Fortis

Fortis | Quatuordecim

            We had managed to find a motel that illegally allowed us to stay the night. The one-bed room smelled like stale cigarettes and musky mold. There was strange stains on the matted carpet and the heating was broken, randomly switching between two vast temperatures. Despite the low condition the room was in and the strange aroma of the bed, Fortis and I fell asleep within minutes.

            I was the first one to wake up. Perspiration dotted across my forehead and my body felt unnaturally warmer than usual. Shuffling around, I froze when I felt the heavy weight across my waist. With my eyes widening every passing second, my senses woke and the smell of Fortis wafted all around me. Contentment filled me.

Slightly turning my head to the side, the sight of a dark-haired boy with his mouth agape made me less tense. His hair scattered across his forehead in a sloppy manner, his long lashes almost brushing the tops of his sharp cheekbones. He almost looked...innocent. Like he wasn't some mythical creature and womanizer. My eyes drank in the lovely sight, until they caught sight of the tanned skin of his stomach and chest. He was shirtless. My breathing became faster. The room was icy, but before we fell asleep it was almost to a boiling temperature.

Slowly unwrapping his arm from around me, I crawled out of his seemingly protective hold. Tiptoeing to the bathroom and shutting the door softly behind me, my nose wrinked. The bathtub had a ring of a brownish stain and the shower curtain had cigarette burns throughout. The toilet hadn't been cleaned for months, nor did the sink. Holding down the bile that threatened to climb my throat, I looked to the dirty mirror. As I patted down my hair, trying to make it look tameable, my palm sent a hot jolt up my arm. Confused, I looked down at my hand to see a burn mark.

It hadn't healed. The wound was red and puffy, still warm when my thumb brushed over it. Why hadn't it healed? I began to worry. I never had a problem with healing before yesterday, before I met...Theron. It happened when I shook hands with him. But how? That was the only contact we had. I bit the inside of my cheek, wondering if I should enlighten Fortis. I haven't told him and he didn't see it happen. But maybe it was nothing...

I heard a shuffling from the other side of the bathroom door. A deep groan reached my ears and I knew Fortis was awake. I exited the bathroom, trying not to stare too much at Fortis's impeccable muscles. He ran a hand through his dark locks, and that was his hair regimen for the day. He glanced to me with tired eyes. "I'm hungry."

"Hi, Hungry. I'm Mercy."

Fortis grimaced, standing from the bed. "Wow, nice dad joke." His vertebrae let out a few pops. 

"Thanks, I've been working on it." I swallowed as Fortis stretched, his arms reaching for the ceiling. He grabbed a shirt from the ground, much to my dismay, and dragged it over his head. Throwing on his leather jacket and tossing a cream-colored sweater to me, he said, "We're getting something to eat."

We walked to a small diner in silence. The cold air could've been enough to distract my wondering mind, but it wasn't. I was still pondering over the burn on my hand. It would heal soon, it had to. As we sat at a booth, a older waitress took our orders. Two steaks—rare—with fries. We sat waiting for our food. There was various smells and sounds, my abilities were getting stronger with each passing day. But then why wasn't I healing? My mind reeled back to my hand, glancing at the wound. Theron's vibrant emerald eyes flashed in my head. I remembered his dirty-blond hair that reached the tips of his ears and lean build. It happened when I met him. But what does that mean? What does—?

"Mercy," Fortis called, waving his hand in my face.

I blinked, clearing my thought and swatted his fingers away. "What?"