Trials and Tribulations - [Bensler EO]

Part Twenty Three - Desolation IV

He hadn't said the prayer as much as he'd simply felt it. When no words would come to his mind because his mind was too focused on getting himself to her, his soul did the speaking.

That day, he had left her there. His back turned to her apartment door, unaware that hers in the same position, although it made a world of difference because she had been dying on that floor as he'd walked away.

The prayer was an ultimatum.

His anger towards her choices were irrelevant, and the anger he would hold onto for days to come as well. The prayer was an ultimatum with God.

Save her...

or I'm done.

Maybe it was worse that he hadn't said it. Maybe letting his heart do the speaking for him was where the real folly lied. Except, he knew more than anything that the prayers unspoken were often the most truthful. The one wish, the one intent. Had her heart stopped beating and had she lie cold on the operating table, he would've bid his farewell to the God he had known.

In fact, he would've burned every bible that ever touched his fingertips. He would've let John and Matthew and David and Luke dissolve at the tip of his match, in return, trading himself to become his very own version of Judas.

His faith was the last chip on the table, always. The very last offering he would ever give, and as the deceivingly happy paintings had passed him by in a blur, he was ready to roll the dice.

As a child, he had once made the wrong choice to use the Lord's name in vain while in the presence of his father. In that moment, as nothing but an eight year old, he'd thought that he had done his God an injustice so severe that he would burn for it. The belt sure replicated the pain.

Then, he was a man. Grown to stand six feet, a father of five and anything but a child anymore. He had done so much worse. He had done something that would make his eight year old self crumble with fear.

He had threatened God within these walls.

He had threatened God, as if he were anything more than a mustard seed himself. He was no deity with the ability to overthrow his creator, he was just a man who had come so close to falling on his knees as they carted her body away. But he was a man with one wish that day, and to him, that was powerful enough. Strong enough to change any current, any magnetic pull.

He would burn for her.

The walls feel cold and if his sanity were not intact, he'd think he was the only one in the hospital now. His prayers were different today. They were not almighty demands to an ear that was under no obligation to listen. Instead, they were feeble. They reeked of an unspoken apology for how he had acted towards his God the last time he sat in these chairs.

Though, he wasn't sure that if he was given a second chance that he would've done it differently.

Sitting in the chairs now was not accompanied by vehement begging, but rather submission. Today, he would accept the outcome for what it was meant to be.

His last irate demands towards God being answered with her survival had not taught him that being irascible was the answer. He knew, after the anger had turned cold, that his obsecration hadn't been the final decision for her. It never would be. He had no say in how the world would turn, or better yet, how her world would turn.

So his prayers were quiet now. Reverting back to how they were meant to be. Humility intact, acceptance to follow. He only prayed for strength and for mercy now. For grace and peacefulness. For forgiveness.

She's behind those doors right now and he wants to tear them down. The thought of her crying or breaking in a room only one hallway away from him shoots knives into his chest. His hand feels cold without hers now and he can't stop thinking about how her hand had felt as if it belonged with his. She had walked away, her head held down as she prepared for her world to shift. The look in her eye as she gave a last glance, it makes him wonder if it was a goodbye.