Until The End Of Time

Chapter 3. Before you

Now everything is like my heart,

a color at the edge of blood:

the grey of your absence, the color of poison, of thorns,

the gold when we meet, the season ablaze,

the yellow of autumn, the red of flowers, of flames,

and the black when you cover the earth

with the coal of dead fires.

And the sky, the road, the glass of wine?

The sky is a shirt wet with tears,

the road a vein about to break,

and the glass of wine a mirror in which

the sky, the road, the world keep changing.

Don't leave now that you're here-

Stay. So the world may become like itself again:

so the sky may be the sky,

the road a road,

and the glass of wine not a mirror, just a glass of wine.

***

The rain had just stopped for a moment. Kye shook violently due to the cold winds blowing on her wet hair and body.

Michael frowned at the sight he had just caught out of the corner of his eye. He checked his watch and turned to whisper something to one member of his entourage. The man nodded and walked to the car.

He came back with an oatmeal-colored blanket and threw it on top of Kye. She startled but quickly covered herself with the fabric. It was barely warm enough but at least better than before.

The sound of several car engines through the soft pitter-patters caught the group's attention. The first car that stopped was a moss-green jeep. Two guys jumped out of it; one held a black lockbox. Michael walked to where Kye was. He stopped for a moment before grabbing her by the elbows and pulling her up.

Kye couldn't help but imagine the feeling of his bare hands under those leather gloves. They were always cool, cold even, but warmed up the moment they touched her skin. They were strong, clean, and filled with angelic grace that made her skin prickled. When their eyes met fully for the first time, Kye could see it—a mixture of emotions that she couldn't quite read. They were gone before she could be certain, and there stood Michael the archangel again, completely inexpressive.

"Michael..." Kye mumbled while searching for something that was not there anymore.

Maybe it never was, but she held on to the hope that somewhere inside, somehow, Michael was not as indifferent as he portrayed. Maybe he was just as shaken.

Michael still held her elbows, a little longer than necessary. His face was inches away from her. Kye could see his long eyelashes flutter, shadowing his stormy blue eyes. His lips slightly curved at the corners, beckoning; and his scent—something so fresh and clean like the air after the rain, under a mixture of mint and cedar—is so familiar and intoxicating that she couldn't help but lean toward him a little.

Michael tilted his head and gazed at her the same way he usually did when something puzzled or intrigued him. Kye always found these gestures lovely, especially when they were accompanied by hundreds of random questions that somehow managed to escape the archangel's knowledge and, many times, hers as well.

Right now, it only sent chills down her spine. Kye could see nothing, no warmth, passion, or curiosity. Nothing but a silent threat. You will do as I say and stay quiet, or else. He looked at her the way a superior being would look at an inferior one—an insect—to study it before deciding if it should be squished.