Darksome Devouring - Part 4
He woke with a gasp from a sleep without dreams.
The light was turned low; pain, distant but familiar like an old friend lingered at his temples and the small of his back.
"Are you awake?"
Muraki started at the sound of that voice and began to claw his way upright until hands fastened around his shoulders, pushing him back.
"Shh, Calm down. You're in the hospital. Muraki. It's okay now."
Slowly, his vision cleared and the darkness retreated into the corners of the room. The bite of needles in his arm, the dreamy haze of morphine…
"Oriya," he murmured, letting his head fall back. Objects looked strange, out of focus, ringed with black around the edges, and Muraki reached to rub at his eyes. Bandages crossed the bridge of his nose, and he traced them slowly with two fingertips. Over his cheekbone, down nearly to the corner of his mouth, back up toward his right eye.
Oriya's hand closed around his wrist, stilling him. "Don't."
Muraki tensed against his grip. "What's wrong with my eye?"
"Muraki…"
He pulled his hand back, and he felt something in his chest tighten, like a fist. "Is it gone?"
"Muraki, it's…" Oriya backed off a step, sinking into the chair next to the bed. "Yes. Gone."
Muraki shivered. He remembered now, all of it.
"I feel much better now that I've eaten," The Corinthian said. A ribbon of blood trickled from the corner of his eye, thin and dark like a crack in porcelain.
"I'm not losing you now, am I, Kazutaka?"
He tried to scream, but no sound came out. He had lost his voice a long time ago.
He didn't feel any pain pain; it had been driven deep inside, where no one could see or touch. And all that was left was emptiness, a hole where madness could leak in.
"You look very pretty. You must be in shock. Are you cold?" The Corinthian grinned, sliding two crimson fingertips past Muraki's lips.
He tasted his own blood, and he choked on it.
Muraki's throat clenched with the memory.
"Try to take it easy, okay?" Oriya said weakly. "You've been asleep for three days."
"What happened?"
Oriya drew his hand back slowly. "It was a serial killer. He got four others before you. You're…"
"Lucky to be alive?" Muraki finished bitterly.
"Yes. Lucky." Slowly, Oriya reached for his hand, as though expecting to be rejected.
Muraki looked away, but said nothing at first. He even shifted a little to make it easier for Oriya to lace their fingers together. Everything about him had been washed of color since the last time Muraki had seen him. His hair was loose around his shoulder, tangled and dull. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed in black bruises.
"You look terrible," Muraki said. "You've been here all night, haven't you?"
Oriya tensed, as though fighting off a sharp pain. "Are you okay, Muraki?"
The corner of his lips twitched. "What do you think?"
"I never know what to think about you." Oriya sighed. "What were you doing there? In that house?"
"I had to go back. Did you follow me?"
Oriya glanced away, and Muraki was struck by the thought that he shouldn't have looked that guilty. Not when he had probably saved his life. "I thought you'd be pretty mad, but I guess… I had to go, too."
Muraki was silent a moment, and then he reached out, pushing Oriya's hair away from his face. The fingertips that passed over his cheek came away damp with tears.
"There's no need for that," Muraki said quietly. "I'm still here."
"I know." Oriya raised his head sharply as if he had snapped abruptly awake. He lifted a shaky hand to wipe at his face. "I know, damnit. I was just worried."
"Worried?" Muraki echoed. "You shouldn't have worried. He wasn't going to kill me."
"How can you say that?"
"He just wanted to talk about a few things. He just wanted to make me see." He lifted a hand to rest just below his right eye. "I can see so much more clearly now."
"Stop it," Oriya snapped, his hand tightening convulsively around Muraki's. "What are you saying?"
"I don't know yet. But it's something I can't ignore anymore."
His breath caught, and slipped from his throat in a quiet sob. "Oriya. What's going to happen to me now?"
Muraki looked up, meeting Oriya's gaze. And he could see reflected there all the shadows that swirled inside himself. He jerked upright, throwing his arms around Oriya's shoulders and turning his face against his throat so that his tears were lost in the heat of his skin before they could really fall.
"What happens to me now?" Muraki whispered.
For a long moment, the only sound he could hear was his own ragged breathing. And then a hand came to rest on the back of his neck, holding him close.
"Now," Oriya said quietly, "I'll keep you safe. There's nothing to be afraid of. "
Muraki's grip tightened; the needle in his arm shifted painfully beneath his skin. "You don't understand."
Oriya sighed, and Muraki felt it all through him. In the rise of his chest, the hitch in his throat, the hot breath spilled against his jaw. "You're wrong. I do understand. And I'll protect you, Muraki, from anyone. Even yourself."
~End
