A Work of Aura

"What's wrong?"

"Is there any point trying to deny that anything is?"

"Not really, no. There's blue all over your aura and, also, you've been chewing that carrot stick for over a minute now."

Max wasn't sure he could handle any more of her stiff smiles or reserved posture. Worst of all were the traces she left behind. The usual bright colours in her aura had dimmed and continuously dimmed everything she came in contact with: her toothbrush, her phone, all of her clothes (even after they had gone through a few rounds in the wash), and—worst of all—their shared bed.

First, the colours had faded, then the blue moved in, only on her side at the beginning until eventually, it was the whole bed—the whole apartment.

He could tell she was trying to cover it up by the way she straightened when he walked in the room or the bright grin she offered up when she came home from work. Like maybe if she could pretend, the halo of colours surrounding her form would just behave.

It worked, sort of. Only for a few moments.

The truth was in every aura that wilted around her. There was no covering up that.

Max held his breath as he watched her swallow harshly. "You don't have to tell me," he rushed out, "if—if you don't want to. I don't mean to pry, it's just—"

"I know," she smiled. “Can you ignore it for a little longer?”

He wanted to say no but he nodded, instead.

And that was the end of that conversation.

***

Max did his best to stay away from people with faded auras. The vibes were off, so to say. He avoided fights, dodged hysterics, and evaded all toxic behaviour. It was simple: if auras were red and angry, he waited until they settled; if they were dark and moody, he offered food or music or some space. But never, never did he let them pierce his own bubble of yellow.

He let cars cut in on the highway, opened doors for folks, and complimented people; always watching for a shift in hue or vibrancy. He liked making people happy. But if they thought it was okay to let Max shoulder any of their burdens, he was out of there before their aura could adapt. He cut friends out of his life; shut out family. Max had learned the hard way that taking on other people’s crap only ended badly for him.

Irene was different. He couldn’t do any of those things. Distance wasn’t an option. He’d once gone two months without speaking to his own brother, and yet, he couldn’t with Irene. She made him want to be close; want to listen; want to be there. So help him, he would let her infiltrate the yellow he’d spent so many years trying to build if she so much as asked.

But she didn’t. Never. Not once.

In fact, the opposite was true. Irene didn’t speak about her problems. She didn’t vent about her emotions, didn’t broadcast the stuff in her head.

And so it went, for months.

He got home from grocery shopping one night to find her humming to herself in the kitchen, chopping mushrooms. “I thought I was making dinner—“ he started, until he finally looked at her, really looked.

The iridescent orange he’d missed for months was back in its rightful place around her body. He nearly cried on the spot. She smiled at him like she understood his reaction and laughed when he picked her up, spun her around. “I missed you,” he said over and over, felt her different emotions in his own aura.

And that was that. They made supper together, ate, watched a movie, had sex. And it was great.

It was great until five in the morning when he woke up with a start. There was a sinking feeling somewhere in the vicinity of his major internal organs, like something in the world had shifted. Irene wasn’t next to him. He got up too quickly, got dressed through the coloured spots in his vision, and checked their small apartment quickly. Somehow, he knew she wasn’t there, but he called out for her just in case.

His intuition led him to the roof, where he’d first told her about his ability. She’d called him some kind of superhero and he said he didn’t do anything of the sort—although, he’d once been in line at a bank and witnessed a man with a greyed aura and a puffer jacket on a July afternoon. He’d mentioned it in passing to the clerk, who had then initiated their emergency protocol. The guy seemed spooked and fled. Later, Max had heard about the robbery attempt on the news.  

He had expected Irene to freak out and dump him but, instead, she'd asked a ton of questions and sympathized with the adversities that came with his perpetual kaleidoscope of vision.

Now, he found her there, hunched over the barrier.

Her aura was black against the rising sun.

He approached slowly and deliberately, trying to remember if he’d ever seen an aura that shade on her or anyone. “What happened?” he said desperately.

Irene turned, her eyes full of tears. “I don’t know.” Then she repeated it once, twice, five times.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured. “Alright, let’s figure this out.”

She slipped from his attempt at a hug and collapsed to her knees, sobs racking her body.

He shushed her gently, petting her hair and rubbing her back until she finally calmed down.

“Do you feel like talking?” he finally asked.

She didn’t look at him.

And for once, Max didn’t say anything. He waited.

It was what he used to do with Katalina when she got sad and she’d tell him everything. All of her school assignments and boy troubles and the stress from Mom and Dad’s divorce. He’d watch as her aura changed, restored itself to its prime green with the more she told him. But Katalina wasn’t around anymore and Max hadn’t done it since. 

He found that if you were careful about when you chose to speak, people allowed you to listen. Max hadn’t wanted to listen in so long but now, he did. 

He pleaded in silence that Irene would tell him.

“I don’t know what to say." She sniffled.

“Start with how you feel.”

By the time the sun had risen, Irene was still forcing words out of her mouth and Max listened to every one of them. And then, a beautiful thing happened. 

Just like Katalina’s green used to mix with his yellow, Irene’s orange began to seep in all around him. He marvelled at his arms and hands, and down at his crossed legs where they sat.

When he looked back up, Irene stared at him like she could see what he could. And even though he knew that wasn’t true, Max wished he could show her the bright yellow all around her.