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Scarred…

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She was sitting alone in the dark when the knock on the door had broken the silence. She wasn’t expecting any visit, she never did. Any other day, she would have rolled into a little ball on the armchair, and waited for the knocking to fade in the night.

But for some reason, she had walked down the few steps down to the front door, and had opened it without great expectations.

There he stood, in the twirling snow. “You called me?” he said, with a smirk, obviously hoping for her to invite him inside.  She had just turned around and walked back upstairs, the freezing winds licking her ankles as she disappeared back in her flat. He followed at a fair distance, and closed the door behind him.

He always knew when to come over. She hadn’t called him. But he just knew.

He sat by her side, not saying a word at first. She was twisting and turning the fabric of her robe, knowing she was eventually going to spill everything out. It was always like that. She was an open book when he lay his steel gaze on her. She felt he could scan her soul, making it useless to try lying.

“What are you hiding, sweetheart?”

He probably already knew. She felt lost, lonely and desperate. She just couldn’t open up to anyone else. She didn’t want to tell him either, but it was beyond her will. Even if he would become distant the very day she’d feel fine, as long as she was laying flat on the cold floor, he would stay by her side, gently strocking her hair.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

She had wept silently, and he had let her, just staying there, not judging, not asking more questions, not even feeling sorry for her. His neutral presence would have disappointed others, but it was exactly what she needed. To just not be alone.

When he seemed to have decided there had been enough tears, he had stretched his arm, and had wipped his large thumb under her eyes, magically drying her cries away… Sitting back, stoic, his calmness and obvious strenght oozed upon her, enough to get back to her senses.

“Show me…”

How could he guess? Compelled to give in to his every will, she turned her back to him, and delicately let her night robe slip from her shoulders, shivering as she felt it run down her spine, almost down to her waist. She couldn’t believe she was letting her bare skin be seen, but curiously, she felt safe and comfortable before him.

“I see.”

His words cut through her, and she longed to ask him what he thought. She knew it was useless, since he wasn’t into answering when she did. She just sat there, totally vulnerable. She could feel his blue eyes crawling on the odd fresh scars that burned her flesh.

“It is painful to grow wings, my dear…”

His voice was flat but not emotionless. She felt a weird sensation of pride in the tone he had used. And though it was absurd to imagine what he was saying, she drank his words as the utter truth.

She heard him moving for the first time in what seemed like hours… He bent down on her wounded body and she felt his lips brushing on her scars. She would have sworn he was sucking the pain away from her body. She closed her eyes, letting the hurt go away with the sweet caress of his mouth on her injured skin.

When she turned around, she was sitting alone on the couch… Again.

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3 thoughts on “Scarred…

  1. Very interesting, her friend or something more I think. Always there when she most needs, but never for long. Literal wings, or figurative? I think she wishes he’d stay longer. Even if when he comes, he knows exactly what she needs.

    Like

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