eighteen
What would you do if today were your last? The archangel’s question replays through my mind as I lie down by the fire.
My answer was true. I don’t know if I have another answer to give. Would I travel? Would I spend it in the arms of the man that I love? Would I cross some things off my bucket list?
Only a day ago, I told Jeremy that I couldn’t think about our future, but was it just our future that I couldn’t think about? What about my own?
The thought is taken from my mind as quickly as it arrived, the rope of guilt around my torso pulling me away from the selfishness of it.
“I would spend the time with the people that I love,”
I decide aloud. We haven’t spoken for a long time; after a while, the awkward silence turned comforting. The archangel says nothing, waiting for me to explain. “You asked what I’d do with my last day. I have spent most of my life being alone, pretending that I like it that way, that I don’t need anyone else to survive. The truth is, if today were my last, I would spend every second of it doing the opposite of that.”
I hold eye contact, expecting him to look away, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t blink, and he doesn’t flinch.
I wait for him to respond, but when he stays silent, I ask, “What would you do?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Me?”
“I know it’s probably not something that you’ve ever thought about, being immortal and all. But if you weren’t, and today was your last day, what would you do?”
I assume that he won’t have an answer for me, that it’s a pointless question to ask him. For a long time I look into the eyes of the man who has been responsible for so much death and pain. I search for something redeemable within them. I never find it.
After what seems like hours, he says, “I —”
Then his mouth snaps shut as quickly as it opened, and he retreats to peer out the window next to the front door.
I wrap a blanket around myself and lie down on a pile of pillows on the floor in front of the fire. It’s a cold evening, and the fire adds an odd sense of security.
The archangel walks back over and sits beside me, but not as close as he did before.
I turn onto my side to face him. “Do you feel? Emotions, pleasure, pain…?”
I bite my lip, hoping that wasn’t the wrong question to lead with out of all the racing thoughts in my head.
He scoffs, as if my audacity to even ask offends him. I roll my eyes. He’s going to ignore me again. I guess this is just going to be one one-sided conversation after the other. Fantastic.
“Yes, we feel. We have emotions, contrary to your belief, I’m sure. We also possess the ability to suppress them – to turn them off, in a way. Sometimes we just need to shut them out. We feel everything, even more than a human would. We feel pleasure, more than you could ever fathom.”
His eyes light a blue fire at the statement. My body heats at the implication. “We feel pain. As an archangel, I do not feel physical pain as fiercely as others; it takes a lot to hurt me. I feel… emotional pain. I feel everybody else’s pain.”
He ducks his head at the last revelation. He didn’t mean to tell me that.
The silver fire in his eyes has dimmed to a soft burn. I let his words sink in, gathering the information and storing it away for later use.
I wonder if he’s felt my emotions. If he knows the pain and heartache that I carry.
I shake off the thought; he can also shut off his emotions. Why would he ever choose to feel someone else’s pain when he could feel nothing at all? It makes him an even more lethal weapon.
“You feel others’ pain?” I ask.
“Not always. When I’m at full strength I can turn it off, but otherwise, it is my only weakness.”
He holds my gaze, his eyes a gentle blue, unnaturally human. His skin glows in the low-lit space by the fire.
“That’s not a weakness, archangel.”
He frowns. “You believe it to be a strength?”
“It means that there is some part of you, however deep down, that feels. Fear, happiness, sadness, regret, remorse. Some miniscule part of you that isn’t a cold-hearted sociopath like the fallen angel.”
The blue in his eyes shines brighter than the silver as they widen. He shakes his head. “You have such a human heart. Aren’t you the one who called me a sociopath a few hours ago?”
My eyes roll. “Psychopath. There’s a difference.”
“I imagine the difference is that one is much more handsome than the other.”
A wide grin stretches across his face.
“One has a bigger ego than the other.”
The archangel grunts and leans back on his elbows, his feet stretched out in front of him.
I take a deep breath, lowering my guard for a moment, letting the built-up emotions surge through me. The grief, the pain, the guilt that holds me tightly, the loss.
My skin lights on fire, a buzzing filling my head. The sound consumes me, and I bring both my hands to my ears to try to block it out. It only grows louder.
The sound… It’s happening in my mind.
As an emotion passes through me, I see it flash across the archangel’s face. His features contort tightly, his eyes flaring. It disperses immediately, and he moves quicker than I’ve ever seen.
“I have things to be doing. Sleep, Slayer. I don’t want to have to leave you for dead.”
Before I can ask what happened, he walks through the door and out of sight.
He doesn’t return until the sun has started to rise. Silence surrounds us as we gear up.
I tell him where I left my belt and weapons, and we collect them before we leave.
I sheathe my daggers and strap on my belt. My neck and jaw still feel raw, despite the few hours of sleep I was able to catch. I bring my hand to my cheek and wince at the touch. The archangel watches me closely.
Anxiety settles in my stomach. Our deal is about to expire, and he could just choose to kill me.
The archangel’s eyes narrow when they hover over the bruises that colour my throat. He closes the distance between us with two long strides, so quickly that I don’t have time to move or protest before my back is pinned against the bark of the tree behind me.
His hand is on my throat in an instant, but when I reach for my dagger, his knee pins my hand to the tree.
“Are you that much of a sadist that you’d kill me without even giving me the chance to fight back?”
The archangel ignores my question. His fingers curl around my throat slowly, resting on the purple skin. My eyes lock with his as heat flushes through my veins. Perhaps he decided that my proposition wasn’t worth forgoing revenge for stabbing him. Maybe he enjoys the feeling of his hand wrapped around my throat so much that he thinks it would be the perfect way to watch the life leave my eyes.
I struggle against his hold, but he squeezes tighter, though not to the point of pain. Just enough that I can’t move, but can still breathe. There is no gleam of murder in his eyes, but there’s still something lethal about the way he looks at me. No… Something immortal.
“I’m not going to kill you.”
His low whisper brushes over my skin slowly, raising each hair with it as it moves.
“Then may I ask why you have your hand wrapped around my throat, and my arm pinned to the tree?”
His lips quiver, a corner turning up ever so slightly. “Perhaps this is how I like my women.”
Oh, that does it.
Rage washes away the fear that was taking hold of me, but as I open my mouth to speak, he clicks his tongue three times.
“I’d choose your words carefully, Slayer. It would be awfully rude to insult the man who’s about to heal you.”
My eyes widen, my mouth parting slightly. “Heal me?”
As if in response, the skin where he holds my throat lights a cool fire, a burning sensation that comes with no pain.
His gaze flicks from my neck to my cracked nose, and the fire within my veins follows. Slowly, as he looks over me, the warmth spreads to each bruise until they’re nothing but slightly tender skin.
His hand drops from my throat, his knee unpinning mine.
I open my mouth and shut it several times as I process the gesture. “Why?”
Any hint of a smile has fallen from his face, and his skin glows with a soft illumination that’s nothing short of otherworldly. “Like I said, if your human fragility slows me down, I will leave you for dead. By healing you, I have given you a fighting chance. Now that you have that, I won’t kill you… but don’t expect me to save you, either.”
Noted.
The archangel takes three steps away before I find the courage to say, “Thank you. For healing me.”
He stops in his tracks, his back still turned. He pauses for long enough that I nearly start to back away, his chest rising and falling quickly. Then he simply walks on, and I have no choice but to follow.