The raven-haired didn't sleep last night; albeit my back could sole afford a view, I could tell. Like droplets of water sat on the green tongues of trees, revenge and melancholy was above Mammon's cocooning aura as we laid wakeful in the estranged bedroom. He was staring at the little viridescent stars, stuck eccentrically around the lightbulb. I groaned. Mammon didn't even utter a word, let alone speak to me. A shaving of my core conjectured that he would feel content in this homey abode—I mean, the aura here was sifted of any lumps not cordial. My eyes shut as a realisation was poured into them. This was his late mother's home. Perchance, the raven-haired loathed to be reminded of her death. And that, fashioned with the blood on his hands, could have been the formula for such heavy atmosphere.
An apricot daylight knocked eagerly on the clad windows as Mammon pitched the patterned quilt away from his muscular body. I slid onto my back, and surveyed as a shirtless him maundered around the double-bed. "Where are you going?"
"For a smoke."
"Oh, well-" Feeble words distilled out of my mouth, but it could not ret his pace. I took in a breath, winnowing the mislaid tears from my throat. Our love. It could never be the same again, could it?
My feet alighted on the draughty wood as my uncut nails anchored itself to the wrinkled plane. Demons were carnivorous creatures whom perpetually moulted—the opening of Helena when I was chosen. I rose from the bed before my orbs fixated on the floral curtains. They were volatile, like the oceans, awnings of fish. They were fiery, like the marrow of planets. Communities of light overran the inside of the room as the cream curtains were pushed along the aureate rack. For a successful conversion, you needed to moult with them. The rays acknowledged each small pot of faux greenery, before concentrating on my ill-used face. I knew that was what I was supposed to do, but how could I keep that up? When my core needed still a respite from everything that had happened.
I sprung to the corridor, an earthy aroma colouring the walls whilst my eyes drove along the paintings. They were rather chaste, and seemed to be used directly as a mixing palette. A pair of potted monstera flanked my legs as I reached the entrance.
I tried to justify Zalgiur's death ever since it had happened. All of the sordid things he did to Mammon, and the others, left a bubbling broth in the abyss of my stomach. Though, even then, I felt a rage anent the raven-haired. He killed someone, and risked sundry lives. My fingertips ghosted up the fur throw on the leather couch. But I hated that submersing feeling, because it wasn't his fault—or at least, that's what I made myself believe. Like blood spread out from core to body, my blame did too. The gone demon marking. His relationship with Zalgiur. The break-in.
My failure to act.
A numbing breeze eluded his barbarous siblings by rushing in through the ajar porch door behind me. That was right. It was my fault. I ignored my duties, and fell in love with him instead; none of this would have happened if I hadn't kissed him that day. Why did I stray away? I began drifting towards the wide shelf next to the dark oak vanity. It wasn't written for me to abandon myself to love.
I didn't know what this meant for me. Weeks had passed, and so had the leniency. I knew this would catch up to Ezekiel, in one way or another.
Using my finger, I levered out one of the holy books at the left of the line as the others fell slightly. It was black, with a drab golden border. I blew the crown of the bible, which was veneered with dust. These books must have belonged to his mother, Caira—I remembered him saying she was pious. I used the black ribbon to open the bible, and let my eyes loll around in the tempering text.
"For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses," I verbalised as soon as I caught glance of the pink underscoring. A beautifully chosen reading it was, but I wondered what made her choose it.
My gaze was buoyed by the streak of books, and that was when I remarked something. A golden picture frame of sorts, slanting on the painted white wall behind the books. What was it doing there? I fixed the bible atop the aslant books before squeezing my hand through the breach, and towing it out. Although there was not a speck of dust, I brushed the glass surface with my fingertips. It was cold to the touch, like it was echoing the woeful death of the memory.
The photo seemed to be taken in front of a stately tree. A mature woman stood, her eyes and mouth smiling whilst her hands were upon a low child's shoulders. Her plum brown hair was in a ponytail, draped over her right shoulder. The child was wearing a lax blue suit, and a surly expression. And beside him sat a gleeful german shepard, his pink tongue pensile. My lips assumed a toothy smile as my eyes recommitted to the boy—it was Mammon! He really was adorable as a child.
"What are you doing?" I heard a raw voice behind me.
"I found a picture of you as a child!" I chirped, turning to the raven-haired. "You were so cu-"
The golden frame was ripped away from my hands, and so were my outstanding words. His admonitory stare went right through me, like a bullet, as I descried the marginal scratch on my finger. It...cut me.
"Where did you- find this?"
"Behind the books...I'm sorry if I stepped over a boundary."
My eyes repulsed a meeting with his; I didn't want to look into his eyes, and see the grey void I abhorred. It was unlike me. I had usually made eye contact with every creature I encountered—it was my vernacular.
Mammon threw the photo frame onto the leather couch before emitting a ragged breath. His fingers lapped my palm promptly, bringing it nearer to his face. My eyes approached a full moon as he rubbed away the spouting pink blood.
"Why do you keep hurting yourself?"
I swallowed, musing him as water from my mind dangled in the blue of my eyes. "I don't...know."
The raven-haired kept on sending my core into a frenzy; he was aloof much of the day, but then, he would have outbursts of gaiety. Why? He sore confused me. I just wanted him to be completely happy.
"Your neck was bruised last night," Mammon mentioned, and I could sense a tautness in my neck reawaken from a doze. "What happened...when you left?"
I was entreated by my core to tell him, but my larynx fought off the siege.
"Luka."
"It was the smoke," I lied, the debarking words lacing into my ears. "I couldn't...breathe because of it, and I was clawing at my neck. I'm...no angel of fire."
I didn't want violence to beget more violence, and I didn't want to mar any more of his relationships. The Lord knew this wasn't what his core needed.
He drew back his hand, jilting mine to fall. I bore a glance of the tattoo he got on his wrists—be mine. A sadness toppled over me, as though a bucket was on the top shelf.
So much had happened since then.
"You sure?"
He no longer called me his angel.
Solemn, I nodded. I inclined to the bible before placing it ahead of my chest. "You should...read this. It was your mother's, and maybe...it can help?"
He glimpsed at it, and then at me. "How can a book help me?"
"I-"
"Where was your God when it happened?" Mammon said coldly, and I felt myself shiver.
I mustered a breath in, composing my rattled strings to play normally. It was alright, he was still...distraught. "I'll...just make us breakfast."
I wended before him, in the direction of the caramel saloon doors. Mammon trailed behind me, his footsteps soft across the weathered tiles. I didn't know what to feel anymore, but I plumped for that. Whenever he irrigated a terse answer, even more runners of cracks extended through my core. The grained doors were swung open by my eyes preparatory to entering. Although I could tell no one had prepared a meal on the muted wooden countertops in a while, a lush aura swayed around the white counters and angular table. If I were a chef, I'd spend my days and nights here.
"Anything...in particular you want?" I questioned quietly, tossing my phone onto the blue tablecloth before walking to the mocha cupboards.
"Whatever's in there." I could hear the lancaster chair scrape against the floor as he answered. Must he be so vague, even when it's about food?
Sighing, I opened the cupboard above the oven, only to be met with plates of dust. No matter, there were still two more. I slid rearward, and because of my potent eyes, both cupboard doors yawned. God. My brows haled one another. Besides dust-fed plates and cutlery, they were empty as well.
"We might need to go grocery shopping soon." I ambled over to the sink. The cupboard doors shut quietly, so as not to irk us and ensue them to not be fed.
"Yeah. I haven' used this house in...ages."
I raised the silver tap, empowering the dormant water to gush before appointing my watch. Upraised the shower became, and soon would it turn to a plate of chocolate cupcakes. I knew he'd like that. I positioned my hands under the warping bubble. It burst into a white plate on my palms, and the sprinkled cupcakes dove.
I spun around, just for the sound of my phone dropping to await me. The corner of my lip quirked suspiciously. "What were you doing with my phone?"
"I was just checking the time. Don't worry," Mammon answered whilst his fingers mechanically shot to his neck.
I chuckled as I put the modest plate in front of him. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"
"Maybe." The raven-haired picked up a cupcake before peeling the white casing. "Hey, do you mind goin' shopping on your own? I got...shit to do."
A feeling of unhappiness dashed down the slope of my core, like a landslide guarding their mountain, but I responded with a smile.
"Oh...okay. That's fine."