - to prove I was still me.
The boy frowned at me and despite my knowledge of his presence, I continued my work.
"I've seen you around the village," the boy said. I did not wish to make small talk with an uncontrolled boy: so I said nothing. "I'm Matt. Ma said you had a bad childhood, so you keep yourself to yourself. She'd been talking to your step-mum I think. I was just wondering...when exactly do you grieve for your loss?"
Stopping, I frowned at him. "I have no need for feeling like that."
"No need? You have no need to feel emotion?"
"Emotion is wasted on the faint hearted." then I continued about my work. When I looked up again he looked thoughtful.
"You're mad, you know," he said.
"I know."
And with that I carried on as I was, except now I let the spiders scuttle away from me. I no longer needed to prove to myself who I was. Often he attempted to talk to me. When he wasn't asking questions, he just looked thoughtful. He asked too many questions: I never answered them. But however much I ignored, he just kept asking. He was the one who brought the decision around; he was the one who asked me the final question. And he was the one to whom I gave my answer.

The grass was greener than usual and the sun shining, the colours so bright it made me want to vomit. I led Marie, who had to be regularly walked without tack on because of her old age. Tania sat on Marie's bare back singing happily, and Matt, well he was everywhere. He walked silently along the other side of Marie. The sun may have been shining but I could see beautiful grey clouds gathering around, preparing to invade the sunshine.
"Can we stop here?" Tania sang out. I did as instructed and stopped. Sliding off the horse she handed the reins to me and danced through the trees. I sat down underneath an old dead tree, bathing in its lifelessness. Matt sat next to me.
"Your parents died right?" he questioned. I didn't answer, not wanting to waste my voice on such a question. "In a fire," he continued. "A house fire. But you, and your baby sister, came out alive. Where is she?"
"Orphanage," I said with exasperation.
"But you’re here. Why didn't you share your parents’ fate?"
Many a time I had considered my reply to such a question and thought now was the time to release my story.
"I was seven; my sister was only ten months old. I wished to save her from my parents." I paused, allowing time to concentrate on keeping my voice in its usual tone. "They were bad people, so hopelessly devoted to each other and alcohol that they had no time to spare on me. Their little accident, I believe they called me. They frequently made me look after Emily - my beautiful baby sister, often struck me, and once or twice they had pushed me down the stairs. It gave me a huge scar the second time, it's still visible. I hated them. So I took the cigarette box they so often left around and their cigarette lighter and made a small fire on the carpet near the fireplace. They never put the guard up anyway; it was going to happen sooner or later. I just made sure me and Emily survived. So I took Emily outside and watched the fire engulf them. They had passed out on the sofa, so there were no sounds of objection. Just died. Like good parents." I looked at Matt as my words surrounded him. Tears were threatening to fall from his eyes. "One day I'll find Emily, and tell her what I did for her, and how no-one believed me, because I was too young."
I paused. "You think me wicked, don't you?" I could not contain the edge of bitterness that crept in.
"No," he said flatly. "I have one last question." I looked at him sadly, allowing myself to wallow for a second, in the emotion I had contained for so long. I nodded, my usual silent answer.
"Shouldn't we go home now? It's going to rain."
Calling Tania, we started to walk home. I traced my scar that lay across my stomach like the trail left after a slug’s travels. My memoirs of a life in hell.
"You're going to marry me, you know,” he said.
"I know."