I came out of the surgery room, pulling the back the white curtain to exit. Maria stood next to the instrument table and took the scalpel from me, putting it into a beaker half filled with clear liquid before giving me a new pair of gloves. I nodded in thanks but she barley glanced at me, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor. I sighed and and lifted up her chin searching for her eyes, dropping any emotion left in mine. "Are you afraid, Maria?" I asked, my voice dripping with venom, "Afraid of looking me in the eyes?" She nodded and I could feel her cower beneath my gaze. I laughed at her afraid, child like expression and jerked her head, letting it go as I turned towards the next room.
"She is the last one. Have my dinner ready." I said snapping my gloves on.
"Yes, miss."she answered in a way of reply and I heard her voice shake with fury. With the fury that someone as young as me had the power and capability, to overpower her.
I dropped my hateful expression the minute I heard the door leading out of the room close with a soft click, surprised I could hold such hate against someone. Shaking my head I walked into the room, a smile spreading on my face as I caught sight of the whimpering girl, tied with leather straps on the sterile table.
I washed my hands thrice before coming into the dining room, a delicious smell wafting from the kitchen. Dio was already there and I dropped a kiss on his forehead before taking my place, sitting so we were face to face. He smiled through a mouthful of food as Maria entered the room. I sat up straighter and a small smile crossed my lips when I saw her hands shake as she put the plate down in front of me. I looked at the food and nodded in approval.
"Thank you, you can leave now." I said, taking in a breath letting the smell of the food envelop me. She nodded and quickly shuffled off, cradling her hands as she left. I remember breaking one of them and the smile returned. I picked up my fork, turning my food over and over again in my plate, in a poor attempt to cool it faster when someone cleared their throat from across the table and I returned my attention to the boy in front of me. A smile crossed my lips again, but this was different.
He looked good. Better than he'd looked in days.
How did we get here? Him sitting across from me perfectly fine? Hadn't he burned up with the house? He never told me how and I never asked him. There was much more to him than he actually let on but if he didn't trust me yet with his secrets, I was in no position to pry.
Three years ago my mother had sent Dio to protect me, to keep me safe from her raging mad husband. My father had an unhealthy obsession and my mother had realised that-only too late. So she sent me an angle, a spirt to protect me and help me, to guide me to destroy what my father was doing, to avenge the harmed, to avenge the broken families. My father thought that he had successfully scarred Dio, successfully sent him to the edge of insanity but he didn't understand that to truly break a person, scars were not enough. Yes he had nightmares. Yes, he was afraid. But the boy with a scar on the outside was anything but broken on the inside.
I thought his face was fine but he wanted me to fix it, so I did, realising that I had the same powers my father and Maria did. I wasn't as good though and there was a scar over his eye, small but visible nonetheless. I thought the scar would ruin his beautiful face but it just made his features stand out stronger. His hazel brown eyes shined against the lights of the room and I had to push away the urge to run my hands through his hair. I fixed my gaze unto his, holding his stare, flinching when I saw the hurt and sadness registered in them. Those emotions that had once been for himself, for all he had lost, for all the people he had seen die were now for me. I could see it and I quickly looked back down at my food, knowing what was coming.
"Aya.." he started quietly. I shook my head, not wanting to start this conversation again, not when Maria was in the next room probably listening. Definitely listening. I fixed my eyes on his and shook my head again, flickering my eyes towards the kitchen door. He seemed to understand and left me to enjoy my dinner which was starting to get cold.
I rose from the table a while later, placing my napkin on top of my empty plate. Dio stood waiting for me leaning on the doorframe. I walked to him and took the arm he held out for me, smiling at the sweet gesture. As my bedroom door came into view we broke apart and I immediately missed his warmth. I sighed, opening the door with a key. I had to keep it locked because of Maria. Had to keep the truth hidden in my own home. Before I entered I heard Dio, his voice whispering my name, willing me to listen. Turning to him I again saw the sadness I'd seen in the dining room as he took my hand in his and turned his gaze to the floor. He wasn't going to let this go was he?
I lifted his chin, making him look me in the eye. He did and held my stare.
"Aya." he began again. I looked both sides before pushing open the door and ushering him into my room, still not confident that Maria didn't know where we were.
"My father is alive, Dio."
The words spilled out of me, faster than I would've liked, harsher than I'd actually intended. How my father had not burned down with the house like we had thought. How he'd actually been rescued by the man in the black suit whose identity was still a mystery to us. I'd found the letter only a few days ago. His letter addressed to me. No doubt Maria had one too.
I watched him as I spoke, watched his mouth set into a hard line and his body stiffening, jerking at every little sound.
"I'm going to stay here tonight. And every other night until we figure this out." he said after I'd finished. I nodded, knowing fighting would be useless. He made himself comfortable, tucking me against him as we lay together, his hands finding my hair and running his hands through them. I let out a little sigh, glad for this one moment of peace in my world full of horror and turned around to the window wishing that things weren't so hard. Wishing that mom was alive. Wishing that my father was dead. Then I saw him, my moment of peace shattering into a million unseeable pieces. Standing outside my window, the moon being the only thing illuminating his lean figure. Casually leaning on a tree, wearing glasses that glinted in the sliver moonlight and a white lab coat, stained with the blood of the now dead and scarred, stood my father. Back from wherever he had been.
Back from the dead.