They stayed that way for awhile, clinging to each other as if one of them would puff into smoke. Neither one of them was sure how to break the silence- how to return to how things once were. Viera felt her chest tighten with a small desire, one that hesitated at the gate of her lips. The feelings from before rushed to the surface. He knew the truth now- didn't that mean there was no use to hide it? Her fingers gently pushed further into his back, memorizing the cool warmth exuding from him.
"Will you help me?" She barely whispered, her grip on him relaxing as she retreated back. The vine-like grip in their arms slivered down to their joined hands, still too afraid to let go. He nodded mutely before standing up and offering a hand, her legs trembling slightly as the room swayed. Catching her effortlessly, he pushed her back down into the chair, grabbing the basin and rag as he walked around the large wings to her back. Dark, nearly black, blood soaked the entire back of her dress. He recognized the mouse grey feathers, reminiscing the feather she shared with him just yesterday. Even though that night was just hours away, it felt as they had grown into years.
Dunking the rag into the basin and wringing it loosely, he ran it across the blood which had dried against her skin. He almost flinched when the wings tensed slightly, his hand tenderly dapping the blood-stained feathers. Despite seeing them with his own eyes, part of him felt as if the entire day was a phantasm- some strange neurosis he had fallen under the guise of sleep. After a few moments, they cautiously relaxed until the broad appendages limply rested by his feet. With the tall arches of the wings gone, he could see her head bowed tiredly as her breathing slowed.
Once he cleaned up the blood to the best of his ability, he gently guided her to the wash-room, telling her he would grab her some new clothes for after her bath. Too tired to heat the water herself, she filled the tub with cold water. Getting undressed was especially difficult with the wings extending from her back. In the end, she ripped it into shreds as if it burned her skin, realizing it was beyond salvaging. The blood had become a symbol of the fear that still stirred in her chest. All it takes is one bullet, her mind kept chanting. Just one- just one, it only takes- She shook her head and attempted to fold the torn strips neatly on the floor before crawling into the tub. It was uncomfortable to bathe in her current shape, but she couldn't bring herself to change back. Having them offered a sense of security that she would be able to save him if those men came back- if anyone tried to take him away. The thought caused her cheeks to grow heavy, her hands trembling slightly, her eyes slamming shut. 'What if's tumbled violently through her veins, the cold water biting into her skin. Through hooded eyes, she watched pink ribbons of blood dance in the water as it melted off, slow and calm. Running a small bar of soap down her arms, a shiver seized her spine. A tight tangle of weeds coiled in her stomach, the dim lights of the room felt like they would crush her into nothing. It's okay now, she told herself. It will be okay.
A light knock on the door signified John had set her clothes in front of the door as promised. Letting the pink water drain, she began the cycle of filling the tub and bathing until the water was as clear as glass- the blood purged from her hair and the salty tears rinsed from her face. She nearly stumbled as she walked to the door and grabbed the clothes, carefully evading the blood which was trailed across the ground. Guilt wrapped around her finger at what a mess she had created, and she made a mental note that she would help clean everything up. Unfolding the clothes, she pulled up a men's shirt curiously. Her eyes fixated on a hastily made cut out in the back, the collar split with a sewed on button and hemmed hole. Putting her arms through the sleeves, she buttoned the collar at the back of her neck and found another button and hole at the base of the shirt, a large gap left open so her wings could move freely.
A strange string rose from her lungs, and on the other end, a sad, grateful smile graced her lips. The same was done to a man's robes, and a soft skirt was folded neatly at the bottom. Getting dressed, she timidly left the bath room and followed the path of blood back to the foyer, the granite floors adorned with scarlet gloss. She found John sitting on the stairway, his back slouched like he was tired too. At the light sound of her footsteps, he looked up and met her halfway before stopping, them both standing awkwardly in the other's presence. Her eyes were focused on the destruction of the foyer- the gun on the floor, the red staining the base of the door, the tumbled over hat rack in the corner of the room. The first room she had ever seen of his house- the blue walls, the yellow accents- it was tarnished beyond repair. Heaviness set upon her cheeks, but she refused to let herself cry. What happened to the simplified designs? Why did everything she touch bleed?
"I'm so sorry." The words tumbled from her mouth, seeping through her teeth. The wings upon her back never felt so heavy- no, perhaps they were almost as heavy as they had been back then.
He stared at the room mutely, his hands hanging slack at his sides.
"Are you hungry?"
She blinked, the words were calm as if none of this mattered- as if he was seeing this room through an entirely different lens. The 'yes' halted at the edge of her tongue, the guilt constricting her throat. I'm such a burden.
"I'll help clean up." He turned his head tiredly, almost frustrated. Why did she always have to be so... A heavy sigh puffed through his mask.
"I left a note for Hans and Nimbe. Let's... " Looking at the grand mess, all he could feel was gratitude. Tomorrow, he could have very well been hanging by a tight thread. Tomorrow, she could have been left stranded in his cold, lonely house.
"Let's pretend there is no tomorrow."
The thought hadn't crossed her mind until a second ago, a flash of anger flickered that they weren't here- that they had abandoned them both.
"Where are Hans and Nimbe?"
"I sent them to town for some errands."
He felt guilty too looking at the house, but he couldn't ignore the heavy feelings in his bones much longer. Stifling a yawn, he drew a small pocket watch from a hidden fold on the inside of his vest. I'll compensate them both for dealing with this.
"If there is no tomorrow, we have about ten hours left." As he spoke those words, he suddenly wished he had done so much more with her. That he had taken her to the city, or even gone into the small town on the edge of his estate. Even though he knew he would wake up tomorrow, he couldn't shake the feeling that his days were numbered. Monstrous secrets growled to life within his bones, telling him everything was coming back to get him once and for all. Karma- perhaps such a thing existed.
"Can we eat in the study?" Somehow, her words overpowered the growing taunts circling in his head.
Once they were both situated in the study with warmed leftovers, nothing could be heard except the scraping of their silverware against the porcelain plates. A gentle fire murmured in the fireplace, and with the door closed, it felt like they were in a safe cave; a haven from the outside world. Once they both finished eating, they stacked their plates on the coffee table, leaving that task to 'Tomorrow' as well. They both had began to count down the hours, and though others might have found it stressing, for some reason, it lifted the terrible weight from both their shoulders. 'Tomorrow' could hold everything they couldn't hold today.
Casting her a timid glance, his body completely sank into the couch. Crunched up in a way to make more room for her wings, he mused that she had taken up a vacant space at Bingsby. The dusty portraits had been empty shells, the rooms use to harbor white-sheeted ghosts. Here, in the soft gold glow, sitting beside someone wild as the flames dancing on the wood upon the hearth, everything was warm. At first, it was uncomfortable- some newly fledged, clumsy thing- but now, it was as precious as the sunset and glorious as the peachy sunrise. The house had a beautiful chorus running through the very walls, the hands of fate conducting a melody more booming than any march and silkier than any lullaby.
Seeing him hanging on the edge of the couch, she bit her lip anxiously. Words upon words wanted to claw her to shreds, but she sucked in a deep breath. Today felt so tedious- the seconds were piling upon one another like snowflakes upon the tallest mountain. Looking into the blazing fire, she realized she would have to be the bright sun- the scorching flame of the dessert, the victor over the shadows of the past. Letting her eyes wander idly, she extended her right wing out and over the couch, the feathers brushing his shoulder lightly.
"You don't have to be so far away," It was a sort of invitation. The mask, the gloves- at times like this, it felt like everything about him was locked away. They kept him out of her grasp- his very existence like tempting whispers. He reminded her of a sort of angel- the less idealized, graceful vision that was painted upon church walls. He was the stone ones that rested over little bodies- the ones that moss grew upon like sashes. 'Talk to me, and I will listen- cry to me, beg to me, confess to me', somehow, that was what the statues spoke upon the dewy graves she used to frequent.
Though he knew he probably shouldn't, he sat next to her like the night of the storm. The wing loosely hugging him, he imagined it was a shield that nothing could surpass.
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