by Lucian Bane
“Oh now that’s good to know. And at least I know you’re being honest. Be kind of weird being a lying angel.”
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“I guess you’re right, what with the whole demon slash fallen angel bit?”
“Yes.”
“But that’s not you.”
“I don’t know.”
“What? No, it’s not you, you’re good.”
“Am I?” He regarded her as she pulled up into the driveway.
“You saved me, yes, you’re good.”
“I wanted to kill you and him.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No because… the ice inside me wouldn’t allow.”
“You’re good.”
Ruin sighed, looking around. “What did you see tonight, Isadore?”
She was silent for a few seconds then sang, “Ohhhh, nothing much. You turning into this ice man, then there was fire, and your tattoos started smoking, then the smoke turned into horses of fire and scary people ran and…” Her words trailed off in mumbling and she suddenly fell forward.
Ruin caught her before she could injure herself. Damn, he was pretty sure that couldn’t be good. He managed to get her into his arms and carried her into the house and up the stairs. Laying her in bed, he stared at her and raked a hand through his hair. He needed to lock up. After securing everything that could be secured in the house, he found himself pacing next to the bed again. Watching her. Was that all he’d ever know how to do? Would he not ever know what to do? Understand why he had to do it?
He sat next to her, carefully, and touched the back of his fingers to her forehead, measuring all the signs he’d learned about the body, her body in particular, he seemed to be able to read it more than he could with any other. But then he’d never really come into very close proximity with any other the way he had with her. He placed his fingers on the pulse at her neck. Like sleep almost. The strong feel of life under his touch loosened his muscles and he took a deep breath and let it out. The need for worry hadn’t presented itself but it wasn’t entirely ruled out. He could be missing something important and was too stupid to know, still. He carefully slid his fingers along the hair framing her face.
Remembering her bookshelf downstairs, he carefully stood. There could be no risks. Not with her. He skimmed the books and selected the Science of the Brain, and ran back up to read it while sitting next to her. Running through the pages, he read the things that seemed connected to her situation and did various checks on her according to the material he read until he was sure she wasn’t in serious danger. He finally set the book down and lightly slid his fingers across her forehead, finding that he truly liked staring at her in sleep. He realized in that moment her breasts weren’t the only thing perfect. In fact, as he studied her, he realized her entire face was. Not perfect in a symmetrical sense, but perfect in… an Isadore sense. She was beautiful while at peace. And when angry. He studied her hand over her chest and stroked it, then carefully took it into his large one, examining every aspect of it, comparing the amazing contrast of strengths and texture. Not that she wasn’t strong, but next to him… she was delicate in many ways. He stroked the tips of her fingers, discovering they were a little rough, telling her work story. He recalled seeing other people from a distance and noticed they seemed to be in pairs unless they were old. But she was alone. Why was she? Where was the husband that should be protecting her and giving her what she craved? It occurred to him that he’d thought, maybe even hoped, that before tonight, he was supposed to be that human. But after tonight, he knew. He was no human. And yet, he felt very human. He had human parts, even human appetites. How was he going to learn about what and who he really was? And why? He was missing pieces that would give him those answers, he was aware of that.
Isadore took in a sudden deep breath and let out a light moan, sending Ruin’s pulse racing in an instant. She opened her eyes and stared at him in half sleep briefly, then sat up abruptly at realizing where she was, where he was. Her fear felt just like he’d gotten hit in the stomach and he groaned in pain.
Immediately she grew concerned. “What? Are you okay?”
Her added tenderness still had adverse effects on him and a great fatigue hit him. He put his elbows on his legs and head in his hands. “Your sympathy and fears affect me,” he mumbled. Negatively.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I mean… I don’t know how not to be that sometimes.” Her words sounded frail and helpless. He was sure crying was suddenly imminent and Ruin shot up, needing to distance himself from her. It had the effect of loud grinding in his brain and made him want to kill or hit things at the least.
“So,” she threw the covers off and shot out of the bed, her tone chipper as she went to her dresser. “As I was saying, I did see everything that happened tonight. And I’m aware of how very impossible all of it seems, however,” she shut the drawer and opened her closet next, and dug around in it. “I am a Christian,” she went on, her back to him, “I have read the Bible enough to know that there is such a thing as the supernatural. Therefore…” the final word came on a light huff as she kicked the closet door shut with a foot and hurried to him with clothes extended, “I am going to treat these events tonight as acts of God.” She pressed the clothes into his stomach and he took them, watching her go back to her dresser. “I’m going to church tomorrow,” she continued, “and then I’m visiting Old Man Gohspired, who is a wise Christian a lot of people go to when they have…” she turned only her head to him, “difficult spiritual matters to tend to.”
“Old man Gohspired?” Hope filtered through Ruin’s agony. “Can I talk to him?”
Isadore clutched her own bundle of clothes before him now. “I was hoping, yes.”
“And you saw everything tonight,” he said.
“I saw what I told you. Was that all of it?”
Ruin didn’t want to tell her she’d passed out before finishing. “Yes, I think so.”
“Well that’s good to know.” She gnawed briefly at her lower lip. “I was worried I had missed the main event.”
Ruin stared at her, feeling like she didn’t really mean what she said but not sure.
“It was a joke. And I was going to make a fresh gumbo and take some to Mr. Thibodeaux tomorrow. You’ll like him. You’ll come with me?”
“Yes.” Ruin watched her for signs of the mental instabilities he’d read about in the medical book. He needed to finish reading it, the more he understood the human body, the better off he was. She should definitely be hysterical after such an event and the way she behaved, still had him worried. It had certainly affected him.
“I’m going to take a shower.” She pointed to the clothes he still held to his stomach. “Those were for my dad,” she shrugged a little. “I hope they fit. I mean I hope they fit so you’re not stuck wearing my stuff. He was a good man. You remind me of him in a lot of ways.”
Agony began to stir in Ruin again at her words and the amount of emotions he sensed behind them, as well as the stupid idea she’d compare him to a man she clearly admired and…loved.
“I’m not good.” It was the only thing he could say.
“Yes you are,” she nodded with eyes closed, like she’d known this forever.
He shook his head, the agony getting worse. “And how do you know?”
“I just do,” she said with that same positive tone. “I have faith that you are.”
His anger flared now and he turned away from her. “That’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” She passed him and Ruin’s eyes were on her, particularly on those little black shorts that hugged her bottom, showing him what it looked like. She suddenly paused at the stairs. “I don’t remember going to bed.”
“You fell asleep,” he said. “I carried you up.” It was close enough to the truth, apparently.
“See? You’re good. You took care of me.”
“Because I carried you to bed when you were asleep?”
“I had to.”
She gave him a little smile. “Why did you have to?” Her tone scolded lightly as she headed down the stairs now and he followed. She went straight to the bathroom. “Taking that shower,” she said, shutting the door.
“Because I just do have to,” he called back, double checking that everything was still locked down, even though the things he feared weren’t bound entirely by natural laws.
He went back upstairs and fetched the medical book and then paused at seeing the bottom of a book on the lower shelf of a table next to her bed. He leaned his head and retrieved it. Bible. He set the medical book down and took it downstairs. He sat at the table and read, a little apprehensive and hopeful. From the moment he’d laid eyes on that word “Bible” the definition of it struck something in him. Maybe this was the information he lacked about himself. Maybe within these pages, his own supernatural identity would be discovered.
Chapter Eight
A little ways into reading the Bible, and Ruin was frustrated with how perfectly he didn’t understand what was there. Line upon line of puzzles presented itself to him and what wasn’t puzzling didn’t seem to pertain to him in any way that he could connect. How did she even read this? Why, would be the bigger question? The only place that had any kind of practical knowledge was in Proverbs and maybe Psalms, and even that was enshrouded in dense terminology.
The sound of her shower reached his ears and pictures of her breasts glistening from the water making his manhood instantly and unbearably hot and hard. He stood and paced, remembering his earlier intention before she’d passed out. To give her a massage. Mostly to relieve her stress and be able to touch her. He had to touch her one way or another in the same way he had to eat. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when, and it may as well be for a dual justified cause. She needed the physical liberation.
He needed…the physical torment.
As much as he wanted to contemplate why he needed the torment, he couldn’t, because it amounted to ignorance and that amounted to weakness which only added to his need for punishment. Ruin went back to picking at the puzzle called the Bible, and continued reading. He sighed in relief at the sound of her getting done, saving him from the frustration mounting in him from the convoluted book. The word of God? Maybe it wasn’t the word of God, how would she be sure it was?
The sudden need to know what her privates looked like struck him again. He hadn’t seen any in a book, or anywhere else. Yet. And he found that he wanted that data, which she seemed to hold in high esteem and secrecy, to be the very first thing in his mind.
“You’re welcome to take one next,” she gasped, coming out with a puff of steam and her head wrapped in a towel. “But you’ll need to wait until the hot water builds up. I’ll make us coffee while you wait.”
He eyed her as she went to the kettle, his gaze roaming over her robe in burning curiosity. “You like to mop.” He remembered how she danced, at least he thought that’s what it was called that first night he actually met her.
“Yes, I plan on doing that while you shower.”
The idea of going without clothes seemed much more reasonable, but he’d respect her privacy wishes. He remembered what he’d learned in the medical encyclopedia, the one particular thing that stood out. Override memories with new ones. That meant creating new events in the brain could help override damaging ones.
His mind went to work contemplating a solution that would override the trauma she’d just seen, at least to a point that it didn’t adversely affect her, and while giving him the self-torment he craved.
****
Isadore had the water boiling and her Roux dissolved when the shower shut off. Ruin. What an awful name. And yet… there was something about it that appealed to her. Maybe that it was so sad to have that name. Did he like it? Want her to use it? She’d need to ask. She kind of liked calling him JD.
The door opened and Isadore’s stomach jolted. Amazing. She’d just spent fifteen minutes preparing for his exit. But it was pointless to pretend his presence didn’t shake her to her very core in every way. She’d accepted the reality of it and had settled for at least not humiliating herself with such telling reactions. Surely it’d get easier. “Ah, good, the clothes fit.” So much for thinking daddy’s memories would help her with her fixation. It was supposed to make her want him less, not more. But the simple blue jeans and black t-shirt made him devastating to look at with those green eyes and black matching hair. How was she supposed to not be affected? Impossible.
“Yes, they do.”
Isadore stared at him, confused. What did what do? She called up what they were talking about and remembered. The clothes. The clothes did fit.
“It smells amazing in here.” He glanced at the stove.
“Ah, nothing like Cajun gumbo.”
He went to the pot and sniffed. “I’m starving.”
“Well, I heated you some of the leftovers, this isn’t going to be ready for a while, still.”
He turned to the table and went straight to the large bowl of last week’s gumbo where he proceeded to devour it without stop until he was done. Isadore watched, amazed, and maybe concerned.
“You were starving?” She got a glass from the cabinet and filled it with milk.
“I was.” He took the milk and downed it with loud gulps.
“Wow,” she said, amazed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He looked up at her, licking his lips, drawing her rapt attention to his full mouth that suddenly held back a smile. She shot her gaze to his and he stood, holding her captive with those green eyes. She found herself looking up at him, defenseless as he continued to stare into her eyes. “I want to do something for you.”
Anything seemed to be the logical response. “Like what? It’s not necessary.”
His warm fingers closed around her hand and he smiled. “Yes, it is.”
“Where are we going?” She let him pull her to the stairs, a bomb of excitement detonating in her stomach.
“You’ll see. Do you trust me?”
She’d sworn to try and be as brutally honest as he was with her. “Not entirely, no.”
He actually glanced back with a smile that arrested her heart. “You speak the truth.”
“I’m working on that.”
“You should. Given your Christianity.”
“Yes, yes, I know. I’m not perfect. It’s why I need God.”
He led her to the bed. “Would you… consider removing your robe?”
She gasped, her eyes popping. “Umm no?”
“Okay.” He rubbed his hands together slowly. “I had to ask.”
“I could… change maybe.” Dear God, she didn’t even know what he wanted to do and she was ready to accommodate him.
“Yes.” He sounded pleased with that.
She went to her dresser and dug through the items, her hand pausing on one of her thin nighties she’d kept. Mostly to not forget that she was a woman. She never wore it. “Turn around. No looking.”
“Turned.”
She looked over her shoulder and quickly slipped into the naughty sheer white that barely went over her butt. It didn’t match her boy looking briefs, but that was as daring as she dared to get. “What do I need to do in the bed?”
“Lay on it. On your stomach.”
“And what are you planning to do?”
“Help you relax. Can I look?”
“Not yet.” Oh if he only knew. Her every muscle was in knots of excitement. “Headed to the bed now.” She laid on her stomach and turned her face away from him. “Ready.”
Silence reigned in the seconds that Isadore laid with her eyes clenched tight at wondering what he was thinking.
“I’m going to touch you.” His voice was low and near and…threatening. Or maybe it only seemed like a threat with the way it rushed out on a breath.
“I’m ready,” she sang, trying her best to be brave.
She startled when his hot fingers stroked over a spot on the back of her thigh. “You were hurt.”
She remembered the bruise she’d forgotten all about. “Just a little.”
He took hold of her right foot then. “Starting from the bottom.”
“A foot massage. Nice.” Dear God, starting from the bottom. All what that might mean tingled in her body. How detailed would he get in his journey?
His touch was…phenomenal. It soon reminded her of what it might feel like to float safely in a warm ocean, gentle yet waves faithfully carrying… embracing… comforting… releasing.
He worked his miracle up to the knee on her left leg, then did the same to the right. He then took soft hold of her ankles and spread them about two feet apart. “You’re safe,” he whispered, before she could think to panic.
She tried to relax again and he began that same glorious treatment to her upper thigh from the side of the bed it seemed.
She was suddenly tormented with not knowing what he thought of her body. She could feel his eyes staring, she just knew. He had said nothing. Did he realize how naughty it was for her to put that on? Did he see it as her way of compromising? Not entirely uninterested in the idea of him seeing her, but just not ready to go all nude?
****
Torment flowed through Ruin in staggering amounts. When he’d turned to find Isadore in sheer material, he’d barely managed to remain standing. The first thought was how long he’d have to be tormented before he saw her breasts? He’d let her set the pace. Her body would tell him. Even now, he was near her succulent bottom. The word ass was used to refer to that body part as well, and he decided it felt good on his tongue in that moment. And when he’d opened her legs, his heart nearly failed him at seeing her secrets filling and pushing against the soft material of her white panties.
The question was, how would he manage to keep his lips and tongue off of her? Instinct screamed through him, to taste and lick places on her that his fingers travelled. Not to mention her scent. How could something as small as a scent threaten to unhinge his psyche? He wanted to suckle from every part of her body. Just before he devoured.