Chapter 11: Guilty Feeling
The next few days, and perhaps that entire week, were lovely. Everything, the skies, the earth, and even those silly, cumbersome insects, seemed to be drunk on my passion.
The two of us, my lovely, dearest Roma and I, walked (well, I suppose, I floated) about the countryside, stopping either to admire the scenery or gather food at a nearby village. I did not let her know I was stealing the food. That seemed morally repugnant at the moment; at least, it would be if my Roma found out. But oddly enough, she never questioned where the bread, pastries, fruits, vegetables came from – even when they returned ice-cold from my hands.
My Roma seemed healed on the outside despite the growing number of violet bruises on her arms. But mentally, I knew she was scarred. She never mentioned it, but she must have felt so alone. Her family had left her to die and now, she had but the companionship of an inhuman being.
I am sure anyone else may have mistaken her smiles to be those of blithesome ignorance, blind to her own traumatic ordeals. Yet I was sure they merely acted to disguise her unhappiness and discontent. The fact that she was so upset depressed me constantly. My Roma, nevertheless, was sincerest to me. And when she was in my presence, she was distracted enough to feel content.
She sang a lot. So much, in fact, any other person may have been annoyed by the constant outbursts. I seldom spoke, but when I did, I merely asked her to continue and commented on what a lovely voice she had. I think this encouraged her because when she began again, her voice was like creek water splashing on a warm spring morning. That is wonderful imagery for a dementor. And I think that there is no other way to describe it.
But there was always a dark cloud hanging over our relationship. Perhaps not to my Roma, but to me, particularly, that cloud grew and grew with every hour. I expected more from my Roma than a patron-beneficiary relationship. And though she had no idea, I felt hollow.
Sometime after those first days of bliss, I asked her, "What do I look like?"
My Roma stopped humming tunelessly and looked at me, her brow furrowed. When I halted midair, she, too stopped abruptly and said, "Don't you know what you look like?"
I pondered this for a moment and replied, "Vaguely. But what I see is meaningless. What you see means everything." I wrung my hands together hopefully.
"Hmm," my Roma began thoughtfully, "It is difficult to describe. I don't know." She cocked her head to the side and I stifled a delighted gasp for she was completely adorable. My Roma was like a loveable baby animal. Humans love baby animals, don't they? Oh, then you must understand!
"Your form is slight. I feel as though I am looking at you through a frosty glass. Nothing too distinguishable yet," she said.
"Yet?" I repeated perplexed.
I watched her toss her dark hair over one shoulder, which was exposed due to the size of her dress. And my breath hitched uncomfortably. Never before had I felt this, this desire to feel. I wanted to touch her shoulder if only to realize that it is indeed tangible. I insist that this so-called lust is unlike any human yearning. Every part of me was filled with an emotion – a strange happiness and content upon seeing her. I wanted to hold her, not so that I could please myself but to convey my devotion, to prove my love.
But as I lost myself on that tiny patch of skin, my Roma was speaking. And what I heard made my heart plummet to the pits of my withered toes.
"Because the more time I spend with you, Angel," she answered softly. "The clearer you become."
I tried very hard to remain calm. But how could I think with the blood pounding against my ears? How could I breathe when my lungs seemed to be filling with liquid?
My Roma smiled distractedly and I saw her white teeth flash from between her lips. She was so beautiful. And I was so…hideous. I realize I point this out a lot. But in my defense, I had become incredibly self-conscious and insecure.
I had been getting closer to her on the mere hope that when she saw me, I was no more than a specter, solid but ghostly and obscure. Yet if she somehow was able to see me, clearly for what I was, there was nothing I could do to convince her I was not inherently evil.
I should have known. Unlike other mortals and even wizards, my Roma appeared completely unaffected by my presence. She may not have been cheerful, but she was sane and warm. My thoughts swarmed.
"Like for instance," my Roma continued amiably, "Why do you always wear this dark cloak? It's so warm today!"
"You see my cloak?" I asked softly. In response, she rolled her eyes as though the answer was obvious.
"May I?" she asked coyly, gesturing to my robes. My Roma wanted to touch them. I nodded and she threaded her hands in the fabric before giving it a gentle tug. "It is very thin but so heavy! What is it made of?"
I smirked, "You would not want to know."
My Roma let go of the cloth immediately.
"Anything else?" I asked. "What else do you see?"
"I can't!" my Roma exclaimed with a laugh, "When you insist on hiding yourself!"
"So you would trust a stranger?" I asked, perturbed, "You would travel with someone you can not even see?"
My Roma stopped smiling and her face became very serious. She pursed her lips together before exhaling deeply. "I know you are not human. That is why."
"What?" I could not stop myself from spluttering. "Isn't that less of a reason?"
She shrugged indifferently and then fixed her dress so both shoulders were adequately covered. I was disappointed to no end. "Men can not be trusted, they say," she chanted. "There was nothing about anything else. Besides, you have saved my life several times now. I would be wretched if I did not respect that."
"I have?" I asked surprised.
She answered, "I know you saved me from the other one, who tried to kill me. Was he another one of your kind?"
I was paralyzed by this question. She did remember me. But I was too shocked to feel grateful. "Not all of our kind is merciful. I only rescued you because I knew it was not your time," I replied cryptically. I felt guilty that I was masquerading as an angel, but I had gotten too deep now.
My Roma shook her head. "You saved me. So," she paused, and sought my eyes, "I am yours. Whatever you ask of me I will do."
Her words were earnest, but had they not been, I would not have known. I believed every word she said and was practically drowning in happiness when she said, "I am yours." There was that light in her eyes and the yield in her voice that assured me. I knew what I wanted from her. But –
"You swear?" I asked. My voice was more demanding than I would like to have shown. My Roma was alarmed by the gravity of my words. I had told her to swear, not promise, swear. I was not speaking in jest. But she was still undaunted. Ah, I sighed. She was intrepid! And silently, I bathed in the fire of her eyes.
"Of course," she said lightly. "You have my word." She nodded once and began combing her long hair with her fingers absentmindedly before hesitating.
It was as though she was trying to dispel the heavy atmosphere between us. "So, Angel, what dost thou ask of me?" she continued pleasantly in mock Shakespeare (whom I later learned of, for dementors, as you can already postulate, do not read sonnets and plays).
I looked past her head and toward the distant mountains. From my Roma? I felt as though I was in a dream, a fantasy. She would do anything, and she swore.
I knew my Roma had no where to go. Without me, she would have no one to stay by her side, to comfort her and protect her. Even by muggle standards, she was a pariah of sorts and an unwelcome harbinger. Yet I was bothered by the fact that she did not have a reason to truly stay with me.
My mind whirred. "Not yet. I have nothing to ask of you yet, but one day, I am sure there will be. And then, you must hold to your word," I murmured. It was an order, but it sounded more like a plea. My Roma looked at me again, puzzled but satisfied with my response.
"Well, then sir, when that time arrives, I am at your service," she said with an exaggerated air of subservience and a curtsy.
I smiled, greatly amused by her sense of humor. "Are you always so sarcastic?" I asked.
My Roma looked bewildered. My tone must have been grating and harsh, for she assumed she had offended me. "I am so sorry!" she gasped. "I was just trying to be funny. I did not mean to sound rude-"
I felt my insides churn when large clumps of tears formed on the rims of her onyx eyes.
"No!" I exclaimed. "I thought it was very funny!" – Although my voice sounded more frustrated than entertained – "Do not cry!"
She sniffed a little and wiped her premature tears. "You are not angry?" my Roma asked softly.
"Never, never with you," I replied with a furious nod of my head. "Trust me." And indeed, I wished she would sometimes.
My Roma did not look all together too convinced. So, I tried eagerly to change the subject.
"We must find a cure for this disease," I said purposefully. "We will go, together, in search of Mt. Gwen."
Oh, light filled her dark eyes when I mentioned that mythical mountain! And her expression was filled with such admiration and wonder that my heart melted and sank into my soles once more. Even I had to ask myself, "Did such a place exist? And even if it did, there could not possibly be a fountain that restores health!"
But I had to believe the lie and make it believable for my Roma, who needed every source of inspiration God could provide her. I want to say I did this all for her, but I knew deep down, I was acting out of selfishness and greed. To spend the rest of my life with my Roma, the thought was to tempting to resist.
Even if it was not true, I wanted to keep her and force her to need me as much as I needed her. In retrospect, I do not think that was ever possible. But for that time, the alibi worked like a charm. And strangely, my Roma did not attack the Fountain's credibility. Perhaps she, too, deluded herself into believing miracles.
All of a sudden, my stomach twisted and protested. I was very hungry. Though dementors can sustain themselves by simply absorbing the happiness of bystanders, only the soul can keep them completely satiated. Since my Roma's happiness could not be taken (even had I wanted to), I was famished. With all the commotion and adjustment to this new life with my Roma, I had been very distracted.
"Roma," I began, "I sense some souls in need of my assistance. You must remain here. I will return in two hours, no more."
I can not describe how horrified she looked. It was as though I had asked her to jump of a precipice.
"W-what?" she stuttered in haste, "You intend to leave me here?" – She glanced over her shoulder and toward the thickets – "Alone?"
"I must, I'm afraid," I replied, gulping on the saliva that threatened to render me incomprehensible. "Trust me, I will not be long. And should there be trouble, call me right away and I will be here to guard you."
My Roma's face darkened considerably and I knew she did not have enough faith in me. She was convinced I planned to leave her, yet she surrendered silently. And with a heart-wrenching sigh she bid me luck and Godspeed. She did not look at me as I disappeared behind the black alleys.
I was desperate. I simply wanted a meal and to finish it as quickly as I could. After thirty minutes of scouring the streets, I managed to find a poor middle-aged woman who was unlucky enough to have fallen into my hands. I quickly clamped unto her screaming mouth and drained the soul right out of her, ignoring the flashes of memories whizzing past my eyes.
I left her empty and soul-less on the street. Her body just sat there with an odd, blank expression on her waxy face. I sighed, disgusted by what I had done. But how could I stop? I needed to survive.
For the first time in my life, I prayed for forgiveness. I do not think consumed souls can go to heaven because they are inside me. I felt awful for depriving that woman (and those that came after her) of that right.
When I returned to my Roma, she was staring in the direction I had left with bloodshot eyes. My poor, poor Roma. She noticed me when I appeared, drifting toward her like a dog with its tail between its thin legs. And she was relieved for I heard her inhale deeply.
"You've returned!" she said. Her eyes glimmered.
"Of course," I whispered. I always kept some distance between us when we spoke.
"Did you help them?" she asked softly. And I could barely stop myself from shifting uneasily.
"Excuse me?" I asked. "Help?"
My Roma looked at me questioningly. "Yes, those people you came to assist. Their souls?"
Then, I remembered that I had lied to her. I had pretended to guide the dying souls to heaven when I had been doing the exact opposite. I had nearly forgotten.
"Oh, yes. I did," I lied. She smiled and I could feel my guilt flowing backwards up my arteries.
How was I going to live like this? Every single day?
