Neela had awoken to the sound of cries. The sound of storms in the wind.
Her heart pounded painfully and yet she could still wonder what was louder, the storm, or the sound of Dean screaming. She sat up slowly and hugged her pulsing head. Her loosely curly hair was caping her slender shoulders, which were slightly damp with sweat. Including her neck and back. She wasn't wearing anything either, besides baggy basketball shorts and a sports bra. So she didn't understand why she was so hot.
The breeze from an open window in her vicinity brushed her honey brown and warm skin. The wind howled as if to blow away the trees, as if the breath of life were trying to blow the earth away.
Neela smiled and leaned forward-leaning her elbows upon her knees. She'd always loved a good storm after all. Storms were like the whispered secrets of the worlds tortured soul. The worlds manifestation to a thousand bodied pains bleeding power back into breath. The highest most beautiful octave. A storm. She was her own storm right now.
As she gazed upon the breaking branches, the seizured leaves, the strong branches that dared to stretch and bend with the wind. She found her self feeling no different from the chaos before her. Inside was a wind storm she wanted to release. She wanted to cry out to the world. She took her love and showed someone kindness, and now she feels strangely unwanted. She didn't know if she was allowed to blame it on him. He forgot about their perfection. They're perfect harmony.
She sighed and stared down, crossed her arms, and leaned against the door frame. Became so deep within her thoughts she hadn't noticed the screams to stop. So Elijah surprised her when he stepped out and stood close beside her.
"You look like hell," he joked softly.
Neela gazed up at him only slightly surprised. She chuckled gently then looked away.
"I feel like hell," She confirmed.
Elijah had blood smeared on his cheek, and although Neela laughed; her gut still churned at the sight of it.
"You didn't hurt him bad did you?" She asked him.
"Not as bad as I could have no."
"Elijah--"
"I warned him Neela. I warned him before I left so I don't want to hear it... and besides" he continues, "I know you're just going go to go soft on him anyways. I did the hard part for you. Be thankful."
Neela sighed and shut her eyes tight. The storm was so loud... so loud... outside in the world, and inside her. It swayed her, unbalanced her, "Technically you've punished him already so I don't have to do anything right?"
Elijah laughs, with a single bark, and Neela groaned against the loudness of it.
Elijah shakes his head at the woman, "Come on let's get back inside." he guided Neela back inside and shut the door, "It's freezing."
The two off them sit together on the couch, "Neela, he's in your care so he's your responsibility. You know I can only do so much by the way. He has to listen to you at the end of the day right?"
"Right..." Neela sighed.
"Don't be stupid."
"I'm not being stupid."
"You're being stupid."
Neela gazes at him dully. And shrugs casually with a gentle smile and stares for a little while before breaking a smile. They laugh quietly together for a few moments and finally, Neela loosens her body and leans back against the cushiony couch. "I know," she says... "I know."
"It's always hard at first I guess, but it's even harder this time because I care about him so much. I don't want to hurt him Elijah..."
Elijah sighs and raises a brow tiredly. He reaches over toward the coffee table before them, and grabs two filled syringe shots from his black case. He hands them to his friend, "Responsibility is yours whether it's hard or not."
"Just do it. You weren't trained for years for nothing. Make it matter if you really care for him."
"What's this?" Neela questions as the takes the syringes.
"Snake venom, antivenom."
"Which concentration?"
"Calciseptine."
"Thanks."
"He could've killed you, you know," Elijah said as his gaze fell toward the bruising around Neela's neck. She hadn't seen it yet but she sure as hell felt the soreness around there.
"He could've," she agreed, "He didn't."
"Neela..."
"He didn't. He wouldn't. What we had... he may not remember it right now but it's not something the body can forget. He wouldn't kill me. He can't you see." Neela smiled to herself, "Trust me." Killing her would be like killing himself. And he could never take that jump.
Elijah sighs, shaking his head for a moment. Raised a brow then smiled at her sweetly as a response. Then he touches her chin, "You can't be a psycho without a cause I guess, right?"
Neela laughed at the inside joke between the two of them, and glanced down as she gave her usual response, "Cause then you'd just be a psycho."
Elijah laughed then slapped his palm flat onto his legs before standing up, "Alright. Guess I'll head out for now, since you're all good here."
"I handled his bullet and everything for you and dressed the new wounds I just made. He'll be fine but I wouldn't be surprised if he was out cold at the moment."
Elijah wakes with him towards the door, "Thank you." She hugged him before he left, and reassured him she was alright. She watched as he walked into the woods. Then shut the door behind her leaning against it for a couple moments.
With the syringes in her hand, she silently made her way to the room. Placed the venom and antivenom of the desk beside her. Dean was breathing hard, the lights were shut, and the evening sky hardly bled through the window into the room. It was dim inside, hard to see. But Neela still didn't turn the light on. It felt intimate this way somehow. Cool and distant, but seductive. She could hear him breathing as she stepped closer she found his eyes vaguely open. Gazing up at the ceiling, hands and wrist tied, body shaped like a star, and his mind a distant dream. She saw despair and sorrow in his eyes. And she would have blamed herself for it if she didn't know that look in his eyes was a familiar and reoccurring one. Long before he was with her. Still it made a small part of herself wish to give him a break. She stepped forward. Touched his warm skin. Warm like her own. Clean, from any blood the fresh wounds on his body would've made. But the sheets were unclean, residue from his punishment soaking them red, and surely straight through the mattress he lied upon. There weren't many. Three deep slashes through him at the side of his rib. There was a dressing in his left foot so Elijah must've burned the arched underside of his foot.
Besides that there was dressing on his thighs from the bullet wound, and purple swelling around his left eye, including his lip which was cut up and busted near the corner.
"Elijah did a bit of a number on you huh?" Neela said, touching the wounds carefully.
She was relieved at the sight of it because it wasn't so bad, but she suppose it's because he left that part up to her. The bad part that is.
Dean didn't respond, his dead eyes remained vacant and unaware. She couldn't tell if he was faking or not.
"This didn't have to happen," she said. "I was kind to you. I stood by you. Took care of you despite the fact that you remained resistant and disrespected me almost everyday. You asked to go outside and I let you..."
"I keep telling myself," She whispered low, her voice shaking against the backdrop of wind howling at the world outside, "it's not your fault... it's not your fault it's not... you don't remember so how could it be... How could it be your fault?"
"But still," she admits, "I hate you for what you did..."
As vacant as Dean's eyes were he was still aware enough to consume and process her words, and even more so, the emotions behind them. He wanted to laugh at her insanity. She was almost tearful, as though he'd truly done something wrong to her. As though he was the one that kidnapped her, as though he was the one who shot a bullet through her thigh tied her onto a bed day in and out for weeks until her limbs consumed pain then numbness altogether. As if he were the one that tortured her for days, let his friends mutilate, burn, and beat her.
He glances at the woman beside his bed, her sunken head low, her hands crossed in each other proper in her lap. Her eyes were too distant, but tearful.
Dean breathed raspily, and noticed the bruising around her neck. Then noticed the way her plump lips parted, how they revealed her upper teeth naturally. The oval slope of her chin. Her eyes were so big they bulged slightly. She was curvy yet somehow she appeared dainty. Even he was unprepared for the amount of strength and agility she possessed. The sight of her collarbones deepened as she took a deep breath into her chest. Her breast rose, the exposed upper curve of them flattered her appearance furthermore.
As her lids and long curled lashes lifted, and her dark, sweeping eyes gazed up at his, wide and allusive. He, once again, noticed the bruising around her neck. Then noticed how pretty she was. She was like a rose... Or a lily. If lily's had thorns.
Something inside him stirred. Something seemingly almost ancient. Unexpected, and unpleasant to feel at the moment, especially towards her. But it stirred still nonetheless. It stirred deep and desirable in his gut, warm and throbbing in his unused limbs. It was recognizable, a smiling sinister stirring in his gut that came most alive when he focused on his hand print, purple around her little neck.
Neela took notice surprisingly to the way he looked at her now. Angrily, but confused, his cheeks slightly heated, but his eyes deeply sunken in something that made her nearly embarrassed and exposed in what she wore at the moment.
Ah no... they both thought to themselves.
No, no, no...
Like their minds were in sync. But they feared different effects, effects that would soon be inevitable anyways.
Neela stood, grabbed the syringes. And walked back over to him.
"What is that?"
"Your punishment." She responded, "Courtesy of Elijah."
"He hasn't done enough already?"
"Yes, but it's my turn now."
"What is it?"
Neela sat down on the bed next to him. She was so close to him his warm damp skin was pressed against some of the exposed skin at her hips. She stared at his body again. The body of an angel... made to sin. She could taste him now just as she looked. His sweat against her tongue, his length hitting the back of his throat, the feel of him throbbing inside her. The way his stomach would tremble under her palms.
No... she thought yet again. This in fact was not easy at all.
"It's snake venom." She responded, "It won't kill you, don't worry."
"Oh. Lucky me.. This won't be the thing that kills me. Isn't that good news."
Neela cocked her head and raised her brow, "Despair," she drew out gently to the cynical sarcastic man, "is not a good look on you."
"You sure? I've been told I made despair look cool. It's my morning go to before I start work for the day."
Neela smiled at the comment. Genuinely infact. It was true. He wore that miserable look everyday for years without stopping once. Every smile of his looked and felt fake from a mile away. This man's soul and heart was drowning in a darkness.
"You think you're so funny..." Neela replied.
"Kind of."
Neela pursed her lips as she stabbed the serum into his thigh and he hissed at the piercing injection, then glared with hatred into her eyes.
Neela smiled and smirked, "Let's see for how long you can keep that act up then."
Dean's reaction to the venom was almost immediate. 10 minutes in and a paralyzing pain shot through his body, swelling most pointedly at his abdomen. His fingers and toes curled, nails digging into his palms as they drew into a tight fist. He wanted to hold back from screaming out in agony, but the wailing was inevitable.
Neela watched him, as his body convulsed, and only for a mere few seconds longer did she sit close to him against his warm form. Then she stood. Dragged the seat from the desk towards the middle of the room, sat down in it with a comfortable lean, and enjoyed the show.
She'd injected herself with snake venom before, but it was a different concentration. One that made her lungs stiff as rock. It stole the beauty of breathing right from her rooted body. It should sound terrifying but... Neela enjoyed the moment. It caused her to realize that one is only most alive when they are the most near death.
Neela was curious as to how it would manifest in him. At this point he was still convulsing, his wailing had turned into a raspy cry. His eyes slowly went red. Within another fifteen minutes his convulsing worsened but remained everywhere except his right leg, where she's stabbed the serum into. She assumed it was probably paralyzed. His mouth began to pour with excessive salivation. His eyes sank into drowsiness, and when he turned his head to look at Neela she deemed him almost unrecognizable, like his soul had left him and his body was now replaced by something evil and dark. He made one last raspy sigh and nothing more. His body fell like limbo, into a stillness, and his eyes remained vacant and loosely opened.
Neela sat up more erect now. She stared at him like a deer in headlights, she couldn't be sure about this... Has he stopped breathing? Has he truly stopped breathing, But it... Hasn't even been thirty minutes yet. And the concentration isn't normally that harmful.
"Fuck!" she cursed loudly then ran to his side with the antidote. She injected them into him in the order Elijah instructed, then sat up on her knees, slapping the poor man's face repeatedly. His skin was slick. Wet with sweat, lips dripping wet. Eyes red like cherries. And not a single breath escaped his parted mouth.
"No..." Neela whispered, panicked, "No, you have to wake up. Fucking wake up!"
She sat on top of him straddling his torso then
placed her left hand over her right and shoved them hard into his chest with a steady tempo. She gave easy chest compression then stopped to provide rescue breaths. She didn't know how long she had done it for, but by the time she'd stopped, she was crying, sobbing really, and her arms were shaking.
By the times she'd stopped... she was praying even.
Time rolled over her, and it felt infinite in that hopeless room until Dean's chest rose and fell on his own. Weakly at first. So weakly. Then his stomach convulsed. He lurched forward as much as his chained hands provided. And coughed hard, blood spilling down the corner of his mouth, a bit of it splattering Neela on her face and her breast. She stared, mouth and eyes gaping wide. Thankful for his miraculous recovery.
Dean continued to cough, until his body fell into relaxation.
He couldn't feel himself correctly. Like he was numb. Physically of course. But emotionally as well. Mentally. Something was wrong right now for him. And he wasn't thinking about the fact that he almost just died, or that the person who almost killed him was crying and sobbing over his chest right now, like it wasn't her fucking fault. Or that he was tied to a bed, fucked up by lord knows how many chemicals.
Something else was wrong... Like a feeling
A strange feeling.
"Please..." His voice croaked as he stared at the ceiling, "Please get off of me."
Neela who was curled over his chest, stilled abruptly. Her heart broke into a million pieces at the request.
He hated her now... He hated her and now there was nothing she could do about it.
She slid off his body. Fell to the floor. And with her back leaning against the bed she curled her knees to her chest and cried some more. As quietly as she could.
Dean drifted. Searching the peculiar thing that wasn't right within him at the moment.
And Neela cried. Searched for an answer on how to fix him.
The room spun in silence as the sun sank further into the woods. And night crawled upon the evening until there was nothing left to see.
The room sank.
Silence swallowed them both.
Dean wondered.
Neela despaired.
Insanity was a stranger foe, entailing them both in complex emotions...
Ahh... Deans mind said.
He knew it now; the thing that was wrong. He felt it in the night. The thing he couldn't grasped but wanted to reach.
"Those woods," he said, eyes closed as he remembered something. Maybe it was important... but maybe it wasn't. He didn't know. All he knew was that he didn't remember many things from his childhood. But he remembered this.
Neela, who was shocked by the sound of his voice in the darkened room, grew stiffly silent.
"Those woods..." he started again, "I recognize them you know.." he paused as though properly reflecting, then, "I had woods like those behind my house. They were deep and far and empty. Scary honestly. My dad wouldn't let me go in them by myself. But I did one day and..."
"and I.. I found this red bicycle, buried in the ground." He swallowed a dry lump in his throat, "I thought huh... that's fucking weird you know? Who the fuck buries their bike in the woods like that? What are they hiding, you know?"
He sighed. Then continued, with his eyes open this time. Tired. But seeing.
Dean realizes that he knows who it belongs to now, perhaps this is why he's recalling the moment. Maybe... it's someone with no name. No age. No house, no family. No identity. Someone... Someone limitless. And dead. For death is boundless and infinite... Only then is someone free.
"I asked my brother about it..." He utters out softly. With a moment of pause he begins to ask, "Know what he said?" his voice trembled with something unnamed but truly powerful and tears roll down his cheek in silent sorrow, "He said... I dunno Dean... maybe the bike is like a metaphor."
Then he laughs really hard until he can feel the pain of his laughter in his stomach. He laughs and laughs...
Until he doesn't... And the battered man within him finds despair once again.
She should've let him die, he thought, let him rot. He was nothing anyway, he had no one. No name, no memories, no home. In death, she could've made him more this way. Limitless.
Ahh... it's despair.
Tears rolled and rolled and wet his cheek and pillow.
This was the strange thing inside him. Humor was easy. Numbness even more.
But this... blackness rolled and rolled and swallowed screams he never knew he even possessed.
He cried that night this time.
But Neela didn't anymore. Suddenly a light flickered in her body. The first sign of her soul coming alive again.
He'd given her hope in his despair, he'd given her what she was searching for.
And so she sat by his bed and smiled, and she thought about the red bicycle
And the metaphor.