I could watch you forever, angel, if only you’d let me. Forever.
That’s why I’m so afraid. This is why I’m being so terrible to you. Because I know how it all ends.
I kiss my own tears off his lips, and stroke his forehead gently. Please come back to me. I can’t promise you anything. I can give you nothing. But I want you here with me, for eternity.
I sniff, running my arm under my nose, and get to my feet. On my way past again, I glance at the stereo. There’s blood on the tape deck. Something compels me to touch my own fingertip to the little red imprint on the button marked ‘play’, before I turn back to look at him. Gotta keep doing that, to remind myself he’s still here.
Still alive.
Now, for the last time, I crawl to him on all fours. I pick the cross off the mattress, and fasten it around my neck. Then I lie next to him, aware all the while of the hairs bristling on my arms. I’ve begun to feel again.
I’m taken by surprise when the soft music floats in. It’s a piano piece, though the tape’s so worn out that anyone else probably wouldn’t catch the melody. But I do. I’ve heard this one before. It was the song Pegasus played to me, the night—the night I told him, how I felt. I thought I’d sentenced us both to our doom. Maybe I was right. But here, in this pain and this dreadful silence before the first refrain of dawn, I come to realise I’ve finally found a definition.
A definition of love.
I wrap my arms around him, and press my head to his heartbeat. Closing my eyes, I settle in to wait for him to wake once more and give me a reason—any reason. A reason to give me what I want. Not to hurt him, not to touch him in the way all those others did, not for hunger, or abuse.
A reason to make love.
To me.
· § ·
Weak sunlight steals through the curtains, as birdsong and traffic outside and dull voices downstairs announce the onset of a new day. I lie here listening to the dull thud of his heart, as his body grows warm beneath me again. And now his fingertips touch the edges of my face. I stop breathing, too afraid to do anything.
When I dare to look, the first thing I see are those sad silver eyes, fixed on me. I sit bolt upright, waiting out the moment till I can trust myself to speak. Then, “Are you okay?”
The mattress pings, as he rises more slowly. I want to help him, but I don’t dare touch. I’ve already done enough.
“My head’s a little sore. But…I think I’m okay. What—?”
“I’ll run you a bath.” I roll off the bed, the sudden movement bringing waves of nausea flooding back. He wanted to ask me what happened. I can’t tell him, not yet. Delaying the moment he pushes me out of his life.
I head for the bathroom, turn on the taps, and find some fragrant oils to squeeze into the water. Soon, rose-scented bubbles rise towards the ceiling. I’ll tell him. Then there’ll be no way he’ll ever forgive me. Too many reminders that nothing lasts forever.
I turn off the taps, testing the water’s temperature, before I return to the bed. Pegasus hasn’t moved. He glances at me, twisting a lock of hair absentmindedly around one finger. Too ashamed to look into his face, I lift him in my arms, carry him across the floor, and lower him into the bath. Then I take up my seat on the edge of the claw-foot tub, deliberately facing away from him.
He lets out a heartfelt sigh. I start to scratch at one of the scars on my left wrist. “What—what did we do last night?” he asks me.
“You don’t remember?” My voice is cold, challenging him to dredge up those horrible memories.
“I—I remember I was waiting. Waiting for you to come home. I was worried about you. I felt as though—” I can hear the uncertainty in his words. “I don’t remember much after that. It—it hurts. What’s going on, Raven? What have I done?”
I start to laugh; can’t remember when I did this cos I was actually happy. “Not you,” I say at last. “Me.”
“What does that mean?”
I shrug and gaze off into the living room. “I locked you away cos I was scared you’d leave me. Then I came home drunk, and tried to fuck you. Then after all that, I knocked you out. I couldn’t let you see me cry, not this time.” I’m amazed at how nonchalant I sound. Does he hate me all the more for that?
When he doesn’t say anything, I at last turn to face him. He’s staring at his hands, most of his body and hair submerged in the bubbles, a little frown shadowing his face. Finally, he looks at me and says, “I woke up naked. Did you—while I was asleep—?”
I blink in surprise, then disgust, then shame. “I didn’t rape you while you were asleep. I wouldn’t. I…couldn’t.” My voice breaks. He won’t believe me. Why should he? Nobody ever does. They didn’t believe me when it came to my son, either. You’re the only one who knows me, Pegasus, and this is the side of myself I’ve chosen to show you.
It’s already over. So why am I still here?
“I—I betrayed your trust. I didn’t want—” No. No excuses. No begging forgiveness. Just leave. It’s over. Go.
“There’s nothing left of this,” I mutter, and get off the tub. “I can’t stay here.”
Behind me, I hear the sounds of splashing water, and he grabs hold of my arm, whipping me around to face him. His eyes burn little holes into me, two moons that give off heat with their intensity, and somehow, now, I’m afraid to look away.
“You can’t leave me,” he says, quiet but firm. “I’ve waited too long for this. For you.”
I can’t answer, but he wants more than that. He wants me to believe. “This is about Damien? I told you, we’ll get him, somehow. We’ll still be a family, I swear.”
Our foreheads press together. “Not about Damien,” I murmur. One of his hands clasps my own; the other pulls me close against him, back into the bathroom, to the sanctity of the water. “Not just about Damien,” I correct myself, as he lowers himself into the tub again. “About you, Pegasus.”
He smiles as I say his name. Why is he letting me do this? “I can’t stay here. I’ll—” make you the same as me “—destroy you.”
He looks aside, considering this. “Not my destruction,” he says at last. “My salvation.”
I choke on a sob and his name, as he turns that gaze, bright and defiant and full of hope, loose upon me.
“Stay,” he says simply, pulling me down into the water above him.
I want nothing more than to curl up inside him, forever protected by the light that burns within. That would be home. “Yes,” I agree weakly, and he holds me tight against the flood of fear and relief that fills us both, drawing us even closer together.
I was a fool to think we could ever be apart.
Chapter 12
Pegasus: True Faith
The Olive Branch’s front bar swarms with a freak show assortment of scenesters and bogans. I weave through the sweaty throngs of flannel shirts or turtlenecks and tight black jeans, to find Noriko tucked behind a corner table with two glasses of Midori and lemonade, one set aside for me. Ugh. So this would be our first Friday night gig.
As I take up a spot beside her, I catch sight of the clock above the bar. Strange that a hotel should have a clock. It reads five minutes to ten. Five minutes before we’re meant to be on stage. Five minutes to summon the last dregs of inspiration from my threadbare soul. And Raven hasn’t surfaced. I take a sip of my drink, and Noriko smiles at me, hopeful, sad, and knowing. It’s too loud to hear myself think, let alone waste energy on small talk. This isn’t the place I should be. I need to find him, before we go on.
I scull the rest of the glass, then turn from the table. But she grabs at my wrist and tugs me towards her, wide-eyed and worried. I can’t bring myself to pity her. “What?” I mouth, wrenching myself out of her grip.
She shrinks down into her seat, and feigns a sudden interest in her straw. I think I hear her say, “Nothing.”
“Good.” I creep through the tail end of the crowd, and slip behind the curtain backstage.
Here in this quieter dark,
I can breathe again. Once my eyes adjust to the low light, I spot Raven, leaning against the far wall, arms folded across his chest, staring off into space. The rhythmical twitch of his jaw is the only external clue to the madness that consumes him. Has been consuming him, ever since that night he tried to leave me. Ever since the day they took his son.
I’m all he has left, and I am not enough. If I was enough, I could save him. I would have saved him already.
But it’s not over yet. This isn’t how it ends. I know you’re the truth. I know you don’t want me to believe, but I can see beyond everything. I’ve touched you, tasted you, hurt you, been hurt by you, and now— And now, I know.
I cross the floor and put my arms around him, though there’s no way to tell if he even notices. His entire body seems made of ice, hard and cold, too afraid to allow any warmth to escape his skin and flow through to me. He still believes himself capable of hurting me.
I’m not afraid. I snuggle into his shoulder, comforted by the scent of cloves that lingers about his skin. Feeling his muscles tauten before he says, “I don’t think I can do this.”
He’s staring down at me, trying so hard to hide it, but I know the sorrow that smoulders within. As long as you feel this, I have hope. I feel it too. Don’t you see?
I catch hold of his fingers, lift them to my face. He whimpers as I take each one into my mouth in turn, licking it, suckling it. His arms reach out to enfold me, absently stroking my hair, until a small cough from the other side of the room interrupts.
Monty lurks near the coffee table, holding a glass in either hand. “Er, thought you might want a drink,” he says, not quite looking at either one of us. “Sound’s playing up, seems we’ve got a ten minute reprieve.”
I stand on tiptoe to nibble at Raven’s ear. “There’s a lot I can do in ten minutes…”
But the way he stiffens only fills me with shame. Of course. It took me far less time than this to drag your life down so low.
At last he turns that gaze on Monty—it’s my turn to be granted a reprieve. “Fuck off,” is all he says.
Monty only shrugs, then puts the glasses down on the table and raises one hand in a mock salute. “Yessir,” he mutters, and disappears through the curtain, back to the maniac circus. Strange we should find such a place to express our souls. Just like the butterfly.
I force myself to move aside and fetch Raven his drink. He takes the glass—an automated response—though a hateful sneer pinches his lips as he stares into its depths. Now his body tenses, and I duck, and a loud smash reverberates behind me. He grabs hold of my left wrist and pulls me up, shoving me against the wall, glaring into my face. “You shouldn’t encourage me,” he whispers hoarsely. Then he leans forward and plants one tender kiss upon my forehead. When I dare to open my eyes, I’m all alone.
Don’t encourage you.
I reach up and touch the spot where he kissed me, still warm beneath my fingertips.
But that’s all I know how to do.
I leave my own glass untouched as I trail out after him, the eternal shadow.
· § ·
It’s closer to half an hour before we finally make it on stage. I have no real idea how I make it through our reduced set. My fingers find every note like they’ve been trained to, but there’s nothing else behind the mechanical interpretation. No soul.
Towards the end of the last song, I gaze out across the floor. The audience seem apathetic, at best. Why do they bother with any of this? Why not shut themselves in with a six-pack of beer and TV screen?
Not all of them, though. Through the sea of bad hair dye, thick eyeliner, and face paint, I catch sight of two familiar faces. The hated, and the loved. Wendy’s eyes meet mine mid-gasp, and Damien stares at me, misery emulating his father too perfectly, clutched tightly in her arms.
I have to focus extra hard on my playing not to miss a note. You bitch. What the hell do you think you’re up to? You think you haven’t done enough? Anxiously, I glance at the other side of the stage, but Raven’s focused on his guitar, pretending he hasn’t noticed.
Only I know the difference, as the seemingly endless song finally comes to a close, and he pushes past me to get out from under the spotlight. It’s all I can do not to chase after him as I scamper down the stairs.
On the floor, over by the bar, it would seem Monty and Noriko have beaten me to it already. Raven’s not there, of course, but I can hear them arguing with Wendy from where I stand. Hypocrites. Snarling, I storm towards all three of them, and knock Monty and Noriko aside before I come face to face with my sister. Soeur. I can’t believe I ever called you by that name. That’s never what you were. Mother never wanted you. You were a product of rape, what Father did to her. We both despised you. If Mother was here, she’d show you herself. But now, I am all there is.
I pry Damien loose from her grip, hiding my relief behind his thick mess of hair as he buries his face in my chest. “Peggy,” he whimpers, clinging to me.
“Give him to me!” Wendy shrieks, making the mistake of reaching out, coming too close.
If I sent her to hell, that would still be too close. She deserves complete death, exile to some place where no one can ever remember her.
I catch hold of her wrist, twisting her arm back as far as it can go, until she squeals. She’s wearing more make-up than usual, but not enough to hide a purple bruise that swells around her left eye. “He’s not yours to give,” I say.
“Please,” she begs, going limp in my grasp. “Give him back, or I’ll call the cops.”
I laugh at this tired threat, and shove her away from me towards the bar. She stumbles over a couple of faux goths, who seem none too pleased at the intrusion. They can deal with it later. I’m not finished with her yet. “Go right ahead. Call whatever person you please. I’m sure they’d be intrigued to hear all about your reasons for coming here—or do you think a restraining order works one way only?”
“Goddammit, Pegasus, don’t you get it? This isn’t about you. I need to talk to him.” Then she bursts into tears.
Aided by her show of weakness, I recover quickly, though I remember to loosen my grip on Damien. “You lost, remember?” I say. “You think you have this child, to use as a weapon whenever it suits you, but it’s only a matter of time.”
I take a step back, disgusted by her manipulative attempts at garnering sympathy. “Daddy,” a little angel voice whispers in my ear.
“I know.” Turning aside, I almost walk into Noriko and Monty, who stand behind me, their mouths hanging open. “You may continue,” I tell them, carrying Damien away.
· § ·
Just outside the curtain, I place him down gently, and ruffle his hair. After this, I can’t stop myself from sweeping him into a loose embrace, murmuring the words, “I missed you, little angel,” in his ear. But when he only trembles and says nothing, I pull back. In slow motion, he touches my face, my hair, my lips. He’s too quiet. What’s wrong?
A horrible sense of déjà vu overwhelms me. This is familiar—why?
Not his father’s eyes. My own.
I cover my mouth, feeling sick. Wendy, what did you do? Why are you really here? More revenge?
Nothing’s worth that.
“Hey, listen,” I say to Damien, very carefully taking hold of the tiny hands. “Daddy’s behind this curtain. He doesn’t know you’re here, so he’s very sad—” it’s a lie, of sorts, but for now it will do “—so we’re going to be really quiet when we go in and act like it’s a surprise, okay? Okay?” He nods quickly, giving me a smile that’s far too anxious and sad to belong to a three year old. I press a finger against my lips before we push aside the curtain.
Raven sits in the centre of the floor, knees up, his head resting on his arms, an unlit cigarette dangling from long graceful fingers. He doesn’t look up as I creep forward and drop to my knees beside him. Damien squeezes and tugs on my hand; he won’t have the patience for this game too long. You see? I stop myself from touching the beautiful blue-blac
k hair that drapes across one wrist, hiding the scars he no longer cares to conceal. You’re the saviour of us both. You just don’t realise it yet. Come out from the shadows. I can show you. “I brought you a present.”
Taking that as his cue, Damien burrows in beneath his father’s arms, and now both of them are locked in embrace, some kind of beautiful, living sculpture. I begin to stand, resigned to leaving them be, but I’m being pulled into their hug too, with Raven’s kisses on my neck as his son huddles in between. “You’re an angel,” he tells me. “How can you keep doing this?”
“Destroying your soul?”
“Not my destruction,” he recites, mustering a small smile as he uses my own words against me. “My salvation.”
I swallow hard and find strength enough to return the embrace. “This is just a preview. Soon, my love, it will always be this.”
“Promise me,” he demands, reminding me of his old self as he searches my face for a confirmation of truth.
“I’ve never lied to you,” is all I say. “I never will.”
Good enough. He returns his attention to Damien, rocking him side to side. I frown as I get up, trying not to stare at the odd shading on the child’s leg, just below his cords: one to match the bruise on Wendy’s face. I should leave. Now. I don’t think I want to be around when Raven notices it.
As I know, inevitably, that he must.
· § ·
How things have changed when I return to the bar. Monty and Noriko sit at a table with Wendy, more than willing to hear out her side of the story. I slink towards them, fixing her with a look that’s fit to kill.
She edges away as I squeeze in right beside her. But after a while, as she rabbits on about all the terrible things her latest excuse for someone else to blame has done to her, and I haven’t made any attempts to kill her, Monty and Noriko drift off into the thinning crowd. Yes, yes, we’re all being very civil—if they can play charades, so can I, dammit. Anyway, I’m only pretending to listen, while I wait for something else to happen. It only takes a little while.
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