The Dark Side of Family (The Dark Side, Book 1)

Blood and Wings

[Quick Author's Note: Sick of the Author's Notes yet? I'll make it brief! Comment, please. I'd love to hear your feedback.

I hope you enjoy this installation.]

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I woke up to a bloodcurdling scream. Rushing to my patio, I threw open the doors and burst out into the wee hours of the morning. The sky was lighter, but the sun still had yet to rise. Standing at the edge of the trees, I saw two men. 

No. I saw two angels. One had huge, sweeping wings with a perfect upward arc as they rose into the air. An archangel. The other had perfectly arched wings that rose above his shoulders and fell to his knees.

More specifically, actually, he had a perfectly arched wing that rose above his shoulders and fell to his knees. The other was bloody and clutched in the archangel’s hand. Mortified, I watched the archangel reach for the remaining wing and rip it out of the other angel's back. My eyes travelled to the angel's face, and I instantly recognized it. Blain. 

He screamed in agony. I screamed his name. 

The archangel didn't hear - he was too enthralled with his handiwork. Blain did, though. Even through his pain, he heard me scream his name. His eyes rose to mine, and the pain in them took my breath away. What killed me is that it wasn't the physical pain that was doing so much damage...what hurt him so badly was that I had witnessed his downfall.

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He couldn't breathe. He could barely think. 

She knew. 

He didn't know how he was going to explain this - he didn't know how she would handle it. He didn't know if she would ever forgive him. He didn't know if she would ever be able to get past him leaving her behind. 

He hadn't meant to. Really, he hadn't. He was supposed to meet her that night - when she turned seventeen. Her dad's drinking had gotten worse - the abuse more frequent. He'd started slapping her around on a daily basis, and he couldn't stand it anymore. 

Her bags were packed. She'd been waiting for him that night, but he'd never come. It's true; he'd left her standing there in the pouring rain on her birthday. He'd abandoned her in the middle of the night, leaving her alone with a prick who hit her every chance he got. 

Yes, he'd left her standing there by herself. He hadn't meant to, though. He didn't want to. 

He'd have done anything for Kylie. He still would. He'd have moved heaven and earth not to disappoint her, but he had. He just hoped she could forgive him, because he had as good an excuse as anyone ever has. 

He'd died that night on the way to meet her.

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I couldn't look into his eyes any longer. The archangel disappeared just moments before I did, and Blain watched me turn away and close my patio doors. 

I was in shock. Out of habit, I went downstairs to check on my father. He was still breathing; he was still alive. I wasn’t sure if that made me happy or not, truthfully. Moving robotically, I went into the kitchen to get a glass of water that I knew I wouldn’t drink. 

Wandering aimlessly into the living room, I curled my legs beneath me on the couch and cradled my glass between my hands, staring blankly into it. I didn’t really see it; my mind was too busy trying to grapple with what my eyes had seen. 

It must have been a dream. Maybe the trauma of last night made me crack. Maybe it knocked something loose in my mind; maybe I’d finally gone crazy. If it wasn’t a dream, that had to be it. I’ve finally lost my mind. The only other alternative…well, the only other alternative would be that Blain actually was an angel and had just had his wings ripped out by an archangel. 

I shuddered at the thought. I didn’t want to recall his agonized screaming. I didn’t want to recall the tearing sound as his wings were torn out of his back. I didn’t want to think about me hollering his name; didn’t want to think about how that proved I still cared what happened to him. I didn’t want to think about the way he looked at me desperately; didn’t want to think about how I still loved him.

Hell, if I were being honest with myself, I’d admit that I do still love him. As much as I had convinced myself that I didn’t really miss him; didn’t really need him…as much as I had convinced myself I resented him for leaving me here alone. In spite of all of that, I still loved him. I was in denial, quite frankly – I didn’t want to remember how much I cared, so I fooled myself into thinking that I hated him. 

Love is a funny thing, when you think about it. In a way, I do hate him for leaving me behind. I resent that he moved on so seemingly easily – I resent that he didn’t tell me he was leaving; didn’t take me with him…didn’t call to check in on me. That being said, I realized the moment I woke up and saw him last night that I was still in love with him – still hopelessly, head-over-heels, in love with him. I should have known all along I didn’t just stop. If you love somebody – really love them – it doesn’t just go away. Yes, you can resent them for what they’ve done or who they’ve become. You don’t just stop loving them, though. If you really loved them in the first place, there will always be a part of you – if only a tiny part you don’t even acknowledge to yourself – that still loves them. There isn’t a switch you can flick to turn off your love for a person; there’s no command you can give yourself that will make you stop. 

I was bewildered – the last twenty-four hours of my life have been bizarre, to say the least. Closing my eyes, I tried to block out the images flooding back to me. I didn’t want to remember the white feathers spattered and soaked in blood; didn’t want to remember Blain’s shirt stained crimson or the hands of the archangel covered in red. 

“Ky?” came a voice from behind me. It was a voice I would know anywhere, but I still turned my head to the door to look at him. He stood, framed by the sun streaming in behind him. I guess I’d been out of it for a little while – the sun had risen in all its glory. 

“What?” I asked, voice cracking. Clearing my throat, I looked at him expectantly. 

“I…,” he began, unsure what to say. 

“Owe me an explanation. That’s what you owe me.” 

"I know..." he said, sighing. "This will probably take awhile. Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing to a spot beside me on the couch. 

"No," I said, shaking my head. He sat down, turned to face me, and looked at me with an expression of abject misery. My stomach tightened, knowing this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation. 

"I'm sorry, by the way..." he said, trailing off. He didn't specify, but I knew exactly what he meant. With Blain, I always had. He was apologizing for leaving...as if an apology could ever be enough.