by L F Seitz
Wait. I could do anything with the purple light.
“Et reducam te in caligine Demon nunc urbs est patris tui. Ostende mihi faciem tuam, et non est misericordia, quae est a carne daemonum interficiam corpus, perit in aeternum misericordia ignis. Et incarnatus est de Angelo, anima tanted ostende.”
The violet power quaked through me, touching every blood cell and every neuron in my being, shaking me into clarity. I found myself again as the familiar, unabridged connection with the cosmos filled my vessel. The room glowed violet. I was powerful, I was whole, and no anger or pain could affect me. I was calm as I put my hand on Micah’s chest. Just by touching his skin, I could sense his motionless organs as if I were holding them in my fingers.
“Bump-bump, bump-bump,” I said aloud, mimicking the rhythm of a heart. I whispered against the shell of his ear over and over. My violet essence conjured up a part of me and placed it in him. A part of my soul filled the baron chasm within him.
Bump-bump. Bump-bump.
Micah gasped in my arms, his body trembling with the need for air. Alive in my arms. The violet glow disappeared in the blink of an eye, and the room now filled with blue. Micah glowed bright blue; the markings that stemmed from his chest and wrapped around his limbs and abdomen were bright with life. He wheezed, and after a few breaths, his light faded and the room returned to darkness. I touched his face, and his hand was quick as he snatched my wrist. His eyes opened, but those ice blue irises were purple. I don’t know how it was possible, but it was.
He looked up at me confused, and I gaped at him. “It’s me, Micah. It’s Lamia,” I whispered, and his grip loosened. I pushed his hair away from his face, taking in his features as they moved.
“How ... am I ...”
“Don’t speak. Just rest.”
His head rested against my shoulder, falling asleep almost instantly. That’s when I noticed I was still crying. Maybe that's why he seemed confused. My Micah. For the first time since I discovered what I am, I wasn’t guilty for it because what I have saved him. I brought him back from somewhere no one else could. I assessed him again as his breaths grew deeper and even, and I realized that all his other wounds were healed. Gone without a trace. I decided not to question it. Instead, I let myself rest with him for a while. Enjoy the sensation of holding him in my arms; the feeling of his heartbeat against my hand on his chest.
Fighting the pain, dizziness, and my aching body, I eventually picked him up as best as I could manage and dragged him to the couch. Once I got what was left of his shirt and jacket off, I laid him on some towels I’d brought from the bathroom. Then I cleaned him up with some wet rags. I ignored the pounding in my head and the heaviness of my eyes as I worked to make sure he was taken care of. I was meticulous as I wiped the dried blood away, making sure not to wake him as I got as much red off his skin as I could. Once I rubbed the last of it from his hairline, I smiled, like I was the one who was once dead and alive again.
I was tremendously weak now, but I managed to get his boots off and set them on the floor next to the couch. I went into my room to retrieve my comforter and covered him up, chastising myself for getting blood on it. I didn’t want him to get cold tonight. As I covered him, I took in his sleeping face one more time. I was holding his limp body in my arms minutes ago, hoping he would wake again, and now he’s sleeping on my couch. It was surreal. I grazed his cheek again with my fingers, taking in the warmth that had returned to it. This may be the last time I touch his face. Though he might never feel what I feel, I will forever be grateful for him.
“I still meant what I said,” I whispered. Having said those words, I will always love some part of him, regardless of how we end. At first glance, he saw me as the world did, but then he discovered a difference in my darkness. Something unique. Something worth saving. He took a chance, and now we are together in this. I couldn’t imagine walking into this unknown abyss with anyone else.
Twenty-Two.
LIGHT STREAMING THROUGH my doorway woke me. It felt like minutes since I’d fallen asleep, though hours had passed. My body ached as I reached and felt the crusted scars over my shoulder and my left arm. I managed to clean all my wounds yesterday, but didn’t have the strength to heal them. I felt like the living dead.
Micah. I found him awake in the living room with his arms crossed, staring out the window at the brick building across the way. The light made his hair glow like fresh fallen snow, bright and blinding. He looked just like he did the day we first met, when we talked for the first time. He must have showered: he now wore a white t-shirt and clean jeans. In fact, the whole apartment was clean. The blood had been wiped from the floor, the towels I had put under Micah were gone, and all the rags I’d left out had also disappeared. My knife was on the counter by the coffee pot, and the memories of last night came rushing back. Too clear and too real.
The complete drain of my energy from last night was a crushing weight now. I felt like no amount of sleep would get rid of it. Like my soul was physically exhausted. I took another step, and though I thought I was being quiet, Micah shifted and turned to me. His expression was neutral, but his eyes, they were waiting for me.
“You’re OK,” I said just above a whisper. I was in awe as I took in his features again. Flashes of his lifeless face forced themselves into the front of my mind. I flinched at the images as I tried to keep all my emotions at bay. He knew nothing of what happened; at least, I didn’t think he did.
“Thanks to you.” The words together sounded like they should have been sincere, or thankful, but they only came out sour.
“Did-did I do something wrong?” I wasn’t sure how to carry the rest of this conversation.
He shook his head and rubbed his forehead, obviously stressed. His shoulders were tense, he was frustrated, which meant something was wrong. What did I do?
“Being assigned your guardian means I am responsible for you, not the other way around.” Micah sounded mad at me.
“Nobody’s perfect. I mean, we should protect each other –”
“No,” Micah interrupted. “That whole situation was handled absolutely terribly. You should have run –”
“And if I had, you’d have had no one to heal you, and you’d be dead. But sure, let’s get pissed off.” The effort of my anger only made my headache worse. I reached up to my temple and hissed at the pain. My knuckles – which were swollen and contained deep, red wounds – were still visible from last night. I didn’t have the strength to heal myself before falling asleep. I'm surprised he said nothing about the scrape on my forehead from smacking it against the concrete.
“You should have run, not fought. You don’t know enough,” he said. Micah was starting to raise his voice at me.
I pointed at him as I walked over to him, a parent about to scold a child. “Don’t argue with me. I made my choices. You lost too much blood to just leave,” I said, about three feet away from him now. He kept his arms crossed. “I’d know: I was awake the entire time!”
“That doesn’t matter; you need to run next time,” he said.
“It matters more than anything. You matter!” I yelled, trumping him instantly. He immediately went still, raising his eyebrows in surprise as I stood my ground. “You matter more, damn it. I would have never run.” I spun on my heels and walked back to my room. My head was pounding, and I wasn’t going to deal with his crap this early in the morning. I cried over his dead body, and then he has the nerve to be mad at me for saving him?
“I haven’t taught you enough. You could have died.” Micah sounded angry but distant. He always did that when emotions got twisted up with facts.
“And you almost died,” I said. “I made my decision. Deal with it.”
“A decision that’s still affecting you. Look at your face. Your neck looks horrid. You can’t even heal yourself, can you?”
We both knew he was right, but I couldn’t let him win this. “They’re scratches. I can handle it.” I rolled my eyes. “They are nothing compared t
o how severe your wounds were last night. What was I to do? I don’t have the Nephilim’s number, and the apartment was closer anyhow. And nothing would have compared to how it would have felt if I had lost you. It’s in the past; just leave it there.” There was blood on my sheets from my wounds, and I needed to get the stain out. Micah stood in the doorway acting detached like he usually does in our arguments. “Don’t act all robotic now because I’m showing you emotion you don’t want to see. I hate it when you do that.”
I was so done with this whole situation. I ripped the sheets off my bed and tossed them on the floor before pulling another set out of a dresser drawer.
“If last night was my time, then you should have let me go,” he said plainly.
I froze, looking at the pile of new sheets still sitting in my hands. The thought of his body as he gagged on his blood in the snow. The pale chill of his skin as he lied there, motionless as I did CPR – the images were burned in my brain as though with a branding iron. The anger surpassed the pain of my wounds as I glared at him. I moved around the bed so fast I don’t even remember getting in his face as I started poking at him with my finger.
“Let’s get this straight right now, Micah. I don’t give a shit what plan someone has for you. While you’re in my life, you are not leaving me. You brought me into this crap; you aren’t allowed to just check out.” I walked past him and into the kitchen. I needed to get away from him.
Why was he so angry when I did the right thing? How many people would have been affected by his death? He was wrong. It wasn’t his time to go, because if it were, I wouldn’t have been there and had the ability to save him. I had the chance, and I took it. Why can’t he just see that?
“You can’t have everything you want, you ungrateful child,” Micah snapped angrily.
“I’m ungrateful? Me? Are you listening to yourself right now?” I asked with a laugh.
“Why did you stay? To prove something?” he demanded, his voice growing louder to match the volume of mine.
“You are such an arrogant, self-centered jerk!” I yelled across the apartment. “I stayed because we’re partners –”
“We are not partners,” Micah shouted back, his face red with rage as he pointed at me. “I do not have a partner.”
I went still as I soaked in what he was saying. “You wouldn’t have done the same for me?” I asked.
“No.” Micah’s voice was deadpan as he stared me. The air I breathed caught in my throat, and I coughed. I looked at the counter, wanting to contain the well of emotions boiling over and drowning me, so I twisted it into outrage.
“Then get the hell out, and don’t come back,” I screamed at him. I walked to the door and opened it. I didn’t look up from the ground. He stood in the same spot for a long moment. I didn’t know if he was debating whether to leave or not. Then he walked past me out the door. I slammed it shut behind him and stared at the ground, at the spot where he was lying just a few hours ago, a cold corpse. I felt lightheaded and leaned against the front door, then slid to the floor.
In a single instant, my torn-apart world was on fire. He tore it all apart by dying and coming back last night, and then burned what was left with that one word. No. The one person I cared for more than myself, who I would die for, wouldn’t save me. I saved him. I brought him back, and he wouldn’t do it for me. It had to be a lie. This felt unreal, but he was gone, I told him to leave, everything I thought would be steady in my life from now on. I felt so stupid as I tried to stop the tears that just kept coming. How did I let this happen? How did I let him in? I have worked all my life to keep people out, and I let him in.
I managed to get up and walk over to the couch but didn’t sit. I don’t want this stupid couch anymore. I took my comforter from the couch and sat in the recliner. I covered myself with the blanket and inhaled, smelling him. Tears trickled down my cheeks as I thought about the argument. I should have just lied and said I ran away but came back for him later. Maybe he would have stayed then. I curled up in him and embraced the silence as I wept.
"Deep in earth my love is lying
And I must weep alone."
– Edgar Allan Poe
✽✽✽
I yawned as I sat up, once again in bed. I was still drained, but my head didn’t hurt like before, and I was no longer sore. My phone told me it was one in the afternoon. I’d slept for four hours, which was nice after that fight with Micah, but how did I get here? I examined my knuckles, now completely healed, and touched my forehead scrape; it was also gone. I got up and peeked around the corner. Micah sat on the couch holding his white mug with the snowflakes, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor. The coffee in his cup was steaming, so he must have just made a new pot. He must have carried me to my bed and healed my wounds when he found me in the recliner. My skin tingled as I thought about him watching me as I slept and touching my skin. If only I’d woken up. Nevertheless, I wanted some of that coffee. That, and I needed to demand why he’s here and ask him to leave again. One step at a time, though.
I walked past Micah to my kitchen. His head turned, but I ignored him as I moved. I took out my mug from the cabinet and filled it before taking a sip. It was bold and strong, not like the coffee I bought. I leaned on the counter and sipped my coffee. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t think I should have to be the first one to speak. He said some harsh things to me; maybe he doesn’t see it that way, but it’s obvious I’m hurt. After a few long minutes, I gave up on him saying anything at all. I should have known. If I said anything, he’d just disconnect, and I don’t want to fight again. I sighed, taking my coffee back toward my bedroom.
“Lamia.” Micah’s quiet voice rang out between us. I stopped in my doorway but didn’t turn around. “Talk to me.” He sounded exhausted, but all I felt was disdain toward him.
“What is there to talk about? If you want the couch, have it. No one comes over here anyway,” I said, focusing on my cup because I didn’t want to look at him. I didn’t want to give him a chance to use his face to change my mind. Those eyes have made me do enough crazy things for a lifetime.
“I’m not planning on leaving,” he said. I finally turned around, but he wasn’t looking at me. “Unless you ask me to go.”
“I don’t know how to do this, Micah. It’s like a roller coaster with you,” I said. “One minute you’re nice to me and show me your softer side, then you shift. You become callous and harsh. I don’t know what to do around you.”
Micah nodded. “Come sit, and let’s fix this,” he said, patting the couch beside him. I began to get sucked in again.
I slouched. I had to remain distant if I wanted this to really be fixed. I decided not to sit on the couch but on my recliner. His face read of nothing as I sat there waiting to hear what he had to say. I wasn’t going to apologize.
“Thank you,” he said, pursing his lips, “for saving my life.” Then he was quiet, and I assumed that was it, knowing Micah; that was probably as much emotion as he was willing to show.
“Is that all you wanted to say?” I asked. I wasn’t going to baby him. I wasn’t going to be nice, either, since he bit my head off about my saving him in the first place.
He shook his head but continued averting his gaze, focusing on the floor before him. He wasn’t the type to avoid eye contact like this. “This morning shouldn’t have gone down that way, but I do have reasons for why I was angry with you,” he said.
“Such as?”
A grave look fell across his face. “I woke up to blood everywhere, Lamia, and you were nowhere to be found. There was a pool of it by the door, across the floor, into the bathroom. I freaked. When I found you, I checked your pulse, just to make sure. I didn’t know what happened.” He scratched the very light stubble on his jaw. It sounded as though it was exhausting for him to express his thoughts, struggling with emotions he didn’t often convey. I found myself waiting for more; entranced by this side of Micah. To see him speak his feelings, to know what he was thin
king and not be afraid to show something other than anger.
“I have only taught you a few defensive moves, and I knew you weren’t ready to take on an ambush of Cambions. The fact that we both survived – I don’t even know how that’s possible. When I saw you awake this morning, all I could think about was if you hadn’t survived. What that would have done to me.”
If he freaked that much at the thought of me not surviving, then he should understand why I did what I did for him.
“I’m sorry for the things I said before I left.” He shook his head as he rubbed his tired forehead. “I – I had a partner once, my best friend for a time, a girl named Natalie. On our way back from a recon mission, we got jumped by two Cambions, and everything happened so fast.” He looked like he was watching it unfold again right in front of him. “Long story short, she died, and I won’t ever get that image out of my head.”
My shoulders sagged a little thinking about it, imagining Micah dying and then having to go through another loss with someone else. I don’t think my reaction would be too far off from his. I didn’t want to forgive him for what he said, about not doing he same for me, but how could I not? Life is too short, and with all the near misses I have had recently, I can’t imagine holding a grudge for more than a few minutes.
When Grama Beth died, I cried at her funeral, in my room after, and every time I walked past the fireplace. She’d told me so many stories about her life in front of that fireplace, and when it hit me that she’d never stroke my hair again, I’d weep. The sad thing was, I wasn’t even that close to her; I hadn’t known her long. I couldn’t even let myself think about Micah’s state last night. It was unbearable. I twisted the mug around in my lap and clasped it with my hands, forcing the warmth in and the pain out.
“Despite my shortcomings as a friend and our arguments, I care too much to let that ever happen to you.” His heavy-lidded eyes finally found mine. “I should have never said no, that I wouldn’t do that very same thing. It’s my biggest untruth.”