Pain. All he felt was pain, and fear, and anger. He couldn't
feel his body any more. It was long gone. The demon had long since
found other ways to hurt him, ways that caused far more pain than a
broken bone ever could.

These were the times he dreaded most, the times when he was
allowed to rest, to recuperate. He hated these moments, because he
knew that soon the demon would be back, and he would bring more pain,
worse pain.

The worst pain, worse even than the times of rest, was the
deception. The demon would make him believe that he was free, that his
angel had come for him. He was allowed to touch her, and to kiss her,
and to watch as her eyes turned from the deep brown he knew so well to
the lifeless orbs of whichever servant the demon had chosen to send
that day.

She would be there when he opened his eyes. He knew she would.
He could already smell her perfume. That was something new. The demon
was getting better, or more cruel. There really wasn't a difference
between the two.

She would be there, and she would smile at him. She would open
her arms and gather him into a tight embrace. Slowly, ever so slowly
she would kiss him and touch him and take him to heaven. And then she
would be gone. In her place would be a broken old woman, or a young
woman. Maybe it would be a child. Occasionally it would be a man.

It made no difference to him. She was always gone, with a
stranger in her place.

This time would be bad. He could tell that already. The game
had been stepped up. This was a level he had never been to before. He
could smell her and feel her before he had even opened his eyes.

And then he did open his eyes and the pain was intense. She was
more beautiful than the demon had ever made her before. Her skin
looked so soft and her lips were so red. He longed to reach up and
touch them, but he didn't. He wasn't going to give in this time. He
wasn't going to believe, not again.

She touched him. He flinched at her soft caress of his face,
his mangled and scarred face. She quickly drew her hand back. Her
eyes filled with pain and her lower lip trembled ever so slightly.

He glared at her. How dare this impostor pretend to be his
angel? Who did she think she was? No one else could be his angel.
There was only one and this thing was not she. It couldn't be her.
She was lost to him forever.

The impostor touched him again. Her soft hands trailed the
scars on his face.

He watched in amazement as her eyes filled with liquid.
Droplets spilled over onto her cheeks as her fingers touched his
lips.

Fearful, he reached up one shaking, pale hand to brush at the
tears streaming down her face. He spoke, voice shaking and hoarse
from long hours of screaming and begging for mercy.

"Angel?"