It’s February and love is in the air, so how about a nice story that looks at love and the price some pay for it. This is part of another project and it is also the first time I’ve featured a story here on the site, so I hope you enjoy my bloody kiss to you!
WARNING: THIS BLOG POST CONTAINS MATERIAL AND LANGUAGE NOT SUITABLE FOR ALL. IF YOU ARE OFFENDED, TOO BAD YOU WERE WARNED.
My Angel
Her cold blue eyes stare back at me from beneath the sheer silk sheet, shining in the darkness. Since I walked into the room to bring her something to eat, her watchful gaze follows me. Her eyes move back and forth like she’s a caged animal ready to pounce when I stop to lay her food down. After her last attempt to strike out at me, I’ve chosen when I approach her very carefully. I can’t get a read on my beloved, at times she’s frightened of me and other times she looks like she wants to rip me apart.
I know what I did is wrong, but I couldn’t help myself.
I’ll never forget the day I found her in the ally and fell in love.
I was cutting through the alley between 8th and Madison on my way home from work like I do every day. The rain was pouring down and the reek of stale piss and trash bins filled the air with a bitter twang that stung my nostrils, especially in the damp humid air. I covered my head with a newspaper I’d grabbed from the lobby before I left work and my eyes stayed glued to the ground so I wouldn’t trip or step in anything unsavory.
Then I saw her.
She must have fallen and hit the paved alley pretty hard because she was curled up against the crumbling brick wall shivering and I spied some blood on her hands. The white robes she wore were soaked and even in the rain, her raven hair shined in the dim lighting. I kneeled down to roll her over and once I caught a peek at her face, I found myself enthralled and the sound of her voice when she cried out at my touch, captivated my soul. At that moment, I surrendered my heart to her.
Hell, you know something? I’d do it again in a heartbeat. No matter what I’ve been through and the torment I’ve endured since, I wouldn’t change a thing.
I watch the shape of her sensuous body roll beneath the bed covers and I feel the stirrings deep in my loins again. She has that affect on me, the ability to turn me on with just a glance like I was nothing more than a switch instead of a man. I really hate keeping her here like this, I do, but it’s the only way to protect her. If she were out in the world, I’m not sure they would understand.
And she does something to me I can’t explain. I digress, I can explain it…I’m in love.
I think that’s why I keep her.
I know that’s why I keep her, no matter what she does to me. Every time I study the blood drip like water from my pores and the holes appear in my hands and feet when she grows angry with me, I still crawl back to her and proclaim my love. In those times of exquisite pain, she comforts me or I curl up next to her and comfort myself in the lonely dead of night before she shows me her feelings.
I suffer for her love and I shed my lifeblood to earn her devotion, my little sacrifice to her.
Isn’t that what love is when it all comes down to it in the end? Isn’t it all just suffering with a pretty little bow on top so it looks nice to everybody? She’s my world and I’d die for her. I’m afraid if I did depart this mortal coil, we’d be separated by all of infinity in the afterlife for what I’ve done. I’ve read through book after book trying to find a justification for my actions, but it all still comes back to love. Plain and simple…love.
Am I going to Hell for what I’ve done to her?
Guaran-fucking-tee it.
I hear a low husky voice rise from the piss stained mattress. It reminds me I need to change her sheets again. Shit, I didn’t even know she could do that. At first, I almost lost her because I didn’t think she needed to eat. After I gave her that first cracker and a small sip from a water-glass, I think she started taking a shine to me.
“Release me,” she croaks and the raspy voice sends chills racing up my spine. Her words are no longer the sweet golden chords she sang when I found her. Now it reminds me of when we used to rake our fingers across the blackboard in elementary school.
Oh, if only I could have those days back again, to feel that innocent again.
“Release me cretin,” she hisses at me. I gaze into her pale blue eyes and I see the anger rage within her. If I undid the cuffs, I think she’d kill me.
Anger is another thing I never thought she’d have been capable of.
“No, not until you free me from this, this, whatever the fuck is happening to me!” I spit back at her and kick the bed’s edge. The blood seeping from the hole in my foot leaves a crimson print on the box spring and splatters on the hanging sheet.
A smile of satisfaction crosses my lips watching her scramble back against the wall from me and she begins wailing again. The high-pitched noise hurts my ears and hot streams of blood pour from my ears and my nose.
Her voice’s tone keeps changing. When I found her, it sounded like a choir on Christmas morning. Now it sounds like a dying meth addict looking for one last score or a cat mewling in its death throes. Last night when I curled up next to her, I noticed her skin is changing too. Once a porcelain white, her color is darkening to an ashen gray and when I brush my fingertips across her, it flakes off and leaves red marks behind.
Underneath, she feels almost scaly. I think she’s becoming corrupted by my touch. Her innocence is just about gone. I keep hoping when she’s totally transformed, I’ll still love and lust after her like I do now. Maybe her heavenly beauty is what drew me to her, but I like a woman with a dark side too.
FUCK!
Oh my God, the pain rips through me and I scream even though I tried so hard to stop. I know she loves hearing me in anguish. I feel like somebody drove a railroad spike through my feet again. Blood wells up around it and I can see the worn dirty carpet through the hole. My blood is turning the green shag a dark crimson. Picking my foot up a little, I wince from the fire spreading up through my ankle and into my calves.
What the fuck did she do to me?
What the fuck have I done to her?
I see the parts of her past I keep nailed to the wall have fallen again. Bending over to pick them up, a searing pain blasts me in the hands where I touched the feathers. The holes that formed in my hands last week opened up again and blood runs down my wrists in thin rivers of agony. Images flash in my mind and the torments I see of my fate both excite and scare me. But I don’t care; I pick them up and run them through back on the long nails sticking out of the wall.
Her scream startles me and I smile, I guess even separated from them, they still can cause her pain. I turn and see her rear up on the bed. The sheets have fallen from her naked form and her breasts are jutting out toward me. Sitting up on her knees, she writhes around and the swaying of her body brings me to a raging sexual boil inside. The smile on her face is one of ecstasy knowing how much she’s hurting me right now.
Whatever I brought into my house out of lust has changed. My angel has turned against me. My love is broken, but not dead. I approach her and run my fingers up her arm and across her chest. The feel of her skin is like an orgasm and I slide my hand down her tight stomach and to the smooth folds of her sex. Each brush against her is like a wave of pleasure and pain. She makes all my nerves explode and I look over to the wings hanging on the wall.
I grin and touch the ragged wounds on her back. The splintered bones protruding from her back and the last remaining blood stained feathers still mark her new earthly shame.
I love my angel.
To remind her of what I did that rainy day a week ago, I left the garden shears I used to clip her wings on the dresser.
It’s not every day an angel falls from heaven and I come across it. It’s not every day I fall in love with a celestial being.
Of course I cut her wings off to keep her from flying away from me.
Now, I’m just not sure what clipping her wings have done to her.
I think I released her darkness, the same one that caused the Morning Star to fall.
And now I have to live with the price I must pay for my love.
In the last few weeks, the focus on everything has been shifting. I spent the last two years getting my name out, writing for anthologies, and releasing that first solo work on the general public. The time has come for a new part of my journey into the writing world. Last year I chronicled my experience concerning getting In Memoriam published in a series of posts called The Journey. The next few months and years are about my new journey, the first complete novel.
