Chapter 8 Charlie
While I eat the soup Suriel made for me (awkwardly since he’s insisting on keeping me bound) and try to focus on a live radio station I found since the T.V.
is only giving me snow and emergency warnings, Suriel just keeps staring at me.
I feel it constantly, like his gaze is a ghost that’s caressing my skin and trying to force me to believe in angels, God, and the whole holy trinity, so I’ll be easier to manage.
It’s driving me insane.
“Are all angels into voyeurism, Suriel?” I ask sharply, turning to look at him.
He arches a single eyebrow while touching his dangling sword earring. He gives it a tug. “I have no interest in-”
“Sure you don’t. You stuck around to watch me shower, just to make sure I wouldn’t leave. You could just drug me, you know? Because this-” I motion to him staring at me. “It’s a hell of a lot more awkward.”
“Everything you’ve experienced and that you’ve learned today would break a normal human. Being attacked, trying to kill others in self-defense, a car accident-”
“I’m super aware of the tally of what I’ve done and what’s been done to me, thanks. I don’t need you to play the highlights reel,” I sass. “I need you to do anything other than watch me, especially when I’m just existing. It would be one thing if I was masturbating or seducing you.”
“I’m not built for that,” he sneers, as if the idea offends him.
“For seduction? Yeah. You made that clear. I don’t think you’re capable of it,” I goad.
He blinks at me, processing the insult. I’m more focused on proving that he’s human – not for my sake, but for his. He probably did that shit to his back. He’s just lost in a psychotic break because of the natural disasters and the general chaos.
The tornado siren goes off before I can point that out. Suriel pounces, shielding me on the couch, almost forcing me into the fetal position under him.
My eyes bulge as I stare up at him. I open my mouth to say something when the siren takes on a weird ring. Almost like the air-raid sirens I remember from documentaries. Suriel pants, but I have to stay grounded. If he gets more intense, he might turn all that violence on me.
“It’s just a tornado siren, angel,” I say while patting his chest.
I really wish I wasn’t tied up right now.
He blinks at me and glances around. “I need to take care of some things.”
“Good. Great. Um, can you not be on top of me?” I ask, my voice shaking.
His eyes meet mine and I swear, some emotions are literally warring in him.
Frustration, something more demanding, not a bit of lust, but there has to be something I can use against him.
I shift ever so slightly and take a breath.
I need to get him open and pliable. “I appreciate the whole … hero thing, but jumping me right now isn’t exactly what an angel would do. ”
The siren stops and he relaxes slightly, ignoring my comment or not bothering to answer.
“You should check if there’s a tornado on the horizon. Or you do whatever mysterious thing you need to do and I can handle that.”
He shakes his head. “I’m putting you in the pantry.”
“Whoa! No, that was not – Suriel!” I yell his name as he picks me up. But I’m very distracted by his hard body against mine. Wait, is that a bulge? No. It can’t be. I try to glance down, then swallow. “I think you’re built for more than protection.”
“Not what I’m meant for.”
“Then what are you meant for?” I ask while rolling my eyes and wrapping my arms around his neck. I wiggle slightly, trying to get more of a rise out of him. Maybe if he’s lost to lust, he’ll snap back to reality.
“Taking divine orders and upholding the written prophecies.”
“Sounds lonely,” I say, digging deep for some empathy as he carries me through the kitchen. “You could be meant for sex, you know? It doesn’t sound like it’s forbidden.”
His eyes flash to me, then away.
Is that a blush in his cheeks?
I unloop my bound arms, and stroke down his chest to the top of his gray sweats. “I could check very thoroughly. What could it hurt?”
“Lust is a sin.”
“Sins are pleasure, twice the pleasure because they’re forbidden,” I hum.
He sets me down in the pantry carefully, looks around, then grits his teeth. “Stay,” he commands. “Until I come to get you.”
“I thought you took orders! Since when do angels give them!?” I yell as he walks away, not shutting the door. I move a little out of it. I think we’re fine, but it’s five seconds where he’s not watching me with those too-blue eyes and that flickering gaze.
Like he’s not sure if he wants to kiss me or kill me.
I wait a full five minutes while fiddling with my restraints.
With my teeth to help me, I manage to get one wrist free, then slowly crawl out of the pantry, babying my right leg.
I roll over to scoot on my butt until I get to the island.
Slowly, when I don’t see Suriel, I pull myself up.
Only to feel something gritty on my fingers.
Salt?
Glancing around, I notice runes across the kitchen, namely on the windows in paint or something similar. More markings cover the walls and windows in the living room.
He’s the real kind of crazy.
I hear Suriel in the garage, which makes me nervous. I spot an old landline on the wall in the kitchen and dial 911 quickly. Silence answers me. I hang up, pick up the phone again and there’s not even a dial tone.
Of course not. It’s not the apocalypse if we have phone service.
Then Suriel’s voice echoes again. He must be close to the front door, but I don’t want to miss out on an opportunity to run.
Slowly, I move closer to freedom and Suriel - keeping my eyes on the door. I’ll walk if I have to. I’ll drag myself back towards town just to find someone who’s more sane than the sexy religious nut who’s more focused on saving me than fucking me.
If he’s sure it’s the apocalypse, why wouldn’t he want to break every rule and fuck like there’s no tomorrow?
That’s a thought for later, when I’m safe and not on some weird form of house arrest.
I creep closer and closer towards the garage. All the lights flicker, fail, and I hear the wind howl as the earth shakes under my feet. I grip the wall right by the garage as rain pelts the roof and lashes against the windows.
Closing my eyes, I push away a restless series of memories that try to drag me down; they taste like salt, smell like my foster mother’s favorite cheap perfume, feel like unending punishment I haven’t deserved, and echo with the need to ‘purify’ me.
“Please, father. Answer me. Guide me. This isn’t what …” Suriel says softly, his voice thick with something like pain, but each word echoing with hope that dies the second it touches me. After a long pause, he sighs. “I know what the scripture says. I know the reckoning is upon us, but she-”
He stops his prayer as something echoes in the air.
It sounds like words, but not in a language I know. The voice is too soft for me to even make out the language. It makes my head hurt, my skin burns slightly, and yet fury bubbles up too. A kind of injustice, a need for vengeance, that I can’t make sense of.
“I’m not questioning your word, father. I’m if this is possible. Why must it be me bound to this woman? A woman who doesn’t believe, who won’t believe, who would rather fight and tempt than …”
Again, he trails off.
I don’t want to believe that he’s talking about me. That would be insanity.
But again, that rippling, almost-there voice echoes through the garage.
Is this a spreading kind of insanity? Because I swear that in the flickering candlelight (that’s oddly white instead of yellow), I can almost see something forming.
I peek around and see Suriel bent on one knee, his hands folded in prayer as he nods.
The rosary beads he clasps are another sharp reminder of the dangerous power of religion.
Beads that could become a noose in the wrong hands.
Shaking my head, I glance to the door. It’s so close. My ankle is good enough, even if my knee is throbbing. I’m actually surprised it can support my weight, but maybe that’s just how much I want to leave.
“If she fails to believe in you, she won’t believe in Lu-him.
It means she’s impervious. It means … Yes, I’m aware of the balance shifting and …
I understand, but I’ve sacrificed my wings.
I dove because you chose me.” Another pause.
“Allow me the liberty to do this the easy way. To end the suffering.”
I try to tune him and that weird ghostly voice out as I carefully maneuver towards the door. I hide behind the wooden bench and coat rack thing, then look at the door. I manage to unlock it, then my gaze flits back to Suriel. He’s still there, eyes closed, hair down, like he’s hiding his face.
It has to be now. I have to leave now.
Opening the door makes it squeak, but I sprint.
Of course, my sprint is slowed by my limp, but I try to ignore that.
If I can make the tree line, dusk will help me hide.
The rain hits my skin like needles, threatening to pierce me.
Thunder doesn’t roll, it booms, like it’s giving away my position, but the moon …
it’s so big. I pause for a moment, staring at it. It’s unhidden by clouds, full, white …
Wasn’t it a new moon last night?
I hear foot falls speeding up behind me.
Rather than looking back, I zig towards the cabin and let out a yelp as I trust my damaged ankle too much and nearly fall.
Just as I can nearly touch a branch from a tree reaching out to me, an arm as thick and strong as a steel beam wraps around my waist and I’m plucked from the ground like I weigh nothing.
“LET ME GO! HELP ME! FUCKING HELP ME! ANYONE!”
Suriel huffs in my ear, crushing me against his solid, hot body. He twists me in his arms and glowers at me, his eyes are glowing.
They’re actually fucking glowing.
What the hell?!
And his tattoos are all moving, weapons poised like they’re going to skin me just so he has room for more angel-themed artwork.
“I am helping, Charlie. Whether you want to believe or not,” he hisses before lifting me and tossing me over his shoulder.
I swat his ass, try to kick him in the dick, refuse to stay still. He grips my thigh firmly, but there’s no bite to his fingers, like he’s purposely being gentle.
“I’m going to bite you!” I manage to grit out.
“So be it.”
“I’m going to ruin all your tattoos!” I manage to grit out as I claw his back, determined to break the skin. “I’ll fucking shred them!”
“You can try,” he answers.
“I’m going to kick you in the dick!”
“I’ve dealt with worse,” he counters.
“Then either give me a real reason to stay or kill me,” I demand, trying to push myself up so I can wiggle out of his grasp. “Because being trapped with a fucking stranger makes this apocalypse bullshit worse.”
“It is the apocalypse and it only gets worse from here,” he warns.
“Silly me thinking the end of the fucking world will happen with roses, doves, and goddamn rainbows!” I snap back sarcastically before he spins to lock the door. I can’t stop my frustration from rolling out of my mouth. “So sorry for offending your limp-dicked god.”
“Five days,” he says, shutting me up as I try to figure out what the fuck he means by that.
Is my life on a clock?