27. Seven Minutes Ronan
27
Seven Minutes: Ronan
R unning away from the fight didn’t feel right, even though I knew it’s what she would have wanted me to do. The sound of Carmen’s screams filling the air would have done nothing but get Silene killed if she continued to hear them, and I knew she trusted me to save her. But when I followed the sound that pierced the air around me, I realized she was never even there.
Her body was nowhere to be found, but in the place of where it should have been, lay a speaker with the sound of her pain and fear playing over and over again. It was then I remembered the photos of us scattered over the bedroom walls and realized they could have easily recorded us just the same.
But if I had to leave Silene alone, then I was going to make it worth it. That’s what I told myself at least, but that’s not what happened. I never found Carmen, and as the sun sank and the moonlight trickled between the open spaces of the trees, I returned to the house to wait. All I could do at the time was hope that Carmen and Silene would both be there when I arrived.
But they weren’t.
For several hours I waited and waited for any sign of them through the treeline. I walked the tunnel path we were supposed to take until I hit the entrance where we left Carmen and checked through the opening, but they weren’t there either. Then, I traced the steps to where I had left Silene, and even in the darkness, I could see the bodies that littered the ground.
It was a massacre. I got on my hands and knees to search the bodies, seeing if I could make out the feel of her hair, slope of her nose, or small calloused hands. I did everything I could, but her body wasn’t there. That small fact alone allowed me to fully take in a breath for a moment before crawling back in the tunnel and deciding which way to go. Forward? Or back?
For some unexplainable reason though, something pulls me back to the beginning.
So I walk that tortuous distance back to the house and up the steps and wonder what has happened. In these hours that I’ve searched for my home, where has she been? What will I see when I find her? Each question grows darker and darker as the tunnel lights dim and flicker around me. Even when I get to the room and peer out the window to see her walking back alone, a growing pit forms in my stomach as I dart for the window that will lead me straight to her. The lights from the house flicker on her body and cast shadows over her face, but the closer I get to her, the more she seems off.
Gone is the woman that notes every movement around her, because this one looks right through me as I approach her. She has no care or concern for who or what could be running toward her. Gone is the woman who hates to show any emotion that could make her appear weak. Now her face is swollen with the tears that keep falling whether she knows it or not.
Gone is the woman who endures.
The woman in front of me looks tired and defeated as blood coats her arms and her clothes, causing them to cling to her stomach and legs. Her shoulders fall forwards, her feet barely raise off the ground, her gaze is withdrawn.
I slow my steps as I approach and gently place my hands on her upper arms to stop her movements, but she flinches away. When she looks at me, it appears as if she just sees right through me. I might as well be a ghost the way she doesn’t even process my presence, and we stay like that for a while. Her staring into the distance, slightly swaying on her feet, tightening and loosening her grip on her bloody axes while I hold onto her and wait for any real sign of the woman I love hiding in her.
A cool breeze wraps around our bodies, and she jolts back to reality for a brief moment before slipping back into a semi-conscious state. I almost decide to guide her body down to the ground to let her rest when her unseeing eyes focus on where I’m touching her.
“Tell me you didn’t do it,” she demands quietly, but her voice is hoarse and raspy as she sniffles. She uses the back of her hand to wipe away the trail of tears that have finally slowed.
“Si, what are you talking about?” I ask cautiously, knowing this moment is as fragile as shattered glass put back together with scotch tape. It’s useless to pretend the break isn’t inevitable, but preventing it for as long as possible will never not be worth the shot.
“Tell me you didn’t do it, Ronan. Please, just—” One more tear slips down her face and as it drips off her chin, she finally looks at me. Red rims her eyes, and despite the absence of any physical injuries, her brows are scrunched together as if she’s in an unimaginable amount of pain. “Just tell me it wasn’t you.”
Understanding pours through me as I hold her grief-filled gaze. I try to get closer to her, but as soon as I do, she pulls away and extends one of her arms, bloodied axe and all. Any trust she may have looked at me with hours ago is long gone, and I do nothing but hold my hands up in surrender when the sharp, bloodied metal presses into the center of my chest.
“Please,” she whispers, and in that one word I hear the anguish and turmoil she’s fighting. But I can’t tell her what she wants to hear. Not when I failed to keep Carmen safe after leaving her to fight alone. I may not have been the person to stop her heart or put her in here, but I couldn’t find her or protect her when she needed me the most. So I can’t tell Silene what she wants to hear. Saying I didn’t do this would be a lie when I didn’t do anything that could’ve prevented it, either.
“I can’t.”
I wasn’t sure it was possible for her to look at me in a way that would make break, but she does. Disbelief and despair linger in her sweeping gaze before she nods her head as if she’s trying to convince herself of something only she knows.
“I told you. I told you that you live long enough to remember, and now you do. You remember and, God, I was hoping I was wrong. I was hoping my memories were wrong or that he lied to me, and I was hoping that I would have something left after this was all over. Hoping maybe there would be some part of me left worth saving…I’m not so sure that’s possible anymore.” She trails off, her eyes narrowing as she looks away from me.
“Silene, please just listen. I can explain everything, I swear I ca—” I try to force out, stepping forward despite the weapon pressing into me with every breath that I take, but her eyes grow wide and wild with a fierce determination to keep me away from her. I’ve never wished to be closer to her than I do in this moment.
“No,” she spits, voice rough and cold, and when I look into her eyes, I see it’s not fear that has its grip on her, but something far worse. With one look, I see clear as day that its potent and vile claws have sunken deep into her.
Doubt.
There’s nothing I can do to convince her to hear me out right now. She’s too far gone to believe anything that comes out of my mouth, and so I’ll do one last thing for her, even if it means this is the last way I’ll know her. At least it will be on her own terms. At least it will make her feel as if she’s in control of something right now.
My blue eyes stare into her green ones, and in them, I see a kaleidoscope of memories and emotions play out in front of me while I remove every weapon I carry on my body. Every silver dagger I had taken from a hunter is thrown on the ground with blatant disregard, but when the black blade touches my hand I stop.
The knowledge of what this blade was meant to be makes it hard for me to drop it like it means nothing, when in reality, it’s a symbol of the life I thought she and I might one day experience. So instead, I drop to my knees in front of her and carefully place the dagger next to my body. Not for a single second do I look away from her, for when she wields that weapon and rids me of the life I have dedicated to healing her, I wish to see nothing else but what it was all for.
In her gaze I see everything we ever were and the life I had hoped to build with her after all this. I see what we could have been if not for the lifestyle we fell into and wonder how different it would have been if we had met at a coffee shop or book store instead. I can’t help but wonder if in that life we would have survived and hope that in another universe, we do.
With the way she’s looking at me, I would like to believe maybe she’s thinking about that too. It’s unlikely though because the longer we gaze at each other, the more the war rages behind those beautiful mossy green eyes. Any part of her that loves—no, loved—me is dying as grief and doubt make a home within her heart and infect her mind.
I am nothing more than a casualty.
I lean back, sitting on my heels and laying my arms over my legs, with open palms. The picture of a willing sacrifice as I memorize every curve of her body and curl of her hair one more time.
She takes a step forward. And then another, and another, and suddenly she’s standing close enough to touch, if I were so daring to reach out. But I won’t. I’ll respect the boundary she has set and instead wait. Her arm moves up to wipe away the evidence of tears she has shed one more time before dropping one axe and letting both hands grip the handle of the other, raising it above her head while the wind howls like a beast begging to be uncaged.
I know anything I say now won’t be heard, but I don’t mind it. I don’t mind whispering the words one last time.
“I love you, and I’m so sorry.”
The wind stops, as if nature itself began holding its breath to wait for a response I know will never come. She will not speak to me, and no matter how terrified I am of leaving her to do this alone, if it’s my destiny then I will bear it with my shoulders raised and a small smile of acceptance on my face. I nod slowly, the movement small but one that she tracks nonetheless. Then she’s taking a deep trembling breath as her hands slightly shake. One more breath before raising that axe higher and drawing it down upon me with a loud, Earth shattering scream.
From the second the blade begins its descent, everything plays out in front of me in slow motion. I let my eyes close, wanting to remember a better time before I lose the ability to recall such things forever. I see my life, all the best parts of it, flash by for what feels like several minutes.
The first memory was the first time we met and her holding my wrist at an angle it should not be, an obvious threat to never touch her again and my immediate, resulting intrigue. Then it flashes to the first mission we’d ever gone on together and her almost killing me for getting in her way.
“ You were told to stand back,” she had said to me while storming forward and harshly pushing at my chest.
“ I tried, ” was my only response at the time. She kept pushing, demanding answers about why I had interfered but I couldn’t muster more than an indifferent shrug. I never gave her the answer she was looking for. It’s one of my many regrets, but in that silk black dress that clung to every curve of her body, I couldn’t tell her I didn’t like how every man in the room had been looking at her the way I wished I could everyday.
That mission was such a large-scale event, there was no way to kill every man that looked at her. So, selfishly, I made sure every man there thought she was mine by stepping in for a dance or two, instead. Consequences be damned, I cared a lot less about a target than I did about her.
The next memory was the first time we hid out at the house together—the first time she opened up to me. It was her, in all her messy hair, baggy clothes, clean faced glory. God, the way she laughed at my jokes no matter how awful they were, the way she stubbornly hesitated to even let me know her. In the end, it was a storm in this very house that brought out her truths. No matter how limited they were at the time, it was more than I’d been able to get out of her for months, and it was out of fear of all the words she may never get to say.
The fear of no one ever knowing who she is.
Suddenly, I’m flashing forward to the conversation when we figured out exactly what we were to each other. She was in nothing but one of my cut up T-shirts and short shorts, her hair thrown in a bun on top of her head. She was attempting to teach me how to cook for the umpteenth time, but I wasn’t catching on. Admittedly, I wasn’t quite focused on cooking anyway. Not when she was wearing my clothes and dangling the possibility of us right in front of my face.
“Ronan, you know it’s strictly prohibited. No fraternization between co-workers. He’d have our heads for it,” she had said while laughing at my efforts, but I was relentless.
“He hasn’t found out yet, and when he does, it’ll be too late anyways. You know he’d be stupid to get rid of his two best agents.”
“Two of his best we may be, but we’re being reckless enough as it is,” she proclaimed, and I knew that she was right. Yet…
“Move in with me.”
“Ronan, I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can. Keep your apartment if you’re worried about anything, or just want to make sure you have space when you want it. But bring some stuff here. Then you could at least stop stealing my clothes everytime you stop by unannounced.”
“You love it when I steal your clothes and stop by unannounced.” She pouts, stopping all movements.
“You know I do, but I would rather you have a key and be here more than you’re not. You know that you love hanging out with me.”
“Uh uh, tolerate at best. Check yourself, Blue.”
She moved in a month later, and it felt right. Every second we had shared a space called home. The memories that pass after that are a mix of restless nights and mornings when she tried to get me out of bed but I would convince her to stay a little while longer with whatever methods I could depending on the day.
These are my seven minutes, I realize. All the memories I get to relive before I die, and they all belong to her. But when time speeds up again, and her scream echoes in the absence of the wind, I watch as the weapon flies past my face and digs into the ground several feet away from me.
My breath hitches as I focus entirely on her empty hands and how she looks at them as if they do not belong to her. Her breathing rapidly increases as she begins to roughly grab and scratch at her skin.
Every inch of it that had been caked with dried blood is being clawed at with each harsh breath that escapes her.
“Get it off me,” she sobs as she continues clawing at her skin. Each scratch results in flakes falling freely to the ground, but she continues digging into her skin over and over again.
“Get it off, Ronan,” she says again as her panic rises, and I move closer to her—crawling, but she backs away from me. Shaking her head as she mutters over and over again. My heart stops for a beat or two while watching her break this way knowing there is nothing that I can do to make it better.
“Get it off me, please.” A cry for help that agonizes me and chills me to the bone. I stumble to my feet, tripping over the emotion that bubbles and pours out of her, crashing into me in tidal waves.
“Ronan, please. Get it the fuck off me. It won’t come off.” Angrier. The words are progressively getting louder and louder, each movement jerkier than the last. I rush to her as fresh blood begins to trickle from her arms and stomach. This time, she doesn’t move away from me as my shaky hands grip her body and it collapses against me. Her arms wrap around my abdomen, and I let us both fall to the ground. I’m cradling her body, rocking us back and forth gently as she cries into my shirt, and I look up at the sky, unable to watch as she breaks.
“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” I whisper, even as I know this may very well be her breaking point. Even though I know we can’t stop now, I give her this moment of rest. Pressing one hand into her hair, pushing her further into my chest, while the other wraps around her body as I trace soothing circles down the length of her back.
Her hands grips my shirt with each sob that overcomes her. When sleep eventually takes over, I massage the irritated skin on both arms and kiss each fresh wound while rocking her body until the sun rises.
Although I’m not sure where this leaves the two of us, I’m thankful I can keep her safe while she sleeps. Even if she wakes up and hates me for it.