Page 106 of Tortured Soul
I looked at the next, and again, and again, seeing similar scenes everytime, each of them constricting my heart a little more, pressure building behind my eyes.
As I was about to turn another page, a large golden-stained hand slapped it close.
“Get the fuck out, and don’t fucking touch my stuff.”
I should’ve snapped back. Should’ve pushed his buttons again. Should’vetwisted the fucking knife.
But I guess the drawings had weakened me. Turned my anger into sadness. Intopity.
“Carter—” I started, turning to face him.
“Out.”
Taking the now-closed binder, he pulled a drawer open and locked it inside, taking the key with him as he limped toward a door on the far back of the room.
His back was still bleeding. Shards of glass stabbed into it and sticking out of his ruffled wings.
I exhaled a shaky breath and only hesitated a second before going after him, joining him in a large bathroom.
He was sitting on the floor, many mirrors placed around him to look at his own back. With long tweezers, he tried to reach a sharp piece digging close to his spine. He winced as it touched it, but struggled and didn’t manage to grab it properly.
Without a word, I went to wash my hands at the sink, ignoring his murderous look as I did.
“I told you to leave.”
My throat bobbed and I carefully dried my clean hands with the little towel hanging on the wall.
“Are you deaf or just playing dumb?”
I kneeled behind him and he tensed, his shoulders rising in apprehension.
“I said—”
“Stop being a baby and get over your repulsion for five minutes, will you?” I snapped, but the words came out softer than I intended them to.
“I can do it myself,” he gritted, but didn’t push me away as I pinched one of the shards to pull on it slightly. “Fuck—”
“Sorry, there are a lot. It might hurt a bit.”
Carter grunted, not committing to an actual answer. The skin had started closing around the shard, making it hard to pull. As soon as the glass was out, his wound started to close, the skin knitting together, stopping the bleeding.
I removed six pieces from his back alone. His breath was shaky and labored as I wiped a towel with warm water on his skin to clean off the golden blood.
“I’m sorry it escalated,” I said, throwing the stained fabric into the laundry basket behind me.
His head fell forward, burying itself between his knees. He didn’t answer.
It took longer to pluck the ones out of his wings, some of them hitting against the bone structure. I had told him it would take five minutes, but when I extracted the last one, we’d been sitting there in almost complete silence for over an hour.
My hands couldn’t help but graze over the soft feathers, a bright white now stained in gold. In my long life, I’ve never seen angel wings from that close, let alone touched any.
He shuddered as my hand roamed the arch of his wings softly.
“What’re you doing,” he said through clenched teeth.
I gulped. “Checking for any shard that might not be sticking out as much.”
Lies. They were all gone. I just couldn’t help myself from studying them up close, and enjoying the rare peace of our moment together.
