Man, how excited I've been for these last two chapters. I'm ready to leave Gabriel and Charlotte and Klaus to live a happy life. After this story is finished, I will follow another plot line I have made up for FullMetal Alchemist—most likely.
Enjoy!
The Call, Regina Spektor
It started out as a feeling, which then grew into a hope, which then turned into a quiet thought which then turned into a quiet word.
And then that word grew louder and louder 'til it was a battle cry. I'll come back when you call me, no need to say goodbye.
Just because everything's changing doesn't mean it's never been this way before. All you can do is try to know who your friends are as you head off to the war.
Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the light. You'll come back when it's over, no need to say goodbye.
You'll come back when it's over, no need to say goodbye.
Now we're back to the beginning it's just a feeling and no one knows yet. But just because they can't feel it too doesn't mean that you have to forget.
Let your memories grow stronger and stronger 'til they're before your eyes. You'll come back when they call you, no need to say goodbye.
You'll come back when they call you, no need to say goodbye.
25: Sickness of Sorts
Charlotte's POV
"Charlotte! I'm coming!"
Ah. Those words. I know those words. Who said them? Is he here? No he can't be, he doesn't exist.
Footsteps drew nearer. They were padding quickly towards me. My bedroom door swung open, hitting the wall with the recognizable thump. Someone placed a bottle of water on my bedside table and then kneeled down next to my crumpled form on the bed.
I wasn't feeling well. My mom figured I had the flu, considering a cold wasn't that severe…usually.
"I missed you. Here, this is for you," that someone said. I knew those words somehow, I know that he had said them to me.
It wasn't fair! Those words, so warm, so close, but the voice was all wrong! Why me? Why did I have to suffer while this imaginary love of mine did not? And why in the world was in love with him?
I didn't know whether I really cared who had just come in, so I decided not to bother. My eyes seemed to refuse to look at anything else but the face that appeared in my mind when I closed my eyes. The person beside my bed sighed, and I knew that their voice was familiar. I was too preoccupied with my sketchy memory to burrow deeper into that which was next to me.
I wanted to be part of my strange dreams. Whoever this man was I kept seeing…apparently, at some point in an unknown time, I loved him. But now it was a particularly repetitive dream/nightmare I received weekly. The dream was always remotely the same. It would be the same time of day in each dream, and he would be sitting across from me on the bed in a room that we both knew. Only most of the time, our conversation changed with each dream. Sometimes he'd ask me how I was, others, he tells me he loved me, or missed me awfully. I didn't want to hurt this man, by rejecting his love, and I didn't plan to…since, well I found myself spiraling down into love with this man. Who I've never met. But in my dream, everything seemed so real, and he seemed to be too. We'd talk, and he'd talk about me and himself sometimes. Waking up from those nightmares, the warmth would rush away from my body, like I was diseased. I'd scream out of panic, my eyes would fly across my bed, scanning the room for him. Every morning, he wasn't there.
I was sick because he wasn't here.
I'd cry at daybreak, mourning of his absent form.
I know. I'm lame. But my soul and heart ached together, screaming for him. Ignoring the humans that tried to help me, I'd keep telling myself, "You'll live Charlotte. Just pretend he's died and left you."
So maybe he had died. Maybe we'd been in a car wreck together and I'd gotten amnesia and he'd passed away?
But I don't want to believe that!
I want someone to hold me, my body was crying for it.
My body heaved with a cough and I securely wrapped my arms over my chest. I sighed outwardly, turning my sweaty neck to face the one who had brought the water. It was my sister, Elizabeth. She was older than me, and evidently, she flew out here to see me, only to find out I had to flu. But like I said, I think I was just… sick from aloneness. She looked into my orbs, but I closed them, thinking she might read that it was not her I wanted at the moment.
His touch was only in my dreams and permitted only what I remembered obtaining, but it still sent spurts of warmth up my cold skin.
Fine. I'll admit it, I'm a cheesy girl that in love with a dream figure. That's almost as bad as having a crush on a fictional character. I moaned. Well maybe he did exist, perhaps.
This pain. It was from the no-contact I'd had. I ached. In my soul, heart, ached to be held.
Elizabeth noticed my discomfort, I felt her shift from side to side next to the bed.
I felt a hand on my forehead, feeling my temperature. "Wow. You're burning up. Do you want any Tylenol? Ibuprofen? Something to cool you off, how about some water?"
I shook my head once or twice for each suggestion she made. I only wanted one thing and I was determined to be a baby about it until I got it. Like I was howling for my toy, and I wouldn't talk to anyone unless I got what I wanted. Spoiled, I know. I was dwelling in the selfishness stubbornly, a slight grimace playing on my lips.
"Come on, Char, give me something to do, I feel helpless," She said guiltily.
I smirked automatically, "When aren't you?" I said, with a chuckle. My bad jokes weren't funny, but I laughed at them for a reason to laugh. "Don't worry about it. I'm sick. Let me be sick. But… there is something you could do for me," I insisted, thinking up something to get her out of my apartment. She leaned forward a bit, eager to help. "Why don't you run down to the library and pick up my book? Please? I could use a good read in bed."
Without much of an acknowledgement, she got up and grabbed her coat. "Okay. Be back in a minute," She announced.
"Take your time."
Ah. Peace. It is where I can indulge in self pity and chocolate.
"Ugh," I groaned. Admittedly, I was having trouble with motivation. My muscles and brain kept telling me: Why should you get up? There was no logical reason for you to get up. Especially when no one cares if you get up or not.
That one hurt badly. The no one cares jibe. It stung. Because as much as I wanted this mysterious man I loved—didn't remember his name either—and the caring disposition he came with, everyone else's gentleness and kindness passed through me, unwanted. I begged to have this man, and no other. As teen-drama-y as it sounded, I thought I might die without him.
I sighed. I must get up.
I blinked. The sun was lighting up my room naturally, giving the blue color on my walls a certain glow. I struggled to sit up, pushing back my covers.
Running a few fingers through my matted hair, I pulled through the mess of black locks decorated into a rat's nest. My muscles pulled and groaned as I slid my legs to the side of the bed, readying my feet to take on my own weight. "Ahh. What is your name?" I asked, the ache growing in my chest. I proceeded into my small kitchen, picking out a pot from the cupboard and placing it on the stove. I made a short trip to my small collection of dry foods, pantry. Snatching up a small container of oatmeal, I made my way back to the stove, pouring the right amount of water in the pot and turning the heat up. I set the oats off the side. I sat down at my small kitchen table then, thoughtful.
What is his name? I questioned myself, as if the man himself might answer me. Running several possibilities through my mind, hoping one would catch my fading memories. Larry? Gary? Terry? Ken? Nathanial? Ian? Bob?
What is it! I demanded to know! My body must know, if only to ease my pain.
My head wandered off into a section in my thoughts I rarely let it reach. Frustrated with myself for even letting it get to me, I stormed up off my chair. Grabbing a towel from the pile of clean laundry—still quite fresh from the cleaners down the street—I tried not to see his beautiful face. Failing completely, I used my head to gain access to the bathroom, listening carefully for the regular squeak the hinges made. I'd do anything to take my mind off of him, his face, and that soft, blond hair. And those gorgeous blue eyes.
I kicked the tub in my anger to concentrate of something else. He doesn't own my thoughts. I don't know him, per se. Not personally, not intimately, not at all. And that fact hurt too.
Throwing my white towel to the chair beside the shower, I turned to crank up the water in the cubicle. It blasted out cold, but I countered that by flipping the hot knob over. It started to get warmer.
I stripped and jumped in, trying to work the knots in my hair as I shampooed it. A flash of memory returning to my mind stopped my hands.
His face displayed before me, peaceful, smiling at me. I felt comfortable in this memory, like I was loved deeply. He smirked at me, radiant in contentment, "How did you sleep?" He asked conversationally. I was a tad taken off guard by the question, but my mind answered him in a normal way.
"Wonderfully. I dreamt about you," I said, a smile escaping from my lips. He nodded thoughtfully, glancing off in another direction.
And then, the picture disappeared, sending waves of disappoint through me.
I finished my shower quickly and got out, wrapping my towel around myself. I heard my front door slam shut and someone enter. That's got to be Lizzie.
"Hey, Liz?" I asked, leaning against the steamed bathroom door. Suddenly, the door underneath of me shook. Someone was trying to get in.
My heart nearly stopped beating. I flipped the lock over and backed away from the door.
Someone had broken in.
It wasn't Liz, I was sure. She would have said something to announce her entrance. This was a thief…or worse.
"Open up!" hollered a male voice. It was deep, but I could tell it was young. He must have been in his twenties at most. "I meant it, open the damn door!" He yelled, the door knob jerked relentlessly. I scrambled for some clothes. I was going to make an escape somehow, but with something covering me. I got on what I could, and ended up wearing my blue t-shirt that smelled of sickness, and some gray shorts.
I made for the window, though my time putting on clothes had given him more than enough time to weaken the wooden door separating us. I had trouble with the window. My fingers were wrinkled from the water and they slipped, but eventually the window squeaked open.
He heard that easily. I jumped at the volume of his voice. It'd been a while since anyone had full-out yelled at me.
"Don't you dare run away, I've got a gun, I'll get you anyway," He threatened darkly.
So this was a homicide in the making. Why me? What had I done? I was utterly innocent! And plus—even though this hardly mattered—I'd been sick for the last few days, what could've I done?
I climbed out onto the fire escape, almost slipping on the rusted metal. I could feel the gritted rust snagging at my tender feet, tearing the skin. I heard the door break through. I panicked, putting one foot on the ladder downwards. But before I was going anywhere, a hand yanked at the collar of my shirt. He didn't say anything. I assumed he was trying to stay quiet for the people who might be listening. I got in a good scream before his hand smacked over my mouth. I struggled to breathe. My weak lungs had be out of commission during sickness, and they hadn't had this mush action in a while.
"Let. Me. Go…" I mumbled through his palm.
He chuckled a bit, pulled me back through the window. He didn't bother to be gentle, and my body hit the a lot, I could feel the bruises forming. When we were in the bathroom again, he pulled me back into the kitchen. He held me from one hand, by the collar of my shirt—which was ripping by the way—and with the other he cradled his shot gun. My feet were the only thing keeping me from choking, I held my weight up as much as I could, and yet, he always pulled them out from under me as he moved. My sight tried to catch some sort of evidence, in case I ever had to recognize him again. There was blood on his shoes. A lot of it. Dark and dry. Dark brown jeans, but very clean seeming otherwise.
I sputtered, and he stayed quiet. He threw me to a chair, and I saw hatred on his face as my eyes grazed it. Before I could move from the seat, he shoved the gun to my forehead.
"Now, listen up Char, I'm going to ask you some questions, okay? You answer them how you know," He said evilly, seeping with wickedness. "Now, if you lie, I'll know, and I'll persuade you till you tell the truth…either that or you die. Do you understand?"
I nodded. I understood perfectly. The fear stocked my adrenaline, making my mind run very clearly. I saw my consequences.
"Good," He replied. "First question, do you know a Gabriel Embick?"
I thrashed around at this question. Somehow, those words had struck a chord in my memory. A chord I didn't even know I had. The cold business end of his gun touched my throat, and his finger itched at the trigger. "Tell me, or I'll shoot." I shook my head firmly. I had some sort of knowing in my heart. I knew this person, and I loved him. The trigger was sliding backward as that man's finger brought it back, but just in time, the water boiled over on the stove. I had forgotten about putting it on before getting into the shower. My murderer was surprised, and looked up to confront whatever had made that noise. I pulled away and slipped under the table, feeling immediately foolish. Surely there were better places to hide than under a tiny table—that didn't even have a tablecloth to speak of. He walked over to the stove quickly, turning the stove off with a simple flick of the knob. I ungracefully got out from under the table and jostled myself to get to the door.
"Oh no you don't," He snarled, coming after me. A foot came down on my back. I fell forward.
I tasted blood. I had bit my own tongue. I opened my mouth, spraying blood onto the boot that was planted next to my face. He didn't move. He didn't even snap a remark at my action. He pointed the gun at my forehead, again slowly I watched the trigger slid back. When I stopped to listen to him, I heard another noise. My attacker must have heard it before me, because he suddenly looked very frightened. "Get off me!" I shrieked, swinging my body over, trying to shake his foot. It worked. He had been too distracted. My breath caught as the door swung open, slamming against the wall again. I was too preoccupied at the moment, messing with the end of my shorts. His stupid boot was still stuck to the hem of them.
"Charlotte! I'm coming!" Someone shouted towards me. I was struck with the emotion this voice zapped me with.
The man above me was shoved over, and my shorts came free. Then, with defensiveness reigning in their action, the hands of my savior pressed down on my attacker's shoulders. The evil man dropped his gun, shaking with terror.
"Good bye Scratch," said my savior in a wonderfully appealing voice.
This Scratch screamed high-pitched, his eyes clouded over, dark fog seeping into his dark eyes. Then, with a bright flash—which stunned me—he was gone. All that was left that might have called out to his ever being in existence was the handgun on the floor. I shivered, but suddenly I absolutely needed to see his face. The features of the man who saved me, I wanted to see and remember them.
So I looked up at him, nearly dreading the worst. What if he was scary and had a gun too? Maybe this man wanted to kill me too.
Swallowing back the alarm his familiar face brought me, my eyes glanced over at his companion, a tallish sort of girl with spiky reddish-brown hair. She smiled at me. I looked back to him. My eyes did a gradual sweep over his appearance. His blond hair was the same length I remembered it, his pale, healthy looking skin, and those dazzling light blue eyes. Those eyes stared at me, afraid. He was next to me, his arms shaking, sort of stretching out. His eyes couldn't hide his pain, and the concern for him crept up on me. Why was he in so my distress? I could see it plainly on his beautiful face, creasing into his brow and darkening his pale under-eyes. He had been suffering for a long time. It was overwhelming. The want to hold him. To comfort him, and to love him. I wondered if the strong desire mirrored in my eyes. Looking into his, they seemed to copy mine. I could see that…
I gasped loudly, blinking hard. It was Gabriel. Gabe. My Gabe. Xero. The Anti-Angel. Angel of Darkness. Xerox. Gabriel Embick, my husband. My love.
Memory swept through me and I collided into him, curling up there. I loved Gabe. I loved him dearly. I was married to this man and he loved me. I remember all the worlds and the game and everything. Everything that had happened to us. But more than that, my current position in his arms brought tears to my eyes, and I tucked myself into him.
His arms had wound around me, gratefully pulling me to his chest. I was oblivious to everything else that might take place around us.
His face buried itself in my wet hair and he inhaled deeply, in taking my scent, me.
Then he let me free a bit, just to hold me back so he could see my face. "I missed you," he said unsteadily—hinting that he was lying.
He had missed me more than he could say. I knew it was so.
I used the back of my hand to wipe the left side of my cheek feel of wetness. "I missed you more than you can imagine," I said softly, leaning forward a bit to rest my head on his shoulder. He sighed contently, picking the rest of me up. He held me there, against his chest, and I felt that his sigh was to wash the uncertainty he might have had earlier.
He sighed again, and turned towards the girl next to him. Courtesy didn't really have an effect on me now, thought usually I'm sure I would have flushed with embarrassment at the thought of being to rude—ignoring a third party. But the auburn girl before us only smiled genuinely. She sighed with the obvious contentment Gabriel had.
She was very glad to see us happy.
Gabriel laid his cheek lightly on the top of my head, inhaling deeply. The reddish-brown haired girl waited patiently as Gabriel smelled my hair. Finally he reopened his eyes and looked to her.
"Madison, this is Charlotte," He introduced. Madison smiled more, and nodded. I smiled, and pulled one hand out of Gabriel's hold to be polite to her and shake hands. Gabriel practically scowled at my decision, taking back my hand instantly after the short handshake.
"It's great to finally meet you, Charlotte," Madison said.
I could feel Gabriel grin widely now, even though I couldn't see it. He angled his chin and lowered it to press his lips to mine. But that kiss only lasted a moment, and then I remembered something important.
"Gabe! Where are your wings?" I felt stupid for not realizing this earlier.
He smirked back at me, and reluctantly he peeled a hand away from my side and pulled kitchen chair out for him to sit on. Madison moved for the stove, refilling the pot and placing it back on the burner. Gabriel sat us down on the chair, holding me on his lap.
"Well Sweetie, someone hacked them off. But don't worry, they'll grow back. In the meantime, I need you to do something for me," he said, almost urgently.
I pulled around so that I could see his face more clearly. It was sort of stern, but the traces of smile softened it by bits. There was no need to question it. I would do anything for him.
I nodded.
He grinned again, "Good. Go into your room and get changed first, and then we'll feed you, we'll need to leave as soon as possible. You're okay with that?"
"Of course. I'll just have to say goodbye to Liz first."
He let me go, and I went back into my room to get changed.
The blue walled room seemed brighter, now that I could see the light at the end of the dark tunnel. I quickly dressed in a pair of skinnies and a red t-shirt, slipping on some good-old durable Converse. I brushed my hair out, still trying at those naughty knots. When I came out, Madison had my breakfast on the table, and they too, were munching on some oatmeal. It seemed obvious again, that they were both very happy to see me.
Gabriel's eyes appraised my outfit, and he took me on his lap again.
"When will Liz be here?" he asked nonchalantly.
Maybe they weren't in a rush after all. Breaking my thoughts, my eyes flashed up to someone sitting at the other end of the counter, where a baby boy was beating his spoon on the table. Memories hit me quickly, remembering the raw word that my mind spoke again and again. Klaus. My baby.
Gabriel followed my eager eyes, and watched as Klaus's sight connected with mine. A huge smile spread across his dimpled cheeks. And then… Liz walked in. Shocked colored her face, draining the blood from its original spots. We all turned to look at her. Gabriel smoothly grinned towards my older sister, throwing her off.
"Hello Elizabeth," said he in a silky tone. "You look well."
She calmed, recognizing his matured appearance at last. "Gabriel Embick! Man, I heard your parents just got back from Florida, rumor has it you were around! Great to see you."
I reclaimed my thoughts and ordered them into coherency, "Hmm I'm rude. Liz, this is Madison—"
"Youngblood," Gabriel answered for me.
"And Klaus—"
"Youngblood," he repeated.
He knew as well as I, telling her that this was me and Gabriel's son was not a good idea. Madison's clever eyes played along.
Liz leaned forward and shook hands with Madison, "What a gorgeous baby you have. I'm thoroughly jealous."
The look that danced in Madison's eyes was saying "you should be", and I stifled a chuckle. Gabriel caught it too, either that, or he was just smiling again, too happy to do anything else. I stepped in to say something.
"Hey Liz, I have to go again. It's a need, okay? So please don't ask questions. I'm feeling great, and I've got my friends here to take care of me. I've just got to go. This is goodbye."
I left Gabe's lap and wrapped my arms around Liz, saying my goodbyes. She protested, but I insisted. Soon, I found myself in the back seat of a Toyota, clutching my baby. Madison spoke quickly to Gabriel something about a man named Remus, who was already in Twilight Town. Their hushed tones were speedy, saying something also about trouble, apparently Lord Averira as causing it.
Klaus was fast asleep in my arms, sucking on his thumb. Madison turned in her seat to look back at us warmly.
"He sleeps so much better in your arms," She observed.
I smiled, noting her rich compliment. Gabriel twisted in his chair too, looking back at us.
We were parked right outside of my apartment, ready to set off.
"You ready?" Gabe asked me.
"You bet."