And now, I’ve dragged him under with me. Under the depths of the Earth. There will be no salvation for us, because that isn’t my lot in life.
Anyone who touches me gets burned.
Tense with the burden of what I’ve done, I head to the bathroom, splash water on my face, look at the reflection in the mirror that doesn’t seem to belong to me.
Gaping violet holes in a ghost-like face.
By all rights, I shouldn’t even have a reflection. When I look in the mirror, I should see nothing. Nothing, because that’s what I am.
I close my eyes and sink to my knees, cold, harsh bitterness wrapping itself around me. I can feel my heart harden, feel it shrink, my entire body caving inward under the pressure of the all-encompassing pain.
He’s gone. Damien is gone.
A tear burns my eye and winds its way down my cheek, searing the cold skin there, just as I hear a far-off voice.
“… He’ll need a blood transfusion…”
It takes me a moment to parse out the meaning of those words.
A blood transfusion. He’ll need a blood transfusion.
Dead people don’t need blood transfusions.
Damien is alive.
It’s not possible. It doesn’t feel possible.
And yet, a tiny sliver of hope etches its way into my heart. Just a tiny speck. Just enough that the stiffness in my limbs melts a little, and I sink further, a helpless heap, on the floor.
I can’t seem to move. I can’t seem to get up, to open the door, to cross the small waiting room and go ask the doctor what the fuck he means.
A blood transfusion? You don’t give blood transfusions to corpses, do you? Blood transfusions are for the living, aren’t they?Tell me. Tell me!
But every single ounce of energy I’ve ever had has left me. All I can do is lie on the ground, my cheek flush against the cold floor, trying to wrap my head around the meaning of the five words I’ve just overheard.
There’s a knock on the door, hesitant at first, then more insistent. But I can’t get up. After a moment, the door cracks open. I hadn’t even thought to lock it.
Logan pokes his head in, a wide grin on his face that feels at odds with the shock that’s overtaken my entire nervous system.
“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay, Seraphina. He’ll live.”
Two months later.
23
Damien
For the first time in months, I wake up without feeling like a hammer is slowly driving a thick nail into my skull. The rays of the morning sun don’t hurt my eyes. I turn and see my Seraphina sleeping peacefully beside me.
I lift up a finger and stroke her cheek. She opens her eyes and smiles when she sees me.
“How do you feel?” she breathes.
“Better than ever.” I say that every morning, but this time, it’s true. I lean in and press my lips against hers.
At once, I feel an uncomfortable stiffness in my boxers. I crush her to me, deepening the kiss, and let one of my hands rove under her silk pajama top, finding her nipple and trapping it between two fingers.
Her eyes widen. “Already? You’re still healing. You’re going to tear your stitches out.”
