Pessimist
The silence that lay stagnant in the car between me and Kieran was stifling as his drove back to his apartment, each of us with different problems of our own. Mine? That the next few years—or days, even, I had no idea—would be absolute hell. His? Hell was literally going to open its gates and the world was going to end. At least that's what he told me, but I still didn't have a decent understanding of what was going on. Sure, my priorities were fucked up and I was being downright selfish, but aren't we all? I rested my forehead against the window as I watched the cars and buildings and lights blur into a single streak through my lashes.
"Meg?" Kieran suddenly spoke.
"Hm?"
"I'm sorry for dragging you into this... thing. This is a Nephilim thing and it's screwing your life over too."
"Mph." I shrugged indifferently, beyond caring about apologies. I closed my eyes and sighed softly. My life was probably destined to be horrible. I could see it, one of the Fates, or God, or whoever, writing out my name in perfect handwriting with the words 'give her hell' next to it.
Kieran exhaled heavily. "Will you just... quit it?"
"Quit what?"
"Quit... just... you're just nitpicking, you realise? You're always focusing on the negatives, and never once on what you have, so just... quit it alright? Just..." Kieran broke off with a frustrated sigh as he gave up on how to express the turmoil in his head.
My jaw stiffened and I firmly looked away. He was right. He always was. I knew he was right, but I just couldn't bring myself to admit, especially with this unusual emptiness within in me where my wolf normally lay curled up. God only knew when she would wake up.
"Megan?"
"Just leave me alone," I mumbled, squeezing my eyes shut, tightly enough to create a firework display of green and orange spots.
I heard Kieran sigh in frustration and felt the car speed up slightly, the engine's our increasing in volume by a fraction. I just hoped his anger at me wouldn't end up crashing the car. Well, wouldn't that make your day, Megs? Wow, your life really is pathetic.
I left my head against the pane of glass and silently waited for us to return, but it was only once we'd arrived at Kieran's apartment was I aware of the trickle of tears that had seeped from my closed lids. I hastily wiped the away with my sleeve, not wanting Kieran to see further proof of my uselessness, but there was no point, what with the bloodshot eyes.
I swallowed down the large lump in my throat uncomfortably when he shot me a disgusted glare, and meekly followed him up to his apartment. Kieran emanated hurt all the way, even once we were past his door.
The moment he slammed the door shut behind me, he muttered, "I need a shower," and stalked off to the bathroom.
I glared tearily at the door before heading towards the kitchen, where I slumped over the counter and traced patterns on the cold marble, which misted over with my breath. Soon I realised that I was writing words with the tip of my fingernail, the same ones, over and over. Lupi. Nephilim. Fallen. Angel. Larentia. Over and over, I wrote those words as I went over—yet agin—everything that had happened, and the very thought brought a fresh batch of tears close to surfacing. My wolf was what I used to vent my frustration, my grief, my anger, and I would soon lose her. I'd finally be alone. Even when I lost Leo, I had my wolf to run through the forests with, but now... even the effect of Akonit made me feel and empty and hollow.
Get used to it, Megs. Soon, you'll be this hunk of pathetic for the rest of your life. Hope you have fun...
I stuffed away the rising emotions into a faraway box in the corner of the attic in my head, and sat up, turning my attention to the stack of papers that Kieran had left on the counter when we'd been going over his compiled information. I picked up the top page, a typed sheet of paper annotated and written over with Kieran's tiny and untidy scrawl.
As I scanned through it, my teeth began to gnaw my lower lip of their own accord, like a rabid rat. These were secret plans, each page stamped with the big, bold, red-inked letters 'CONFIDENTIAL'. I shouldn't have been reading them, but I couldn't resist the lure of the words. The pages outlined the locations of where the human-dominant Nephilim were stationed. Where criminal rogues who were kicked out by their packs were most densely packed. Where—
"What the fuck are you doing?" Kieran snapped, and the sheet of paper was snatched away. I looked up in surprise to see him in a fresh set of clothes and damp hair.
"What?" I protested. "What'd I do?" Was I not on his side? Was I not privy to this sort of information?
"These—" he began, waving the sheet in my face, "—are confidential documents that you, a weak, pathetic rogue with no backbone, does not need to know!"
I gulped and nodded submissively. There was no point in trying to pick a fight with him in a bad mood. "Right," I whispered, my voice cracking harshly. "Well, in that case, I'll be right on my way, then—"
"For God's sake, Megan, what is with you?" Kieran suddenly shouted, grabbing my shoulders and shaking them roughly. "What the fuck is actually wrong with you? Is there something that's, I don't know, mentally unstable in the stupid brain of yours? Are you suffering from some sort of disease that makes you a cowering weakling? What is it with you?"
"Kieran, I—I don't know what—"
My voice died in my throat when Kieran's eyes grew an ice-cold layer over the surface as he shoved me backwards, off the bar stool. I fell to the tiles awkwardly on my shoulder, but instinctively rolled, standing up almost immediately with my weight evenly distributed between my feet, ready to fight, albeit my right shoulder was sore. Without sparing another word, Kieran rushed forward with an almost demonic speed, knocking me again the the floor, and at the last minute I avoided his fist before it crashed into my face. It was almost as though he was devoid of any feeling, incapable of feeling the pain as blood seeped through his clearly mutilated knuckles. I just managed to catch Kieran's next punch from his uninjured hand, and held his eye contact for a long moment, unable to say anything through the paralysing terror that had seized me. My fear seemed to be detected by him just as I noticed the alarming size of his pupils, leaving a microscopic trace of gold ringing the darkness.
"Have you taken that Celare thing yet?" I blurted out, my words barely comprehensible, garbled from my fear, but he heard me. He blinked once, blinked twice, before I saw alarm. He leapt to his feet, leaving my sprawled on the floor, and hurriedly opened a cabinet door, from which he pulled out the same flask I'd seen him use before. He took several long gulps before finally pulling away with a flushed face. Only then did he notice the blood leaking at a sickeningly slow pace from his hand and the hint of white bone protruding, and a grimace crossed his pace as he doubled over the sink. The sound of his retching reached my ears and I looked away, down at the faint crack that his fist had left in the white tiles. I flinched as I imagined that force crashing down on my face, shattering a cheekbone, or perhaps my jaw. A trip to the hospital, for certain. I slowly got to my feet and retreated to my makeshift room, sitting in the corner furthest from the door with my knees hugged close to my chest. The pressure in my chest was building up, and fast.
I could hear Kieran's heavy breathing and clumsy movements and he frantically scoured the bathroom for a first aid kit without avail.
"Fuck!" he swore loudly, followed by a second, far more vibrant and colourful, curse. "Megan?" he finally called out tentatively. "Could you... um, maybe help?" I could tell that he found the words awkward to say, considering the circumstances. I shrugged to myself and head into the bathroom. Maybe distracting myself would alleviate the build up in my chest that threatened to suffocate me.
Kieran was sitting on the edge of the tub, with his injured hand covered hideously in blood and his right leg held straight as a splint; I realised that the big toe of his right foot was slightly swollen and had turned a faint shade of purple. He stared up at me with mixed emotions of guilt and helplessness and pain, and I could't help but smile slightly despite the blood that had been wiped over parts of his face and the clutter that he had displaced all over the floor.
"Need a hand there?" I asked quietly, and the urge to scream dissipated, leaving sheer relief that I was able to breathe.
"Yeah..." Kieran whispered, his voice tense with pain. "There should be a first aid kit, but I can't fucking find the damn thing... there's some vodka or something in the kitchen... could you get it for me?"
"A glass?"
Kieran glanced at his hand for a moment before turning away instantly. "You know what, get the whole bottle."
I nodded and scoured through the cupboards, but not before turning on the tap to clean out the sink, which he'd conveniently clogged up. I eventually found a sealed green bottle labelled 'Pernod Absinthe', although I hadn't the slightest idea what it was, and brought it to Kieran for inspection.
The relief was evident in Kieran's face as he read the label. "God, you're a lifesaver. Could you open it? There's a bottle opener somewhere in the kitchen."
By the time he finally got to drink the alcohol, his skin had turned a ghoulishly pale shade, and his eyes kept fluttering. Kieran grasped the bottle in his uninjured hand and took several long swigs before passing it back to me, and I could tell that he was tipsy-drunk.
"Okay, right, um..." he slurred, turning his attention to his hand without so much of a flinch, "how 'bout we start with, er... cleaning up my hand, yeah?"
I glanced down at his hand and fought the impulse to throw up. The blood was beginning to congeal, but the knuckle of his middle finger was peeking through the mangled flesh. How am I supposed to—oh.
I steeled my nerves and held his hand in one and the absinthe in another and dribbled the liquid onto the flesh, instantly eliciting a suppressed cry of pain from Kieran, whose teeth were clenched tightly together in an attempt to ignore the pain.
"Are you—" I began unsurely.
"Keep going, keep going, I'm not going to be drunk for much longer," he ground out, his free hand clenched. Once I'd disinfected the wound—or at least that's what I thought I did—I proceeded to wash it and bandage it with a roll I found on the floor. Once it was securely wrapped I turned my attention to Kieran, whose breathing had stabilised somewhat, but his face was still deathly pale.
"Here." I passed him a small box of painkillers, from which he dry swallowed at least two at once.
"Thanks," he whispered, voice hoarse, closing his eyes.
"Yeah."
I placed his heavily bandaged hand on his knee before returning to my original position in my room, to where Kieran followed me.
"Look, I—I'm sorry if I said anything out of order," he said, sitting against the wall next to me.
"Yes. Out of order," I repeated flatly, and an apologetic expression crossed his face, but the hurt didn't leave. He'd been right, but I refused to acknowledge the truth, letting his sharp comments sting and burn.
"Megan, come on—"
"No, you were right, okay?" I blurted out with hysteria. "I am selfish, I am weak, I am a pessimist and I am pathetic, alright? But can't very well do shit about it because, well, look at me! I'm too fucking messed up in the head!"
"You aren't 'messed up'," Kieran denied firmly. "You're just scared, and fear makes people selfish."
"That doesn't make it any better," I snapped, and spun around so my back was to him. I hugged my knees tightly and stared at the matte finish of the wall.
"Megan, no matter how hard you try, fear always brings out the worst in all of us," he said quietly, and he placed his bandaged hand on my shoulder. "Even the strongest can't fight it. I can't fight it any more than you can."
"But at least you can put up a fight. I have no reason to," I muttered bitterly. I tore my gaze from the wall to stare at Kieran's guilty eyes,
"All of us have a reason to fight fear," he replied softly. "Now go and have shower. I'm starving, and with this hand and my toe, I don't think I can wait for you," he suddenly added, breaking the solemn mood with a grin. I managed a weak twitch of the lips as I headed to the bathroom with a fresh set of clothes.
This time when I stripped, the black and blue mottles had faced altogether and all that was left of my exhaustion were the tired bags under semi-vacant orbs of slate. My skin had regained a fragment of its normal colour, and my hair had finally gained a sliver of its original shine that it had once possessed before Leo. I stared at the in-between girl in the mirror for at least several minutes, taking in the sharp-as-glass cheekbones and the concave stomach that made my ribs and hipbones protrude like a skeleton. Like I was a walking, talking skeleton. It hadn't taken long during those days in the woods for my body to waste away and let the bones protrude. Being Lupi, we needed every last morsel of food, so having to not eat in days... its takes its toll hard. I gritted my teeth as I I tore my eyes away from the zombie behind the mirror and stepped into the shower. Unlike the last time, I was more than aware of the feeling of each droplet water splashing against my skin and the sound of it hitting the tiled floor. This was the first time since... ever that I'd felt even remotely fresh. I hurriedly changed and found Kieran waiting in front of the microwave in the kitchen, examining my clumsy bandage work. A glance down told me that he'd balanced an icepack precariously over a slightly elevated foot.
"Can't cook, huh?" I remarked with a smirk. Kieran shot me a glare that showed his evident relief at my polar change in mood.
"I'd like to see you try with an ice-packed foot and a possibly broken hand," he offered, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
We retreated to the living room with steaming hot microwaved Chinese food, where we ate in silence.
"So what are we going to do next?" I finally asked, breaking the heavy air of quietude tentatively.
Kieran chewed slowly, contemplating our next move thoughtfully, and swallowed before saying, "To be honest? I haven't the slightest damn clue, but I think... I think our next step would be for you to meet Emory. He's the one who's in charge of this whole investigation thing."
"Is he the one you dragged me off to see in Fallen?"
"Hm? Oh, no, that was someone else. Emory's a few steps further up the ladder. We'll go tomorrow, round about noon."
"Tomorrow? Noon? I thought earlier was better."
Kieran gave me a tortured look. "You do not want to see the aftermaths of his nighttime habits, believe me." His hidden implication made me grimace in disgust.
"Did you walk in on him, or...?"
"You don't want to know."
I grinned at his discomfort but sobriety quickly filtered through. "So how exactly are the Fallen imprisoned?"
Kieran chewed his lip as he struggled the arrange the related information into an understandable order.
"Well... Nephilim aren't really privy to that sort of information. You know, just in case we try to free them from the outside.
"What do you know, then?"
"Pretty much noth—"
"I'm not an idiot, Kieran," I cut him off with a small smile at his blatant lie. "If the Nephilim have no idea of how the Fallen are imprisoned, then how else will the demon-dominant Nephilim open the gates of Hell?"
Kieran grinned with reluctance. "You're smarter than I give you credit for, I'll admit that much."
"Go on then."
"Well... the Fallen are generally assigned to their own cell—it's basically solitary confinement. No Fallen can ever contact another, even the ones that can—what d'you call it?—'extend their consciousness', as we say, can't breech the magic. From what I know, the walls are made with Scáthán, which's kind of like a semi-permeable type of material. I basically reflects the Fallen's power back into the cell, so it can't be opened through the Fallen's own magical means, but it lets enough though so as to prevent the problem if the pressure of too much magic held inside builds up and makes the whole thing explode. That's all I know. Seriously," he added my sceptical look.
"Are all Nephilim aware of this?"
"Very few know more than that, and most know less, but yes, enough Nephilim know enough to bring about a jailbreak."
"But how? Judging from what you've told me, Hell is impenetrable, inside and out."
Kiera smiled a thin, grim smile. "No prison is ever impenetrable. We just need to figure out how they're going to do it before they actually do it.
I abandoned the plastic spoon in the rice, my appetite lost.
"It doesn't matter. We'll figure it out eventually, but it isn't going to happen if we're running low in fuel, am I right?"
I glanced up at Kieran, hardly able to believe his unnatural optimism and realised that he was trying to make the situation seem a bit less daunting for me. I nearly smiled at the attempt.
"Go on, get some sleep," Kieran said, relieving me of the container. "Try not to worry too much, will you? Stress hormones don't look good on you."
I offered Kieran a half-hearted smile before retreating to the bedroom. I curled into a ball near the headboard and shut my eyes, waiting for sleep to blanket me.