Chapter 19 #2
After a moment, with some difficulty, he sits up in bed. As the blanket falls off him, I see the cuffs on his wrists, forcing his hands together in front of him. His hands are clenched, claws curled into his palms.
He turns his back to me, showing the bandages stretched over his shoulders where his wings once grew. The gauze is already soaked through with blood.
When Barnes told me, I couldn’t help but imagine it.
How long and slow and painful it must have been for him to sit in here, tearing his wings with his own claws.
Red tears streaming down his face as blood drenched his pale back.
The lights flickering in and out over the nightmarish scene as he drove himself into a self-induced episode, knowing it would keep the security guards and doctors at bay, preventing them from stopping him as he mutilated himself.
I suck in a shaky breath, stepping closer with my medical supplies. I want to scream at him, to berate him, to ask how he could do this, to run in there and wrap my arms around him and never let go. Instead, I just say, “Tell me if this hurts.”
He nods, but I know he won’t. I’m as careful as I can be, unwrapping the dirtied bandages and setting them aside. Beneath is a mess of blood, stray feathers stuck to his skin with gore. I wet the washcloth and carefully clean the blood away.
I can’t stop myself from asking: “Why?” My voice cracks, and I swallow before continuing. “Why would you do that to yourself? Why wait until I wasn’t here? Why…?” I have to stop, tears prickling my eyes.
“I knew you would stop me,” he says, his voice surprisingly even and calm. “And I needed to succeed. I needed to…try.”
I shake my head, using my sleeve to wipe a tear that spills down my cheek. “You couldn’t seriously think that this would help.”
“I had to try,” he says again. “I had to do something. To make the changes stop. Or at least slow it down. But maybe you’re right.
It was stupid of me to think I wasn’t helpless in all of this.
” There’s a sharp edge to his voice, but I can tell the anger is directed inward, not at me.
“If I wasn’t such a coward, I could’ve just ended it. ”
My hands still, trembling, against his back. “Cain, please don’t say that.”
“Willow, we both know the stakes here. If this keeps happening—”
“We don’t know what will happen,” I say.
“Stop lying,” he snarls. There is a growl to his voice that I don’t recognize, and I find myself flinching away.
We both freeze, afterward.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. But we’re talking about the end of the world, Willow. We have to do whatever it takes to prevent it. Even if it means hurting me. Even if it means my death. You agreed.”
I swallow. There’s a dry click in the back of my throat. It’s harder to cling to hope after what I learned from Cain’s mother. Cain is part of an intentional plan to bring about the apocalypse. He’s the son of the devil himself.
But when I look at him, I still don’t see a monster. It hasn’t changed how I feel. Despite the red eyes and the black veins and the wings, I still see that sadness. That humanity. I still want to save him. The circumstances of his birth don’t matter; my father was a monster, too.
If guilt is hereditary, the blame lies with both of us. And if Cain can be absolved, then maybe there’s hope that I will shed the bottomless guilt I carry, too.
“I’m not ready to give up,” I say.
He says nothing. I resume my careful work. His bloodied back is tense, muscles taut beneath pale skin, but with each sweep of the washcloth, he relaxes ever so slightly.
I squeeze out the washcloth again and again into a bucket of water already turning a murky red. I have to dump it in the sink and refill it, get myself a new washcloth. Still, I can’t find the wounds beneath the gore.
And Cain doesn’t flinch.
“Am I hurting you?” I ask, after the silence has lingered for too long.
“No,” he says, sounding almost surprised.
So much blood. Why wouldn’t it hurt him? And where are the wounds that caused it? As I wash away the last of it, I realize the truth. This blood is drying, not fresh.
The wounds he gave himself have already healed. The skin of his back is smooth and pale, unblemished and unscarred. And growing on his shoulder blades are small clumps of black feathers where his wings are already starting to re-emerge.
Maybe he did manage to stall his transformation in his desperate act, but… If they’re growing this fast, then all that pain and blood bought him merely a day.
“Is something wrong?” Cain asks without turning.
I swallow past a lump in my throat. “No. Stay still.” I carefully wrap fresh bandages over his shoulders, winding them carefully around, pressing those freshly grown feathers flat against his back.
I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. If nothing else, I can buy him a few hours of peace before he realizes it for himself.
When it’s done, he turns to face me. I’m suddenly, acutely aware that we’re sitting together on his bed, so close together, our knees brushing. His shirt is still off, revealing far too much pale skin.
My heart thumps in my ears. The cameras are off, I know. No one can watch them but me, now.
“Cain,” I whisper.
He lifts his eyes to mine. Black veins spread beneath them, a tree of darkness bleeding through the entirety of his face, pulsing faintly beneath his skin.
He looks strange under the harsh fluorescent lighting, the angles of his face rendered more severe, less human.
Beautiful, but in a way that makes it almost hurt to look directly at him. But I look anyway.
His eyes hold mine for a moment before dropping, slowly, to my lips.
I swallow hard. “Don’t give up,” I say, and lift one hand, pressing it delicately against his cheek.
He sighs, leaning into the touch like a stray cat desperate to be petted. I am helpless to do anything but oblige, my thumb stroking over his warm skin until his eyes slide shut.
“Willow,” he murmurs without opening his eyes.
“What?” The air is thick with tension. With possibility. With things I’m too afraid to name.
But he turns his face away, lowering his head. “I think it’s time. There’s no stopping it. I don’t know why I even tried.”
“No,” I say, when I muster the breath for it. “Don’t say that. Don’t give up yet.”
“We’ve tried it all, Willow,” he says. “I can feel myself slipping… I think… I think it’s almost here. The full transformation. And you know what that means.”
The end of the world, if the cult’s teachings are correct. But I know, from the desperate way he’s looking at me, that isn’t exactly what he’s referring to. He’s thinking of my promise. To end it before he can go that far.
I push myself to my feet abruptly, taking a step back, shaking my head. “No.”
“Willow,” he says quietly, “you promised me.”
“I know,” I choke out. “But we’re not there yet. There’s still time— There are still things we can try—”
“You promised.”
“But I—”
“Do you think I want this?” His voice rises, suddenly, to a near-shout, his eyes flaring a brighter red.
The lights flicker overhead. I jolt at the unexpected volume, the show of temper that’s so unlike him.
Flinching away from him again. “Any of this?” He sits up in bed, facing me. “Do you think I want to die?”
I stare at him, speechless. Because I’m caught off guard, but also because I don’t know the answer to that question.
Cain falters. Presses a hand to his face, covering his eyes. “I want to live,” he says, his voice shaky, quiet again. Himself again. “Especially because I just— I just found you—”
“Cain,” I say, a near-sob. I take a step toward him, but he jerks away. Blood drips between his fingers, and he lowers them, showing me the red tears trickling down his face.
“But this is what I am,” he says. “This is what I’ve always been. There was never going to be a way out for me. And if it’s a choice between my death and the end of the world, Willow, we both know what you have to do.”
“It’s not going to come to that,” I say. “I don’t care what the cult has planned for you, or where you came from, it’s—”
“Where I came from?”
I realize my mistake at the look he gives me. “I meant…”
“You know something.” He stands up, and I realize he’s even taller than before. Looming over me as he steps closer. “Tell me the truth.”
I shake my head. I can’t bring myself to lie to him, but I’m terrified of the consequences if I tell him the truth. Not because he’ll be angry with me, but because it might make him lose hope completely. “Cain, I don’t—”
“Tell me.”
The lights flicker, and for a moment all I can see are his red eyes.
Then all at once the truth is pouring out of me: the trip to see his mother, the ritual, the pictures.
What I suspect of his parentage. I’m aware of what I’m saying but I can’t seem to stop myself until it’s all out and I’m left gasping for air and reeling.
I blink. “You— You just…”
He controlled me. Me. He’s getting stronger.
There’s a look of blank shock on his face. Whether it’s because he’s realized the same thing, or because of what I just told him, I’m not sure.
But we both realize what it means at the same time. I lurch forward at the same time he starts to speak again.
“Willow,” he says, his voice shaking. “Please, kill m—”
I press my mouth to his before he can finish the command.
He’s frozen for a moment, and then he lets out a low, startled noise, a hand grabbing the front of my shirt.
For a moment I think he intends to shove me off him, but instead he yanks me closer, kissing me hard.
My fingers tangle in his hair, rough as I hold him close.
I’m afraid to stop in case he finishes that order; I don’t want to stop, now that I’ve started.
When we finally break apart, his lip is bloody from my teeth, my need. He stares at me, panting for air.
“How dare you,” I say, shaking with anger more than fear. “How fucking dare you try to do that to me, you asshole.”
Before he can respond, I turn and race out the door.
I nearly run straight into Barnes, who is waiting just outside the door. He politely looks away, pretending not to see me wiping tears from my face.
“He told you?” he asks, after a few awkward moments.
“What?”
“That he’s agreed to the relocation plan,” Barnes says. “I figured he’d want to tell you himself.”
I almost laugh. Almost. That fucking coward. “Right,” I say. “When is it happening?”
“Given the volatility lately, as soon as possible,” Barnes says. “At the end of the week, barring any complications.”
I nod mechanically. “Understood.”
“I know you’re not officially reinstated yet, but given the circumstances, if you’re open to escorting him—”
“No,” I say, before he can finish. “I won’t have any part in this.” I know it’s selfish, but I refuse to help with his self-destruction. Especially after what just happened between us.
Barnes’s eyebrows pull together. “He requested you specifically.”
Because he wants me to kill him. I bite my tongue so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t bleed. I want to scream, to rage, to pray, but none of them will help me.
“I can’t, Barnes. I’m sorry.” I take a deep breath, lowering my hand from my face and squaring my shoulders. “He tried to order me to kill him. He’ll probably try it again. You better gag and sedate him for the journey.”
I rush for the exit, and he doesn’t try to stop me.