Page 55 of Dead By Dusk

The wind stops, as if nature itself began holding its breath to wait for a response I know will never come. She will not speak to me, and no matter how terrified I am of leaving her to do this alone, if it’s my destiny then I will bear it with my shoulders raised and a small smile of acceptance on my face. I nod slowly, the movement small but one that she tracks nonetheless. Then she’s taking a deep trembling breath as her hands slightly shake. One more breath before raising that axe higher and drawing it down upon me with a loud, Earth shattering scream.

From the second the blade begins its descent, everything plays out in front of me in slow motion. I let my eyes close, wanting to remember a better time before I lose the ability to recall such things forever. I see my life, all the best parts of it, flash by for what feels like several minutes.

The first memory was the first time we met and her holding my wrist at an angle it should not be, an obvious threat to never touch her again and my immediate, resulting intrigue. Then it flashes to the first mission we’d ever gone on together and her almost killing me for getting in her way.

“You were told to stand back,”she had said to me while storming forward and harshly pushing at my chest.

“I tried,” was my only response at the time. She kept pushing, demanding answers about why I had interfered but I couldn’t muster more than an indifferent shrug. I never gave her the answer she was looking for. It’s one of my many regrets, but in that silk black dress that clung to every curve of her body, I couldn’t tell her I didn’t like how every man in the room had been looking at her the way I wished I could everyday.

That mission was such a large-scale event, there was no way to kill every man that looked at her. So, selfishly, I made sure every man there thought she was mine by stepping in for a dance or two, instead. Consequences be damned, I cared a lot less about a target than I did about her.

The next memory was the first time we hid out at the house together—the first time she opened up to me. It was her, in all her messy hair, baggy clothes, clean faced glory. God, the way she laughed at my jokes no matter how awful they were, the way she stubbornly hesitated to even let me know her. In the end, it was a storm in this very house that brought out her truths. No matter how limited they were at the time, it was more than I’d been able to get out of her for months, and it was out of fear of all the words she may never get to say.

The fear of no one ever knowing who she is.

Suddenly, I’m flashing forward to the conversation when we figured out exactly what we were to each other. She was in nothing but one of my cut up T-shirts and short shorts, her hair thrown in a bun on top of her head. She was attempting to teachme how to cook for the umpteenth time, but I wasn’t catching on. Admittedly, I wasn’t quite focused on cooking anyway. Not when she was wearing my clothes and dangling the possibility ofusright in front of my face.

“Ronan, you know it’s strictly prohibited. No fraternization between co-workers. He’d have our heads for it,”she had said while laughing at my efforts, but I was relentless.

“He hasn’t found out yet, and when he does, it’ll be too late anyways. You know he’d be stupid to get rid of his two best agents.”

“Two of his best we may be, but we’re being reckless enough as it is,”she proclaimed, and I knew that she was right. Yet…

“Move in with me.”

“Ronan, I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can. Keep your apartment if you’re worried about anything, or just want to make sure you have space when you want it. But bring some stuff here. Then you could at least stop stealing my clothes everytime you stop by unannounced.”

“You love it when I steal your clothes and stop by unannounced.” She pouts, stopping all movements.

“You know I do, but I would rather you have a key and be here more than you’re not. You know that you love hanging out with me.”

“Uh uh, tolerate at best. Check yourself, Blue.”

She moved in a month later, and it felt right. Every second we had shared a space called home. The memories that pass after that are a mix of restless nights and mornings when she tried to get me out of bed but I would convince her to stay a little while longer with whatever methods I could depending on the day.

These are my seven minutes, I realize. All the memories I get to relive before I die, and they all belong to her. But when time speeds up again, and her scream echoes in the absence of thewind, I watch as the weapon flies past my face and digs into the ground several feet away from me.

My breath hitches as I focus entirely on her empty hands and how she looks at them as if they do not belong to her. Her breathing rapidly increases as she begins to roughly grab and scratch at her skin.

Every inch of it that had been caked with dried blood is being clawed at with each harsh breath that escapes her.

“Get it off me,” she sobs as she continues clawing at her skin. Each scratch results in flakes falling freely to the ground, but she continues digging into her skin over and over again.

“Get it off, Ronan,” she says again as her panic rises, and I move closer to her—crawling, but she backs away from me. Shaking her head as she mutters over and over again. My heart stops for a beat or two while watching her break this way knowing there is nothing that I can do to make it better.

“Get it off me, please.” A cry for help that agonizes me and chills me to the bone. I stumble to my feet, tripping over the emotion that bubbles and pours out of her, crashing into me in tidal waves.

“Ronan, please. Get it the fuck off me. It won’t come off.” Angrier. The words are progressively getting louder and louder, each movement jerkier than the last. I rush to her as fresh blood begins to trickle from her arms and stomach. This time, she doesn’t move away from me as my shaky hands grip her body and it collapses against me. Her arms wrap around my abdomen, and I let us both fall to the ground. I’m cradling her body, rocking us back and forth gently as she cries into my shirt, and I look up at the sky, unable to watch as she breaks.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” I whisper, even as I know this may very well be her breaking point. Even though I know we can’t stop now, I give her this moment of rest. Pressing one hand into her hair, pushing her further into my chest, while theother wraps around her body as I trace soothing circles down the length of her back.

Her hands grips my shirt with each sob that overcomes her. When sleep eventually takes over, I massage the irritated skin on both arms and kiss each fresh wound while rocking her body until the sun rises.

Although I’m not sure where this leaves the two of us, I’m thankful I can keep her safe while she sleeps. Even if she wakes up and hates me for it.

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