Blood of the Pure (Gaea) (59 page)

I pointedly ignored his warning and climbed up the rest of the steps. I stopped outside the door, hesitating to open it, and easily recognized Jonathan’s voice in the muffled moans that reached me. Slowly, like a child that knows she’s doing something wrong, I turned the handle and let it open only enough to see inside and, for a split second, I didn’t know what I was seeing, at least until all the pieces got put together in my brain. I covered my lips with one hand, hiding my shocked exclamation, and yet was unable to turn away.

Alexander was sitting on the bed, Jonathan on his lap, turning to him, almost as if they were lovers. I could easily see the naked skin of his back, marred by all those cruel red lines. The strength with which he held on to Alexander, his arms wrapped around his neck, made me blush. Alexander seemed to be kissing his bare chest, his dark-red hair completely disheveled, as if I really stood before some passionate scene. It took me some time to notice the small dagger stained with blood he held in one of his hands and I held my breath when I saw him raising it. Carefully, and with a deep expression of pain, I watched as he cut one of the red lines across Jonathan’s chest and, when he placed his lips over the recently opened wound, I thought I’d already intruded too much in that space that clearly belonged only to the two of them.

I went back downstairs, careful to be as silent as possible, and went to the living room, feeling slighted depressed. How often would they have to go through that to keep Jonathan alive?

I stopped by the door and, in just a split second, all my previous thoughts and cares evaporated. Gabriel had undressed his shirt and was unwrapping his bloodied bandages, the ones that I’d put in place just last night.

“What are you doing!?” I finally managed to ask, hoping I sounded angry enough, and he raised his head to face me.

“Lea told me you did this,” he calmly observed.

“And why does that matter? You shouldn’t even be walking around!” I remarked, half despairing before his puzzled expression. I’d been so worried about Jonathan’s problems that I’d completely forgotten about just how serious his injury was. Once again my life was like a war zone, constantly bombed by every side, as my mind struggled to deal with everything at the same time.

“It was nothing serious,” he replied, unconcerned, which irked me more than it should.

Nothing serious!
How was he able to say something like that to my face! I still hadn’t been able to erase the image of all that blood from my mind, and of his mortally pale face as he mumbled delirious words no one had been able to understand. For a moment, last night, I really believed he wouldn’t survive! And I was positive that any Human Being in his place had been dead somewhere before dawn.

Before I could argue, or scold him any further, the bandages were in a pile on the floor. I watched as he also got rid of the gauzes, looking down at his own chest with a curious expression. He pressed his own red skin along the suture, making me cringe, and nodded appreciatively.

“Almost good.”

I just couldn’t stop staring at him. In truth, although his skin was still stained with blood, the black stitches standing out like a sore thumb, the huge gash seemed completely healed. The ease with which he pressured it and touched it was proof enough of that. And on his chest, over the place where his heart should beat, I couldn’t help notice the deformed red blotch, which the symbol of our Contract had become. I thought it had been gone forever and, knowing it was still there, even deformed as it was, strangely made me feel more at ease.

“These things are itching,” he complained, ferociously scratching the stitches and I almost jumped.

“Stop that!” I blurted out and was even more surprised when he obeyed, looking at me inquisitively.

“Then what? Will I have to have these things on me forever?” He sounded annoyed again and I realized he hadn’t the slightest idea of what surgical stitches were.

“The things Lea got for me. Where are they?”

“I put them in there,” he replied, pointing to a cupboard and I entered the room, going around the table in order to keep the distance between us. I got hold of my magically acquired utensils, filled the aluminum basin with distilled water and grabbed the rest of the cotton pads, along with the scissors, tweezers and, just in case, the bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“Sit there.” I pointed the chair on the other side of the table and he stared back at me for a brief moment, before obeying once again, his steps ever so slow and carefully measured while blatantly keeping an eye on me, probably expecting some kind of panicky reaction.

Trying to stop my hands from shaking so much, and grabbing the things I’d gathered, I told myself there was no reason why I shouldn’t be able to do this! After all, I’d practically spent the whole night beside him. I had taken care of him and I had been close enough to touch him ... even to hug him. And so I stepped determinedly towards him. My heart immediately jumped to a frenzy, the trembling of my hands taking over the rest of my body. I stopped for a moment, making sure I kept breathing, and checked all the things I’d gathered, afraid I’d end up dropping something.

“Mariane.” His voice broke through my uneasiness, slightly calming me down, and I looked up at him. “You don’t need to do this.”

I frowned, annoyed at his condescending tone, and took another step, and then another, towards him. With a victorious feeling I finally sat down in front of him, although I couldn’t stop shaking, and smiled proudly at his expression of disbelief.

“Close enough?” I asked with a smug smile. “How did you think I managed to stitch you up?” I went on, my voice was still shaky, no matter how much I tried to make it sound strong and decided. Awkwardly enough I couldn’t help noticing how his eyes looked even brighter, intimidating and intense from up close, and so I focused my attention on the task at hand. “Please stay still, now.”

I drenched a cotton pad in distilled water and leaned forward. I softly pressed my shaky hand against his skin, cleaning the dried blood, a prickling feeling coursing from the tips of my fingers up to my elbow, almost as if the air around him was charged with electricity. And yet, this was not an impossible task to accomplish, I mused with a strange feeling of happiness. He kept completely motionless all through the process, so much so that I was having difficulties noticing if he was still breathing at all.

As I cleaned his skin, the state of his injury became clearer. All that was left from the vicious gash that had cut him from side to side was the dark, irregular line formed by the stitches. No swelling, no redness, or even purple areas. His skin was as white and perfect as it had always been.

“The black lines must be first cut and then pulled carefully,” I told him, trying hard to resist the temptation of placing my hands flat on his chest. Seeing him so up close still made me wonder if he was as hard and cold as he seemed. “But it’s best if I’m not the one to do it.” I pulled away under the pretext of closing the distilled water bottle. My hands were suffering from the destructive effects of his proximity and my whole body was shaking, even though I was trying my best to keep it under control. Trying to perform such a delicate task that involved a pair of scissors and cutting so close to someone’s body was surly not the best of ideas.

“I don’t mind,” I heard him whisper and raised my head. He smiled, making me dizzy for a moment, and then closed his violet eyes, returning to that statue state of his. “I promised I won’t move an inch.”

I blinked, still dazed. I’d never been so close to him while keeping such a clear state of mind and, while that made me feel all proud and self-reassured, it also made me aware of an infinity of other small details that I’d never noticed before.

His dark eyelashes were incredibly long, casting soft bluish shadows on his perfect white skin. His thin lips could have been drawn, its contours absolutely perfect and, although he was serious now, their corners still crooked slightly upward, giving him an innate treacherous expression. The bangs of hair falling over his forehead concealed his thin, slightly arched eyebrows, and I had to concede that they were probably the point of his physiognomy that made him look so ... not Human.

“That’s not the point!” I countered, looking away from the terrible beauty of his face. He didn’t understand what I meant at all and I wished I didn’t have to explain it word by word. “I can’t stop shak ...”

“Didn’t you just say you were the one who stitched me up? So? I’m sure you’ll be able to take them off as well.” His tone was suddenly so intense that it made me unconsciously hold my breath. “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t say another word,” he added, again back to whispering, and it took me some time to pull myself back together.

When my heart went back to a fast, but constant, heartbeat, I grabbed the scissors I’d left on the table and tried my hardest to make at least that one hand stop shaking so much. As slowly as he usually moved around me, I got it closer to his skin, my hand still shaking more than it should, and held my breath as I cut the first stitch. He didn’t even flinch, keeping as still as he’d promised. I dared look up at his face, trying to see if I’d hurt him in any way, but Gabriel kept his eyes shut, his expression soft. I decided to try even harder, as if by doing so I could repay his effort and patience, and cut stitch after stitch, holding my breath every time I closed the scissors so close to his skin. He remained completely motionless the whole time, like the statue he seemed to be; even when, for more than once, my uncontrollable shaky hands made the scissors scratch him.

Once I was finished I put the scissors on the table and sat up, allowing myself to relax for a moment, although relaxing was, to begin with, pretty much impossible with him sitting like that right in front of me.

He opened his eyes, as if awaking from a brief sleep, and looked down at his white scar where dozens of small black threads stuck creepily out of his skin. With an intrigued expression, he pulled one of the sticking ends and thread slid easily.

“Pull it slowly! You’ll end up hurting yourself,” I scolded, although my voice now sounded too rough and frail to be taken seriously, and he looked at me, watching me curiously, making me blush.

“Is it that hard?” he asked, slightly disappointed, and I had to avert my gaze. Facing his violet eyes was even harder than when his eyes were black.

“Hard?”

“Bearing my presence.”

If my heart was already beating fast, it definitely jumped at that, my cheeks blushing from frustration. I really wished I could hide, or at least disguise, my stupid, unreasonable reactions from him. I was sure my obvious intolerance to his presence displeased him deeply, even though he always tried to look indifferent to it.

“The air that surrounds you is different,” I noted, not wanting to give him a direct answer. “It feels heavier, almost electric.”

“Is that why it’s hard for you to breathe?”

I nodded, feeling even more awkward. As to be expected, with his keen eyesight and hearing, he could easily see through me. Right then I was even willing to bet he could hear the madness that was my heartbeat.

“My heart always beats too fast, sometimes to the point that my chest hurts,” I added, frowning. “And I can’t stop this stupid trembling all the time.” Of all the incoherent reactions I felt near him, the uncontrollable trembling and shaking were the ones I hated the most.

“Sigweardiel says you react like this because, contrary to the rest of them, even himself or Lea, you’re able to see my true self, regardless if I’m Sealing it or not. As it seems, everyone else can only see what I choose to show them.”

“Does that mean you’re never yourself?” I asked, daring to take a peek at his face, and his expression became somewhat distant.

“The few times that happened there wasn’t much left around me afterwards. Certainly not anything living.”

“Don’t you ever get tired? Constantly limiting and locking yourself up like that?” He shrugged.

“I’ve been doing it since I can remember. To me it’s as natural as breathing.”

“I guess it’s kind of the same with me,” I said and he slightly tilted his head, looking intrigued. “That automatic reaction thing. True that, in the beginning, standing close to you was really hard and exhausting. But then, contrary to what it may look like, now it’s not that hard anymore. A bit tiring, yes. But that’s only because of my own reactions. This constant shaking can even make my muscles ache at times. If all this is a reaction to your true self, then ... I guess you must be truly terrifying. And yet, contrary to what it may look like, I’m not afraid at all. Sure I can look like I’m scared to death at times and sometimes, when my brain stops working properly and I can’t think straight, that feeling really does take over me. But that’s only because I’m not myself when that happens, and all that’s left is this bundle of chaotic emotions that don’t even have a reason to be. But as soon as I’m able to think straight again, as soon as I’m me again, just like now, I’m not afraid at all.” The intensity with which his violet eyes stared at me made me blush. I didn’t really know why I’d gone to the trouble of explaining all that, but I was kind of glad that I did.

“Does that mean ... you’re not afraid of me?” The disbelief that marked his tone of voice left a smile on my lips. Sometimes it was really like I was speaking with Lea, not with the terrifying Gabriel sitting in front of me.

“I guess that if you don’t count our first meeting, you never really gave any reasons why I should fear you.”