Finally, he met with resistance.
With his good hand he clawed at what proved to be an oily barrier, his fingers catching in a thick, gelatinous substance that refused to yield. Desperately he freed himself from the muck, his heart pounding in tandem with his head. Cyrus was drawing breath in small, frantic gasps, an immobilizing dizziness leaving him no choice but to surrender. He collapsed, hard, onto his back. Cyrus was fully drowning – his lungs filling with fluid as he stared into the lightless murk – when Death reached a hand down his throat,grasping around for his soul. And then –
She appeared as the dawn did: a slow burn of light that soon suffused with color, focusing into a radiance that blinded him. Always, the sight of her was miraculous. Always, his body trembled in anticipation.
This time, he knew better.
Finally, he knew who she was; knew her name; knew, above all else, that these visions had been designed to break him – that in fact he’d already been broken. Cyrus could no longer afford to give in to her sweetness, not even here, in the privacy of his mind. Through the thick of incoherence, he fought to look away from her, curling inward as if he might blot her out of his imagination. This achieved nothing.
She came to him as she did every time, without fear.
“Cyrus,” she whispered, drawing deeper into the dark. “Where are you?”
“No.” He panted, kicking painfully at the ground to get away from her. He could hardly form words for the devastation of his teeth, tasting blood as he spoke. “No – please – stay away from me –”
She found him and touched him – a single stroke of her hand along his arm – and he cried out, his body seizing as a torrent of bliss drove through him, invigorating his body with a relief so intoxicating he nearly wept.
“Please,” he said, begging now. “Please don’t do this to me – not now, not ever again –”
“Don’t be afraid,” she said, crouching to look him in the eye. “I only want to help you.”
“No –No–”
“Look at you,” she whispered. “Look how you suffer.”
“Please, don’t come near me,” he pleaded, hating the pathetic rasp of his voice. “Show me no mercy – Leave me here to die –”
“Abandoned,” she said softly. “Neglected. Vilified –”
“No–”
“The injustice is too great.”
She dropped to her knees before him, took his bloodied face in her hands, and he cried out, his head tipping back as a euphoric blitz filled his lungs, allowing him to breathe deeply for the first time. His chest heaving, his body trembled with abandon; the resulting ease was so extraordinary he struggled to remember why it was wrong. With excruciating tenderness she kissed his temples, then his forehead. Hot tears fell from his closed eyes, silent sobs wracking his body.
Always she healed him as she touched him, each graze of her fingers mending a bone, a laceration, erasing pain. He cried out every time, unimaginable feeling flooding his heart and mind, her very closeness sending him into a spiral of need so desperate he didn’t recognize himself. He soon submitted entirely to her touch, leaning into her hands as she drew them slowly down his body. The sensations were so blissfully torturous that he wondered, for a delirious moment, whether he’d died.
“Angel,” he breathed. “My angel.”
Carefully she prized from his body the remains of his tattered, bloodied clothing, discarding the lot before pressing a cool kiss upon his fevered chest. He jolted as if brought back to life,and when he looked at himself again he was shocked to discover that he was naked, entirely mended. His teeth had reassembled, his bone sat neatly in his arm. The pain had been lifted, but in its absence he was weak, filthy, and desperately parched.
She gathered his fragile body into her arms and gently laid his head against her chest, smoothing the hair away from his forehead even as he shook against her.
He swallowed over and over against the dryness in his throat, the feeling like coarse sand, and just when he thought he’d die of thirst, she touched her fingers to his neck. The small action seemed to slake his need at once, and he was marveling at this, at the extraordinary power she possessed, when she was suddenly wiping a clean, wet rag along his limbs, washing away the grime with almost impossible ease. From where she procured the water, he wasn’t sure. He wanted to ask her, wanted to understand, but he was losing a battle with consciousness, his mind wishing to rest. Soon, he was entirely restored; his body gleaming in her reflected light, she the moon in his interminable gloom.
She stroked his hair, her fingers soft and cool against his heated scalp. “Tell me what happened,” she said quietly. “Who did this to you?”
Cyrus struggled to keep his eyes open. “The devil,” he said. “It’s always the devil.”
“Rest,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “And leave the devil to me. I’ll make sure he never hurts you again.”
Cyrus exhaled with great feeling, the action dispelling the tension he’d been holding for so long.It broke him to know that she understood the depth of his suffering, that she’d put an end to his pain.
No one had ever cared for him as she did.
Finally, his eyes closed. A feeling of calm overcame him, allowing him to rest as he never did in her absence. Here, he was safe. With her, he was safe.
When he opened his eyes again, they were lying in his bed.
