Waking Up Sucks
I’ve often watched in movies how people awake from unconsciousness in phases; maybe first opening their eyes for a few minutes before passing out once again into oblivion. They do this once or twice until they’re really up for good.
What a flipping joke.
I screamed as I came awake, rolling around and flailing my arms like I was on fire. I'm sure I looked like something out of a really bad Kung-Fu movie, but I couldn’t help it. You might as well have asked me to stop breathing, or to stop getting into situations that were way over my mediocre life experience.
I felt strong arms grab mine and force them down on the bed as a weight like a dead gorilla settled on my chest.
“Calm down, Eliza,” Dante said like an idiot, “You’re alright.”
I cursed, calling Dante every single horrible name I could think of. “I am not alright! Get off of me!” I shrieked.
I felt a rush of calming liquid silver wash over me, soothing the worst of the fire that was consuming my body. It took a few rounds, but finally I started feeling like just crap instead of crap on fire.
I groaned as I felt that horrible weight lift off my chest and cool heaven rushed down my throat. Had water always taste this fantastic? I couldn't be sure. All I knew was this stuff was amazing right now.
“Chase?” I asked when I could speak. Well, croaking would be a better description of my verbal capacity at this point.
“At home resting; he doesn’t remember much, just being sick,” Dante answered, setting the glass with the bent straw on the nightstand beside me. There was a large pitcher of the wonderful liquid there too, which perked me up a little.
“Good,” I sighed, feeling exhausted but remarkably better since Chase was okay.
“What do you remember, Eliza?” Dante asked me now.
“Besides the fact that your brother is a sadistic tool?” I groaned, trying to sit up and feeling like I’d just gone twelve rounds with a demon from hell.
Oh wait, I just had. No wonder I felt like warmed over crap.
Dante’s face didn’t even twitch, “Looks like you remember the blatantly obvious.”
“Don’t forget the not so blatantly obvious,” I snapped back, irritated with his general disregard for the fact that I was trying to get up and resume life as a human being.
“Which would be…?”
“The fact that Aunt Celeste wanted me to send her into that painting. She set the whole thing up.” I knew I was right the second I'd said the words aloud. Asher had planted the seeds of doubt and while I was knocked out, those seeds had grown into full-fledged redwoods. I was just too stupid not to have seen it before.
“Why the Monet and not another painting?” Dante asked curious.
“I don’t know,” I huffed out. "Maybe she just liked impressionists, or French haystacks, how the heck should I know? The point is she wanted me to send her somewhere she could be out of Asher's reach.” The painting was perfect. A place even he couldn’t follow – at least I didn’t think he could. It didn’t matter. I was pretty sure it was a permanent state, and right now it sure beat my own dismal prospects.
I couldn’t remember much about what happened with Asher in the shop, only that I never wanted it to happen again. I was pretty sure I dreamed about him while I’d been unconscious too, but it was like trying to hold onto water. Images and snatches of information kept sliding through my fingers.
“That would have been a very risky gamble,” Dante said, his face somber yet thoughtful. I could see him working through it in his mind, putting together the pieces even quicker than I had. I’d had to be knocked out for my brain to make the connections – Dante didn’t seem to suffer from my inability to connect the dots in a conscious state however.
“Yeah, but she played me like a dim-witted violin. I did exactly what she wanted me to. God, what a witch,” I said, looking around the room for the first time. “Where am I, anyway?”
“Celeste’s old bedroom,” Dante replied.
My eyes cut around the room again, taking it all in this time. It was large, with freshly painted cream walls, new carpet, nice furniture and even a plasma TV on the wall. Nothing like the gargantuan one Dante had in his room, but one I would’ve never been able to buy myself for years to come.
“I don’t remember this room,” I said, knowing I hadn’t seen anything this nice the one and only time I’d been on her floor.
“That's because it wasn't here before. I built it for you.”
I started. Besides the fact that Dante had done something unbelievable nice for me (which was hard enough to believe), how long had I been out?
“Three days,” he answered, not even waiting for me to speak my question aloud.
That was a little annoying, but I was too tired to even care. Instead, I tried to swing my legs over the edge of the bed and managed to get it done on my second try.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Get up.”
“And why not, Mr. Smartyp…” I didn’t even get to finish my smart-alecky comeback because at that moment I yelled like someone was ripping my skin off with a pair of rusty pliers. I fell flat on my face, the pain in my feet, legs and back so intense I couldn’t even bring myself to do anything but breathe in pathetic, little whimpers.
Thank God the carpet was new. It was pretty thick too.
Dante sighed heartily, as if I was purposefully being a major pain in the neck even though I was the one that was dying all over again, at his feet no less.
“You’re not dying.”
It sure felt like I was flipping dying.
“I can assure you, you are not dying, Eliza. Stubborn, obtuse, and overly dramatic yes, but not dying.”
The second I was able to stand without screaming I was going to punch Dante in his perfectly gorgeous face.
He almost laughed, “You can try.”
“Stop reading my mind!” I hissed between my teeth. I’m sure he would’ve been intimidated if my glare was aimed at his head instead of the floor.
“Stop being so ridiculous then.” He bent down and helped me to my feet before setting me back in bed. “Your body needs time to heal and adjust to your burden,” he added.
“What burden?”
Dante looked at me and for the life of me I couldn’t fathom what he was thinking. After a few seconds he turned and left and came back holding a large mirror.
“Sit up,” he instructed, walking around me to the far side of the bed.
I eased myself into a sitting position. He held the mirror out in front of him, staring down at me. “Lift up your shirt,” he ordered.
“What?” I choked out.
"Nice to see that Lust is still asleep,” Dante said rolling his eyes, “lift up the back of your shirt and take a look.”
I eyed him warily as I lifted the back of my shirt, turning around so my back was reflected in the mirror. Part of me wondered if Spring Dawn would pop in to say hi, but any thought of the little ghost that helped save my bacon in the wicked fight I’d had with Aunt Celeste fled the second I caught sight of my reflection. If my voice hadn’t decided to bolt like the coward she was I would’ve screamed again.
Black, wicked looking swirls were burned across my entire upper back and shoulders in a pattern that was too complicated for my eyes to follow. They looked like old, black iron spikes bent into some form of geometric pattern that would’ve been pretty if it weren’t stamped all over my skin. If looking at them from a distance they appeared almost tattoo-like, but up close it was clear the design was seared deep into my flesh. The skin was still puffed up and raw looking around what was definitely a humongous brand.
“Don’t look at it for too long, Eliza,” Dante warned. When I didn’t say anything his voice grew even graver, which was kind of scary, “It’s a door.”
“Door?” was all I could manage to squeak out.
“To Hell – it’s how Asher will find you no matter where you go.”
My mouth grew so dry I wondered if I’d ever be able to make spit again, “I’m in the doorway to Hell?”
“No.” His face grew tight as he continued, “You are the doorway to Hell. So do yourself a favor and don’t look at it too often. You don’t want to open it.”
“Open it?” I couldn’t even get enough air into my lungs to make my brain work properly.
Dante lowered the mirror and thankfully I was saved from looking at my back anymore. He gave me another long look, “Opening the door to Hell is something you do not want to have happen. Besides dying horribly and damning your eternal soul forever, you’ll take anyone standing in your immediate area with you.”
“With me?” I repeated like an idiot.
“To Hell,” Dante reaffirmed, before turning to leave the room.
God, why was my life such utter insanity all the freaking time?
Waking up sucked.
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*A/N:
Song Credit: Awake and Alive - Skillet
Image: The tattoo image is something like what I imagine appears on Eliza's back now. In my brain she has more whirls and wicked looking spikes, but I thought this image was still pretty cool (and a decent rendition of what I had in mind when I wrote this chapter).