Jonathan
Clary's fists were balled up clutching the sheets around her face. She'd hidden that to cry into the bed. It was soft, but unmistakable, even muffled by a mattress. Jonathan watched her shoulders tremble a moment, her back shifting up and down with the sobs. He'd stayed with her throughout the night, sleeping maybe a few hours before he'd woken to the soft sounds of misery. The salve had worn off in her sleep and while she was beginning to heal now, it wasn't enough that she didn't still feel the pain. He reached out without even thinking about it and ran his finger along the branded symbol between her shoulder blades. It reminded him of a Celtic knot, looping around itself. Each curving line flowing into the next in an endless circle. She flinched down into the mattress at his touch, her breath hitching sharply at the pain. He felt a tiny smile tug at the corner of his mouth and shifted his feathering touch to the unblemished skin at the center of the braided lines of her new rune. It still made her flinch, but the pain was less and she eventually fell still, allowing him to torment her. He had to admit the complacency was a little charming.
"The medicine seems to be working." Jonathan spoke softly, propped up on his elbow to face her. His finger moved to trace the line of her brand once more, smiling to himself when she flinched and sucked down a tiny breath. "It will take some time, but I think you'll be fine. If we keep using the salve, the pain should be gone in a few days. Score one for rapid healing."
Clary mumbled something into the mattress but it was too soft to catch. He slipped his fingers below her chin, turning her head to the side so he could see her face.
"What was that?"
Clary's eyes narrowed, red rimmed from crying. "You're an asshole."
"Well," Jonathan sighed, giving her a soft prod in the shoulder with his fingertips. "This asshole should point out that living in warehouses has done nothing for your hygiene. You're pretty ripe." She snorted derisively, her fist tightening in the sheet with her irritation. "I think you should take a shower."
Clary stared up at him a moment, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "My leg hurts."
"A bath then. At the very least you should wash your hair. After that I'll put more salve on your burn."
"Are you going to be in there?"
He laughed. "Unless you plan to crawl down the hallway."
"Pass." She turned her head back into the blanket to hide her face, content to wallow in her misery. As amusing as it was now, it would get boring quickly. He didn't plan to waste their time alone with her curled up in this bed pouting.
"I've been inside of you, Clary. How are you still embarrassed by my seeing you naked?"
She snorted at that, pushing herself up enough to glare at him. "You're going to use it as an excuse to touch me funny and I don't have the energy to deal with that. How do you not get that I hate everything about you right now? You fucking branded me Jonathan."
Perhaps if he'd been raised in a stable home with loving parents that didn't fear him or beat him to within an inch of his life, hearing this kind of bile might have stirred something inside of him. Something like pity or guilt. Perhaps if he were more like her precious angel Jace, he would have bent over backwards to make amends. As it stood he was stuck on her first comment.
"Touch you funny?" He repeated her comment with a snicker. Clary went red, partly in her continued fury at him, and partly because she was ceaselessly embarrassed when he did or said anything even remotely sexual to her. It was one of his favorite things about her.
"I don't need to take you to the bathroom for that. You're already in my bed, wearing nothing but these adorable, blue panties."
The comment had the desired effect of turning her red as a beet and hiding her face in a tangle of ginger curls.
"Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"That would be boring. If you're just going to lay here, then I guess I'll have to amuse myself." He shrugged, reaching out to run his fingers along the slope of her spine. She rolled away before he could grab her ass, slapping away his hand. He didn't miss the fact that his touch made her shiver.
"I'll take the bath," Clary snapped. She attempted to push herself up, but halfway through her arms buckled beneath her and she flopped back onto the mattress with a hiss of pain. Jonathan sighed, pushing himself off the bed and smacking her ass as he went. Her green eyes blazed furiously back at him for it, but it seemed to have distracted her from the pain, so he'd take her begrudging thanks for that.
"Come here," Jonathan smirked, slipping his arms beneath her and lifting her up into a cradling hold. She was so light. He might have been stronger than the average Shadowhunter thanks to his father's experimentation, but even he knew the girl could use a bit of fattening up. Depression had done nothing for her appetite. Such problems were for another day however. Right now he just wanted to torment his little captive. Her arms went instinctively around his shoulders when he began to carry her into the hall. She was careful to keep her back arched away from his arm, fearful of agitating her brand. When she caught him admiring her bare breasts however, she wrapped an arm across them with a soft curse.
He set her on the counter when they made it to the bathroom. She crossed her arms over her chest while she watched him plug the claw foot tub and turn on the water. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, but her eyes were narrowing in suspicion as he worked. It wasn't until the tub was halfway filled with warm water that she finally broke the silence.
"Why are you being nice to me?"
Jonathan glanced back at her over his shoulder. He couldn't help the brow that lifted in question.
"This isn't nice. This is for the sake of my olfactory senses. You smell like a dog that was murdered in a gutter, where homeless men frequently urinate."
Her brows pulled together, her lips tugging down into a scowl. "Fuck you. You know what I mean."
"I stand by my comment, but what were you expecting?"
Clary shifted uncomfortably on the counter, searching the tile floor as if it might hold answers. When she looked back up at him, it was hesitant, her voice tentative and soft.
"You said you would hurt me here. This isn't hurting me, this is...weirdly domestic."
Jonathan tested the water with his fingers, happy with its temperature. He was careful to keep his expression closeted. She hated it when she couldn't tell what he was thinking, and he was just too curious to see where this was going.
"I believe the word I used was punish."
"Whatever. Why are you...not doing that?"
When Jonathan switched off the water, the sudden silence was almost deafening. Her eyes widened slightly as he stood straight and turned to her. He wasn't smiling, and that made her pale just the slightest bit when he took a casual step toward the counter.
"Are you implying that I should be meaner to you?"
Clary shook her head, stammering as he came to a stop in front of her on the counter. She yelped in surprise when he snatched up her wrists and peeled them away from her chest, pinning them back against the mirror above her head. Her next breath trembled inward, shaking her body as it went. Her bright, green eyes were wide and locked fearfully on his as he looked back at her. He wasn't actually mad at her, but she didn't know that. It was taking everything in him not to crack a smile. She acted as if he were a coiled snake, and while that probably should have offended him, he just found it adorable.
"I can hurt you if you'd like. Hang you from the posts of the bed in my room and whip you like I did in the dungeon. Or maybe I just bend you over this counter and spank you until your ass is so red you can't sit down without wiggling. Is that what you want?"
Her blush was so red she looked like a tomato. It spread down her neck and even colored the tops of her pale breasts. Her breath came fast and shallow and for just a moment he was distracted by the sight of her chest heaving up and down.
"No," Clary squeaked softly, hardly above a whisper.
"No?" He repeated leaning in to invade her space until she was pressing herself against the mirror like she could melt into it.
"No," she said louder. "I don't want that."
"Are you sure?" He watched her give a jerky shake of the head. "So what would you like?"
She swallowed hard, mumbling a reply too quiet to make out.
"What was that?" His tone was flat and hard. It made her wiggle nervously against his grip, eyes falling to the floor.
"Bath," she repeated dejectedly, gritting her teeth. "I want the bath."
Jonathan hummed a soft response, watching her a long, silent moment. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes anymore. The smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth fought harder for freedom. She was fucking adorable when she was flustered, so he decided to push a little harder.
"Would you like me to join you?"
That got her attention. Her eyes snapped anxiously up to his, her mouth falling open.
"What?"
"Would you like me to ask it slower?"
"No I..." Clary shook her head. "I don't want that. I'll take it alone."
"It wouldn't be a problem for me. I can help you wash your calves, and your thighs, and your...other interesting places."
"Jesus," she tried to wrench her arms from his hold but they didnt budge. "No Jonathan."
"I'm just saying four hands are better than two."
"I will headbutt you. I don't even care if it hurts."
He laughed, finally releasing her wrists, though he didn't move out of her space. "That would be ill-advised, seeing as you couldn't run away when I decided to retaliate."
"Are you letting me take a bath or not?" Clearly she'd gone passed flustered and settled right back into brat. That was fine. He enjoyed uppity Clary.
"I suppose." Jonathan grabbed her around the waist, sliding her down off the counter. She wobbled slightly on her injured leg, but he managed to steady her easily enough. When she just glared at his chest with her arms crossed, he tilted his head to smirk down at her.
"You bathing in your skippies?"
Confusion flashed across her face a moment before she glanced down at the only clothing she still had on. Her brows knit in a cute little mix of fluster and irritation before she let out a long breath. She seemed to already know there was no getting around it, so she quickly pushed the blue cotton down her thighs. When it pooled at her feet she turned herself slightly away from him to hide herself with her uninjured thigh. Jonathan neglected to comment on this, figuring he'd teased her enough for now. Instead he helped her to the tub, not bothered when the first sting of water to her thigh wound made her dig her nails into his arm. After a moment, it faded and he watched her shoulders relax in the soothing warmth of the water.
"Try not to drown," he said as he left the bathroom. She snorted and splashed water at him, but he was already out in the hall. He didn't bother to close the door. No one else was here to invade her privacy but him. Instead, he made his way to the master bedroom, kicking passed Valentine's piles of old books and trinkets to get to the bathroom within. While Clary had her soothing girly time, he took a quick shower of his own, contemplating what he would do with her once she was finished. Considering that he'd managed to get her naked, it was hard not to imagine the obvious. Halfway through washing his hair, it occurred to him that this had been the second time he'd threatened to spank her, and the second time she'd sputtered and panicked at the thought. After that his mind was pretty much lost to idle fantasy.
Jonathan dressed in a pair of dark jeans from the spares he kept in his bedroom. The short sleeved, slate colored button up he left open. The way his mind was wandering, it likely wouldn't stay on much longer anyway. He was rubbing a towel over his damp hair when he entered the guest bathroom and found Clary resting back against the edge of the tub. Her eyes were closed, her fiery curls wet and floating like burning vines around her. She jumped when he cleared his throat, blinking up at him a moment as if lost in thought.
"Ready to get out, or are you actively pruning?"
She watched him pull the towel he'd brought her off his shoulder and toss it onto the counter. His own he folded over the towel rack against the wall before he approached the tub. Clary pushed herself up from the tub, though she winced at the way it agitated the sensitive wound on her thigh. He bent to help her when it was clear she wouldn't make it all the way out and wrapped her towel around her with the least amount of fondling he could manage. She winced again when the fabric brushed against the seared pattern between her shoulder blades, so he tugged it down below the mark and let her hold the edges of her towel to her chest.
"I'll apply your salve once you've dried a bit," he said, lifting her up into his arms to carry her back to the bedroom. She didn't resist it, her arms going around his shoulders as if they did this all the time. He wasn't even sure she'd realized how comfortable she was with him carrying her after such a short time. Her mind was somewhere else. Clary stared off into nothing as he took her back to his bed, settling her on the edge of the mattress. She didn't even flinch when he tugged the towel off and used it to dry her long hair as best as he could.
"Penny for your thoughts?" He asked when he'd finished, but her eyes remained distant and clouded. After a moment Clary blinked, seeming to remember where she was. Her arms drew up to cross over her chest again under his attention, her brow knitting together and drawing down.
"I don't think you'd like them."
He crouched down in front of her beside the bed, laying the towel across her lap to hide her modesty. It was a simple comfort, but one he could afford to give when she seemed so withdrawn.
"Tell me anyway."
At first, she only frowned, but after a moment of his steady stare she sighed and relented.
"You can track me with this brand?" Her voice was soft, her fingers tightening around her arms where she crossed them. Jonathan nodded slowly.
"I can."
"No matter where I go?" He nodded again.
"So if Izzy came to rescue me. If the others changed their mind and took me away..."
"You would be the beacon that led me right to them." He didn't sugar coat it. The sooner she realized she had to stay with him, the sooner she might accept her lot in life. Perhaps one day she might even learn to enjoy it. Doubtful, the way things were going, but it was a quiet hope he didn't mind entertaining privately. He stood again, grabbing the glass jar from his bedside table and sat down on the mattress. She frowned at the carpet as he brushed her long hair over her shoulder, hissing softly when he rubbed the first bit of cool mixture over her brand.
"I thought they had written you off," he sighed. "Do you think Isabelle will convince them otherwise?"
"I don't know," she mumbled. "She said she would try but..." Clary trailed off. He wondered if she'd meant to say that aloud at all, or if the pain was too much of a distraction.
"How could she rescue you when the others are so convinced you're a traitor?" It wasn't a kind question, but he needed to know. Clary took another breath and her eyes squeezed closed.
"Because..." she didn't want to say it, but something seemed to be weighing her down until she couldn't hold it in. The words came out in a rush, he could hear the waver in her voice as she fought back tears. "Because she knows what you did to me. What...what we did."
Jonathan paused, absorbing this a moment as he rubbed salve over the last bit of her brand. He smeared a bit across the stitches in her thigh for good measure, figuring it couldn't hurt. He remembered how Clary had promised him her body to stop torturing Isabelle. The girl had been out of it, but clearly not so much that she didn't hear the words.
"She heard you in the dungeon," he clarified and she hung her head with a soft sniffle.
"Yes."
"Do you really think that will be enough to convince them to come save you?"
Her voice broke and she curled around herself. "I...I don't know. I just...I don't know."
"Clary," he sighed. He was about to tell her it wouldn't matter either way, but she sat back up and turned to face him.
"Why can't you let me go?" She demanded hotly. A single tear slid down her cheek as she searched his face. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"Doing what?"
"All of this!" She exclaimed waving an arm to encompass the room. "You hurt me and you treat me like a plaything. You terrorize me and then you turn around and comfort me as if that would ever be enough to make up for it. You keep me on uneven ground Jonathan. You confuse me and I just...I don't understand what you really want from me."
"I thought I was fairly clear about that."
"Because you want to sleep with me?" Clary let out a ragged exhale, dragging a hand back through her damp hair. "But why? Why me? What could you possibly get out of it? Why would you want...just why are you doing this?"
He didn't know how to answer at first. It took a moment of thought, watching her blink away another tear. Her eyes were so bright when she cried, her cheeks flushed. For just a moment he wanted to reach out and brush the glimmering trails from her cheeks, but he sighed instead.
"Because you fascinate me. I don't just want your body Clarissa. Perhaps it's a longing to be close to someone, to feel something. From the moment I met you, when you thought I was Sébastien, I wanted to be closer to you, to anyone is this dysfunctional family. When you let me kiss you I just...I don't know. I wanted that connection even more."
"But it's wrong Jonathan! Don't you understand that? This...all of this, it's wrong!"
"I don't care."
"How can you say that?" She cried. "How can you just shrug it off like it means nothing? How can you even think about it?"
He felt his expression tighten at that. A flash of that bastard angel boy passed through his mind and his voice came out flat and hollow.
"And when you thought Jace was your brother, did that matter to you?"
"Yes! It tore me up inside because-"
"Because you still wanted him. To be with him."
She froze a moment, her brow knitting together. "That's not the same thing. He wasn't my real brother. You are. And you knew that when you kissed me that day."
"I did," he agreed flatly. "And it didn't matter because I wanted you regardless. It doesn't matter now because I still want you. We are all each other have in our father's tyrannical kingdom, and that kingdom grows larger every day. You have so much potential, Clary. You could be so much more powerful if you would just stay with me, learn from me. You wouldn't have to remain locked up in our father's fortress like a princess in a fairytale. We could do such great things, you and I. We are the gifted children of Valentine Morgenstern. Better than any Shadowhunter. Better than him. We can do anything if we stick together."
Her mouth bobbed a moment, before her arms crossed over her chest again, her face setting into a hard stare. "We are not, and never will be, together. I don't want you as an ally because you can't be trusted, and I certainly don't want you as anything else."
Something tightened in his chest at that. A tiny sliver of something he couldn't put a name to. Something unpleasant that settled in his gut like cold snakes. The unknowable thing bled into anger when he couldn't decipher it. Anger that she couldn't be honest, that she refused to see what was so clear. A tiny voice at the back of his mind whispered to hurt her for this stupidity, but he tried to force it down. He wanted her to chose to tell him so that she could admit the truth to herself. He ignored the urge for the easy way out, pressing down the unknowable thing that lurked beneath the thin surface of his control.
Violence was easy. Fear and anger, those things he understood. He knew how to use them against others, and how to feel them in himself. Anger made him strong, fear of failure made him quick and alert. It was the other things, the softer things, that eluded him, slipping through his fingers like sand.
He wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't stupid enough to think it was normal to want to hurt and terrorize, but he knew they came so easily to him it hardly mattered. He knew he'd been different when his mother left him to Valentine, too afraid of him to stomach his presence. She said he was too quiet, that he frightened her. He knew when his father told him every day that he was a monster, that something evil lurked inside him, that it had to be beaten out when it showed itself. Perhaps these were the things that shaped him into this thing, this demon, but it hardly mattered anymore. It was too late to change now. He was a monster, and monsters didn't like to be told they couldn't have what they wanted.
Clary yelped when he pushed her down onto the mattress and climbed above her, pinning her arms down when she tried to bat him away. Her eyes went wide, her breath caught in her chest, and the dark thing inside of him relished that fear. Fed on it. He didn't need her love to have her. He wouldn't have known what to do with it anyway. He wasn't even entirely sure he knew what it felt like to begin with.
"Why do we keep running in circles?" He demanded hotly, watching her shrink away from the fury that must have been carved into his expression. It didn't matter that she was afraid of him. Everyone was afraid of him, even their father.
"Why do you continue to lie to me and yourself as if it changes a god damned thing? Why are you so afraid to admit what we've done? It happened Clary. It was real. You complain and reject until I force you to feel something, and then you pretend it never happened. All the lies in the world won't stop it from being true."
"Stop it Jonathan," she whimpered, turning her face away.
"Then fucking admit it!" He shouted. "Admit what we did. Admit that you liked it. Stop pretending that you feel nothing." She shook her head, tears spilling down the sides of her face and back into her hair.
"Tell me the truth Clarissa! Just fucking say it."
"I can't!" She cried, closing her eyes so she didn't have to look at him, but it couldn't stop the words from spilling forth. He didn't know what did it, but she broke in that instant, collapsing into herself. "I can't say it, because if I do that makes it...it's..."
"What Clary?"
Her voice was so soft, barely a whisper. Her eyes were still squeezed shut to block out his face.
"It makes it real," she breathed. Her voice caught on a sob and she went limp on the bed beneath him. "I don't want it to be real."
"Reality isn't changing, not even for the angel girl who can create new magic."
"That's the thing, isn't it?" She met his eyes with a heavy sigh. "Maybe I can simply will it away."
"That's not how it works and you know that."
"So I'm damned then?" Clary sniffed, eyes going distant a moment. The way she looked in the tub earlier. "And you're the devil."
In the silence that followed, Jonathan felt his heart pounding against his chest. He could feel the pulse of it roaring through him. He stared down at the trembling woman beneath him, and the darkness that had been eating at him like a cancer since he'd been born broke through his control to swallow him whole.
"If that's the role you've given me..."
He let go of her arms, grabbing her thighs instead and wrenching her down the bed to press her against him. He didn't care that he was being too rough, that blood oozed from the wound on her thigh when he squeezed it too hard and popped two of the stitches. Clary cried out, but the sound wasn't fear. She was angry, furious. She slapped him across his cheek, her nails biting sharply into the skin. He growled, a sound so deep and primal he felt it tearing up his throat. The towel he'd used to cover her was wrenched away and tossed to the floor. His fingers closed around her throat as her thighs clutched around his waist and tried to topple him over. He pulled her to him, kissing her until she bit down on his lip and made her own animal sound of fury.
"Fuck you," she cried. Her nails clawed down his chest, breaking the skin, but when he batted them away they returned to his shoulders, pushing his unbuttoned shirt down his arms. He shrugged it off, not caring where it landed. Clary used the moment to roll him to the side, climbing on top of him and shoving him down into the mattress.
He expected her to flee, but she bent over him, grabbing him by the hair, and her mouth crashed into his own. Any other time he might have been thrown by this, shocked by her attacking him back, but now he was hardly thinking straight. He grabbed her wrists dragging them out of his hair to bend them up behind her back, forcing her to sit up, her body displayed above him. She tried to wrentch them free, twisting in his lap but he was stronger. She was momentarily trapped.
Jonathan leaned in, his teeth closing over the pale flesh of her ribs, and she let out a moan. Her hips rolled down against him, pressing herself into the growing bulge within his jean. The sensation temporarily froze him and she managed to twist one of her hands free, slapping him across the face again. It turned his head and she wrenched her other hand free. Her fingers went between them, tugging frantically at the button of his jeans and forcing open the zipper. He caught her wrist before she could push them down his hips and surged forward, pinning her down on her back again. Clary let out a harsh sound, thrashing to be free once more but he pinned her with his body, settling himself between her thighs as she wrapped them around his waist.
He bent to catch her nipple between his lips, sucking in the hardened bud and biting down until she cried out and arched up beneath him. She managed to twist her hand from his grip again, using it to push his jeans down around his hips before she reached into them and closed her hand around his cock. Jonathan moaned down into her breast, nipping sharply at the flesh on a path up the side of her neck. Clary stroked him, her grip almost too tight in their animalistic battle to take control. She made an angry sound at the back of her throat when he grabbed her wrists a third time and pinned them above her head. He searched her bright eyes a moment, not sure what this all meant, and not sure he should stop to care. Clary groaned needily, rolling her hips up against him while he shifted her wrists into one hand and used the other to reach between them, positioning himself between her thighs. Wonder took him for a just a moment at the sight of Clary in such wanton abandon. He'd only seen glimpses of this, and never with such aggression on her side. He almost couldn't believe his eyes.
She cried out when he rocked his hips against her, his cock pushing into her in a single violent thrust. Her thighs tightened around his waist, squeezing around him as he began a rough, frantic rhythm, their hips smacking together almost painfully. He knew he must be hurting her, but he didn't care and Clary was just as lost to the sensation as he was. Her head tilted back. Her wild, red curls tossed out across the blankets as she arched up into him. Jonathan bit into the side of her neck hard enough to make her gasp, pounding into her with abandon.
"You bastard," Clary panted out. "You did this to me. It's all your fault." She twisted her hands in his grip until she managed to free one, digging her nails into his shoulder. He hissed as they broke the skin, claiming her mouth again. She nipped at his lip and their tongues met in a clash for dominance, devouring each other. Jonathan released her other hand, reaching down to close his fingers around the back of her knee to force it up against the mattress. It was easier to fuck her with it out of the way. He was pounding into her so roughly that her breath burst out in a moan each time, sounds that were growing louder as they went.
"Bastard," she panted breathlessly, eyes closing as she lost herself to harsh, overwhelming sensation. "F..uck you...fu-oh god, fuck you!"
"You can't. Blame. Me." He punctuated each word with a slam of his hips, driving her into the mattress until Clary's cries pitched sharply upward. High and reedy and somewhere between passion and pain.
"Watch me," she gasped, staring up at him with wild, green eyes. Jonathan growled, pulling out of her and flipping her onto her stomach. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck, dragging her up onto her knees. The other tugged her thighs apart so he could push back inside of her from behind. She cried out harshly, biting down on the two fingers he pushed into her mouth. He hissed at the pain, tugging them away to grab a fistful of her hair. He turned her head kissing her roughly, pulling at her bottom lip with his teeth before he shoved her down onto her hands and took hold of her hips. She collapsed onto her elbows with a cry, pressing herself back against him even as he pummeled into her like a piston.
"Do you like that?" He asked roughly, his voice so deep and ragged he hardly recognized it.
Her fists balled in the comforter, gripping the cloth until her knuckles went white.
"Fuck you," she gasped, so he rammed into her harder, his hips slapping against the rounded swells of her ass each time he buried himself inside her like an animal.
"Say it," Jonathan growled, his hand slipping down her thigh to find her wound. When he squeezed, she screamed into the bed, nearly collapsing entirely.
"Y-yes...ok? Fuck..yes."
He pounded into her triumphantly and after a few more moments Clary cried out again, her voice rough and ragged as his. She clamped down around him like a vice, squeezing his cock almost too tightly, and the sensation was enough to finally tip him over the edge. He roared out his climax, fingers digging bruises into her hips, before they both collapsed onto the bed, panting.
For a long time they could only lay there, fighting to get their breathing under control, their hearts to stop pounding. Fighting to figure out what the fuck had just happened. Clary was the first to push herself up, turning over to face him. He couldn't read her expression. She buried it in his chest before he could. Curled up against him with a shuddering breath. He felt the dampness of a tear as it dripped onto his abdomen and trailed down into the sheets. His arm snaked around her, tucking her in close, kissing her hair when he felt her trembling. He couldn't tell if it was from the roughness of their sex, or the horror that she'd attacked him back just as fiercely. He didn't know what to think of it himself to be honest. They simply lay there, exhausted and silent, both wondering what the fuck this meant until eventually sleep came, like a soothing balm, to rescue them from confusion.