I don't pretend to know anything about drugs or withdrawal. I made this as realistic as I could. So…WARNING – drug withdrawal
Chapter Twenty – The Fine Line between Heaven and Hell
Persia 1875
"Angel!" I shout as I fall to the floor in a crumpled heap, my body shivering from something unknown, something other than cold. Tears begin to fall in an unwavering stream from my eyes, dropping onto the dirty hallway floor. As I continue to shiver, I try to wipe the tears away but my hand shakes uncontrollably and I nearly poke myself in the eye.
I don't know where he's gone off to, but I manage to stand and begin staggering over to the small room, hoping to rest and maybe get myself something to drink, though the prospect of that dirty washbasin makes my insides squirm. As I make my way to the door, my legs wobble once again and I find myself sprawled on the floor as before. This time, I know that there's no getting up.
Deciding that my chances are slim of actually walking to the mattress, I use my arms and pull myself across the room towards the pallet, hoping for rest. When I reach it, however, I feel a strong pair of arms around me, lifting me off the ground and placing me on the mattress on my back. No sooner had I been laid there than a hand has come up and is stroking back my sweaty hair. My vision is blurred, but I have no doubts as to who it is. "Hush, mon ange," he whispers gently, continuing his soft caresses.
I whimper, the shivering completely taking over my body. All I can think about is wishing that I'd not fainted and wasted half of the tea Chandra had given me. The tea…it's not a narcotic. But the shivering…I'm frightened. You've never shivered like this before, and you had many occasions on which to be terrified…but this is different. It all makes sense that it's a drug… The world seems to be spinning around me and my body is the earthquake causing the tremors. Crying out, I sense that I'm thrashing around on the bed, reaching out for something unknown and untouchable.
And then he is there, my…my Angel of Music. I feel my quaking body being gathered up against his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat against my own, though I know that my own is overwhelmingly faster paced. My face is up against the strong column of his throat, and I sense his pulse there too, showing that he is very much alive, not an Angel as I had once thought him to be.
Trivial things begin to spin around in my mind's eye. Did I eat much yesterday? Is my shift still covering me decently? Am I thirsty? Hungry? Wailing again, I bury my face in the comforting angle where his neck meets his shoulder, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. Looking in from the outside, some would think we are a couple through with a night's lovemaking, holding close to one another, basking in the afterglow. But if they know anything at all, they would see that I am not only still a virgin, but not in any mood or place for anything sexual whatsoever.
"Christine…" I hear my name come, as if from some far-off place, though it is clearly choked by crying; I know that sound well. Can it be? My Angel…crying for me? Somehow I manage to look up into his face, only to feel a tear drop down onto my own cheek from his. Mon dieu. Gathering my strength, I raise my arms up around his neck and hold myself there, pressing myself closer as though it will calm the shivering.
I don't know how much time goes by, minutes, hours, days…it all blends together, but I slowly feel the quaking subside, though I still shiver minimally. It is as though I'm waking from a deep slumber, and the words I awaken to are soft and familiar in my ear. Floating, falling, sweet intoxication… Shifting my weight, I let my eyes flutter open to see my Angel barely moving his lips, but singing all the same. "Angel?"
If I had come out of some place in my mind, it is nothing compared to his jolt back to Earth. "Christine!" He sounds more shocked than pleased as I curl my body tightly against his, hoping for some comfort. My eyes remain open and I look out the broken and grimy window; it is dawn, the sky tinged a dusty purplish pink. I admire the beauty of it all, of the sky, of being alive and conscious and, almost subconsciously I suppose, of being with my Angel again. Thoughts of the Holy Father back in Paris wiggle their way back into my mind, but only briefly, as my Angel lifts me and lays me down upon the mattress again, pulling the thin blanket over my body.
"Sleep now, mon amour," he advises, stroking the side of my cheek and my hair. "I will let you sleep as long as you find necessary, and then we will leave this place. I know a very honorable man who would be more than happy to let you stay in his house." I do not hear most of this, nearly drowning in the bliss of being stable and free of that cursed bout of shivering.
As my Angel rises, I call him back. "Angel?" He turns, looking taller than ever from my low place on the mattress. I reach out my hand to him, and I see that it still moves a little, shaking slightly. He takes my smaller hand in his much larger one and proceeds too sit down beside me. "What is your name?" I ask, almost childishly. It's so silly that I never once learned his name in all the years I'd known him. I assumed that he was the Angel of Music and had no need for a name like other angels, but I suppose that I guessed wrong.
"My name is Erik," he responds gently, and, satisfied for the time being, I close my eyes. Before I drift off into sleep, I feel him press a gentle kiss on my forehead, then retreat.