A/N - So there you have it, the new chapter. I hope it meets your expectations:D I'm kind of inspired now with such romanticism.
Just wanted to thank all of you guys that review, fav and so on. Your opinions are priceless and very important to keep me going and providing inspiration to my daily writing.
Also, the contest&Challenge on this fic is still on (details in my website, Link in my profile) and let me just tell you, what I have seen up to date is very gratifying. Check out the latest contribution of Yamilian, at her DArt account, for the First-Kiss Challenge, an amazing piece of work there! And if you want to participate, please do - the prizes are seducing! LOL
Anyway, enough ranting. Enjoy your readings!
This one starts with Sora, again.
Chapter 26.
There was wind and cold, icy rain hurting my skin. The trees moved like they had a life of its own, the dead, fallen leaves swirling around me… yes, I was there, laid down, with no clothes on, embracing myself for protection. I could barely keep my eyes open, the wind was so strong that made tears fall along my face. Suddenly, there was a presence, everywhere and nowhere… surrounding me… trapping me… torturing me. That presence landed next to me, black hard boots next to my face. The wind settled for a soft breeze, and I didn't know if I should look up, to see who it was, so damn close to me. That presence seemed familiar, but at the same time… it exhaled terror. Horror. Slaughter.
My curiosity prevailed. Fearful, tired and with almost no strength left, I glanced at it. Slowly, I scrutinized the form that I had in front of me… the feet…the long legs, that muscled male silhouette... the glowing hair, fluid, hiding partially his features, indistinctly misshaped with the shadow that surrounded us. I couldn't speak, nor say his name.
His right hand held a long sword, a gigantic piece of steel, shining, threatening. I searched for his eyes, but I couldn't only discern the place where his facial features were. The darkness hid them. There was only that intimidating muted being.
"No words."
His voice was distorted, far away from the place we were. Who was this man, after all?
"Just actions." He added, as if he was completing a thought. His grasp on his sword became harder… I noticed a frenzy was starting to invade him, and he suddenly started to move his sword.
"You cannot escape. Your soul is mine."
I gasped, scared.
Soul?
"Welcome your new owner, Sora."
And, with that, he just moved his sword in my direction. I could feel the windy breeze of steel ready to hit my body. He was going to cut me in half. I didn't know if I was able to scream, but fear possessed me. I closed my eyes and I heard myself scream, a sharp, acute noise bathing the night.
Then all around me was dark, warm, comfy and quiet.
I felt my breathing heavily, and I listened to my voice, an extension of myself before, but now it seemed more real. I still felt the tingle and the feel of steel in my abdomen – the result of that supposed deadly strike.
I was then that I realized everything hurt. I couldn't perform a single movement without excruciating pain accompanying it. My forehead burned, as well as my lower lip and several areas along my thorax and abdomen.
What is wrong with me?, I thought.
I tried, with difficulty, to open my eyes. I was in a place, a bedroom… but it wasn't my own.
Where am I?
I didn't have time to get to any conclusion, because I felt a hard hand - a male, huge hand in my forearm, grabbing me quietly.
It all broke loose in that moment. It was that thing, it was going to kill me this time. It was going to take my soul away.
Tears started to form in my eyes as I tried, fighting against the pain I felt in all my body, to free myself from that hand, from that grasp that seemed to be glued to my forearm.
"No!" I said, as I tried to get away from the place where I was laying. It was a bed – a huge, dark bed. It was somehow familiar, this place…
What on Earth?...
However my movements were ridiculously slow and awkward to flee successfully. That same very thought surprised me… I was laid down in someone's bed, hurt, barely capable of moving like a normal human being…
That determinate grasp didn't loosen, nor did he let go of me. Instead, he moved swiftly. It seemed to me he was rising from someplace beneath the ground. The dark and the shadow that surrounded us made him seem even more unrealistic than… than before.
"No! Let me go!" I said, my voice weak. I tried to move my legs – ah, but the pain. It was agonizing.
"Calm down, you're in shock."
It was his voice. His?
I had a terrible time remembering what had really happened. I didn't know what was real or not, it seemed reality was mangling with… hollowness. Was he the one out there trying to kill me out there? Was it real, or…
"No, you want to hurt me…" I said, my voice breaking and the tears falling down, finally, chaotically spreading across my face. Fear added to the equation as I sensed him grab my other forearm, forcing me to keep quiet, laid down, next to him, while he remained partially above me, not touching me completely.
"You said you w-wanted my soul…" I sobbed, not knowing what else to say.
"Nonsense." He said, in response, calmly as ever, his upper body silhouetting close to mine.
My breathing was heavy and I felt contradictory emotions – it was like my mind was trying very hard to believe something, but other part of me refused to do so.
"You wanted to kill me." I breathed, as if I had no air left inside me. "I saw you… I felt it…"
One more sob and fresh tears came out, staining the pillow. I felt him approach me, his face next to my left ear. My face reflexively moved in the opposite direction.
"I would never do that, Sora." He whispered. His voice was so calm, so soothing, so… true. It was hard not to believe his words.
"But I-"
"It was a dream. A bad dream. It's over now."
Was it? Had it been a dream? I was close to panting right now.
"A… dream?" I said, with difficulty to believe in what was real… or not.
"I'm here. No one's going to hurt you anymore."
His words, amazingly, had a comforting effect on me. I felt my uneven breathing starting to become regular, as tiredness flowed all over me and I felt my body relax a little. His grasp on my forearms loosened until he let me go completely.
I didn't dare to move. His face was resting close to mine, his mouth still next to my hear. Maybe he wanted to say something to me. Maybe he wanted…
"Rest, Sora. It's barely been three hours since you fell asleep." He declared. "You'll feel better in the morning. I'll be here…"
I didn't know why, but the perspective of knowing he would be here, with me, made me feel better.
Safer.
I gave in to the heaviness of my eyelids. I could only feel his touch, surrounding me. My face turned to meet his own, but I didn't found a cheek or a cheek-bone. I found, instead, his neck. A warm, soft skin in which my face rested. There was an arm grabbing me. No, not grabbing. Holding. As if I would break apart if that arm wasn't there.
His warm hand rested on my hip bone, his touch mangling with the tissue I had covering part of that area, as well.
My arms rested next to my body, because I didn't have the strength to hold on to him. But I would, if I had the animic force to do it.
I would touch his skin and anchor myself to him, as if he was my salvation.
I would…
I would.
Sharp pain awakened me from the profound sleep I was experiencing.
I didn't know what time it was, where I was, and completely unaware of what had happen.
No, wait.
I took my time thinking. The pain didn't let me rush the thinking process. Wait, what had happened, after all?
Gradually, the events came to my mind, clear as water. Slowly, it all began to make sense. And now I knew why every part of me hurt as hell.
My eyes opened and I realized my face was partially swelled. I tried to reach it with my hand, but someone stopped me from doing it. Apart from not being able to move my arm… at all.
"Don't touch it."
I would recognize his voice everywhere. Sephiroth. The General. Oh, I remembered now… he had come… after all. For me. God, he had saved me. Again.
I had a lot of questions to ask him. Why did you take so long? What was that thick rain all around us? Do you have a wing? Am I insane? However, right now, there was no time or occasion to talk about that. The agonizing soreness I felt all over didn't let me… and I had more pertinent matters to think about.
"I can't move…" I declared, barely whispering. I was scared that I wasn't going to be able to move ever in life that I almost burst into tears in that very moment.
"It's temporary." He said, somewhere next to me, at my right side. Where was he? Sitting some place? "Nothing is broken, you're just sore. Give it time and you'll heal."
I gulped in response, trying to find his face. Where was he? Why was he hiding from me? I moved slowly my head towards that voice. As my eyes focused on him, I could see he was actually sitting – where, I didn't know, but I could see his bare chest and his arms, resting in his knees, with his hands grasped. His eyes were neutral and his fine hair was amazing as always. It was daytime already, I could see the sunlight discreetly peeking through the window, which was half-open. But it was early – maybe, just moments after dawn.
"How are you feeling?" He asked, visibly tense.
"It hurts, everywhere. I can't… " This was despairing.
"I'll help you until you can." He said, trying to ease my pain – both mental and physical pain.
I didn't know what to think and I didn't have any idea of what he meant with that. The only thing I knew was that I was close to become invalid and my face felt all distorted. I must look… a monster. Tears formed instantaneously. The sadness and the impotency I felt were overwhelming. With difficulty, I tried to move my hand towards my skin. It felt rough, and faster I realized I was patched all over.
I would have scars. Lots of them, all over my body.
"Oh my God…" I said, my voice breaking. Even the frail attempt to cry was painful. My face ached as the muscles twitched, and tears fell, staining the pillow and the sheets.
Then I realized he was moving – in my direction. Not that he was far from me before – he wasn't. But his hold prevented me from touching my own wounds, and faster than I could predict, his face and form lingered above me, a mask of worry decorating his fair complexion.
His thumb reached my eyes and he, softly, cleaned my tears away. His mouth opened slightly and I realized he wanted to tell me something.
"Sora, listen." He said, while he rested both of his arms next to me. Probably he was sit next to me as well. "You were severely wounded. You almost died out there. I had to… " When he paused, I realized he was thinking what I was now remembering – the "cleaning-up" shower. As if it wasn't enough, mortification spread all over me. "… clean you up and take care of your wounds. It's a miracle you don't have a fever by now, after what you been through last night."
After a breathing cycle, he continued, never leaving my eyes.
"You're going to be okay. Your bruises will look ugly in the next week, but that's just it. Bruises. It will pass. Nothing is broken."
Only my heart…, my mind added. Fresh tears appeared again and I felt my lower lip and chin tremble. God, I didn't want to cry. I didn't. But I guess my body had other ideas.
"Don't cry. You're safe." He said, while he caressed my hair, next to my left ear. His face was so beautiful, and I must seem a complete wreck.
Without warning, he lifted my upper body from the bed and he got me into a sitting position, facing almost instantaneously his chest. With difficulty, I tried to reach my own arms to touch him. I succeeded, after some failed attempts. His arms held me, preventing me from falling. His touch was soothing. And it was then I realized I had a minuscule amount of clothes on me. I wanted to ask him about it, but I didn't have the strength to do it. All I could do was stay, half-sit, whimpering at any movement, my forehead resting in his chest while his large hands grabbed me.
It was then I sensed something glued to my lower lip.
"What's… this?" I asked.
He didn't move us an inch.
"A stitch. You had a pretty bad cut in there."
"Will it-"
"No scars." He said, interrupting me before I could ask him what I wanted to. Oh, he really was good at this. Both healing and guessing my thoughts, I guess.
However I felt too tense to relax against him properly. In other occasions, I would, without thinking twice – but now I couldn't.
"How am I supposed to…" I wasn't able of finishing that sentence. I didn't know why… but maybe because I was getting to close to realize I wouldn't be capable of being self-sufficient, for a considerate amount of time. I wasn't used to be dependent on someone – in any way… and much less like this. Out of nothing, simple tasks I used to take as granted came into my mind, and I wondered how could I be able to carry them out alone.
"I'll help you." He said, his tone decisive. He really meant it.
Oh. My. God.
That was all I could emotionally declare.
The next couple of days were terrible, affecting both my ego and my conscience.
He did help me all right. With everything. Even with things I couldn't imagine he would. After our little conversation by the bed, he decided I needed to go to the bathroom – basic needs and diary hygiene. I had to go through the mortification of having him helping me to sit me in the toilet, brushing my teeth (yes, he even assisted me on that) and cleaning once a day the wounds I had all over me.
Or course, there were some incidents.
The first one came right after he carried me to his bathroom and I had the chance of looking myself at the mirror. I cried like a five-year old next to him – because I couldn't stand on my own foot alone – and then, after guaranteeing me at least ten times that I wouldn't look like the patient of Dr. Frankenstein forever, he removed the mirror out of the bathroom until he decided otherwise.
The second one concerned the meals. Apparently, he did know how to cook – maybe too well. Substantial soups, liquids, fruit juices and water – lots of water were my main menu. And painkillers, of course. Most of the times I wasn't hungry, but he forced me to eat the whole thing, under penalty of not healing properly. Every meal I did make the effort of slurping the whole thing, and he claimed that I had to learn to understand who was in charge.
"I'm interested in you getting better, young lady." He said, his voice half-disappointed, when I flinched at the sight of food.
However, the thing that disturbed me the most was the fact that he seemed not to sleep at all. Each time I woke up, each time I moved in bed, given the residual pain I felt, he seemed to be there all the time, looking at me, arranging the sheets and the blankets, asking me if I was okay or not; if I had had a bad dream or if I needed to go to the bathroom; if I was hungry or if I wanted him to carry me to my own bed, even if he was so strongly against it.
I did ask him why he insisted in having me on his bed. His answer couldn't be more neutral: "If something happens, you're here next to me. It saves a lot of wandering to your room to check on you constantly. Do you realize how many times you whimper in your sleep?"
I almost felt bad asking him about it. So, I was there just because it was "practical" – that was very military of him. And that was it. Funny thing was, I had a feeling it wasn't only because of that. But I kept silent, nonetheless.
So, I remained in his bed the whole time, mostly dozing off and trying to catch some health improvement. But, as expected, not much had improved in only two days – at least judging by my external appearance, as I scrutinized my whole body, when he helped me getting sat. I was starting to notice dark marks all over my body, clearly the places where I had been punched.
I had so many questions to ask him, so many things I wanted to tell him. But it seemed not to exist the right moment to do so – ever. His eyes were always so distant, so focused on something I couldn't grasp.
One night, I dared to ask him about something.
"Did you listen to me when I called you the first time?"
I was laid down on his bed (as usual) and he stood next to his closet, with his hands in a drawer, looking for whatever-it-was. He immediately stopped after processing my words.
"Yes, I did." He said, never turning in my direction. Suddenly, he seemed very interested in the content of that drawer.
"Why took you so long?" I asked, finally.
He sighed in response. I couldn't see his face, but I could bet he had his eyes closed and was concentrating real hard.
"I wasn't exactly close, Sora." His voice sounded painful, as if he was remembering something very unpleasant.
"Where were you?" I insisted. I knew I was pushing it, but I wanted to know. I had to know.
"Does it matter?" He finally said, turning his face to me, gazing into my eyes. His half-naked body, only with his dark boxer shorts on, seemed almost ethereal. Not from this world. Breathtaking.
"I got there in time, haven't I?"
What's in those eyes I cannot indentify?
"Yes, but…"
He didn't let me finish the sentence.
"I went as fast as I could, believe me. But I wasn't close, Sora. I basically had to fly to get there."
I knew it was a form of expression, but his reference to "flying" brought some memories back.
"I saw you with a wing, you know?" I said, looking elsewhere. "You looked like… a black angel coming out of the sky. It was huge. And dark."
I remembered too well that image. But I had also the notion I wasn't exactly sober in that exact moment.
When I found his stare again, I felt somehow scared. He had such a wary expression on his face, that I could swear he was thinking something terribly unpleasant at that moment. What, had it been something I said? About the wing or… or the angel thing?
"You were in shock, Sora. You would have seen everything by then."
Yes, he was totally right. But… his face. He wasn't being utterly true to me. This whole feathery conversation bothered him, and I didn't know why. But he had a point – as always. I was in shock and, most likely, delusional. Seeing him "wearing" a wing wouldn't be that out of place, after all. And, if I really thought about it, he looked pretty hot with that thing in his back – it gave me the sensation it was part of him altogether. Even… even if it was all my imagination.
"I guess so." I said, ending up agreeing with him.
Out of nothing, I saw him step in my direction fast and determined. When he was next to be, he removed the sheets and blankets and looked at me, for what it seemed forever – but it was only a second, because he did bend and put his hands beneath my back and my knees and… he got me off the bed, carrying me like a princess, as he always did for the last two days.
I gave him a puzzled look, without knowing what he was doing, where he was taking me. His stare didn't meet mine as he walked towards the bathroom.
I felt a shiver running all over me. And it wasn't from feeling cold – the whole place was warm, he had turned the heater on 24/7 since that night.
"W-What are you doing?" I asked, my voice weak as I tried to get a hold on him, my arms around his neck. I failed completely – it seemed like I was trying to touch him all over, purposely.
God, what a shame.
Okay, if I was feeling shame by now, his answer to my question didn't contribute to keep my pulse steady.
"It's shower time."
A/N - Yeah, I know it's cruel LOL But this got me wondering... what do YOU think it's going to happen? Will they shower? will something... happen if they do? What would you like to see happening in there? Showering... or not. That's the question.
Let me know. :D Review with all your heart, people!:D Can't wait to read your feedback!
