Perfect Flaws

6. Just a Soul that Exists

Rhea

What is right and wrong? What is evil and good? What is in between, because you're never just good, and you're never just evil. Why do we as humans label something or someone just evil, or just good?

He's a murder. He helped me.

A cold and twisted murder, he grins at a hopeless bleeding soul, and he doesn't care. Sure, they were terrible, their actions were mortifying. But I keep thinking, what if they had a mother at home, who loves her son or daughter ridiculously? What if they had a bond with their father so strong, everyone smiled at their interactions?

What if they had a sister, who claimed she couldn't stand them, but in reality she wanted to give them everything she didn't have? What if they had a brother, who looks forward to their long talks late at midnight, sharing snacks? What if their family didn't know who they were, what they did? What if they had a family waiting at home for them?

Like I was.

What if they were in a position where they could only do the orders barked at them? What if that same exact family was threatened?

Evil.

Good.

Love.

Hate.

It's a translucent line.

A line your soul wavers between.

I stare at Allen, he's passed out on the motel bed, while I sit at the end. His chest is filled with forming scars, while it gently rises and falls evenly.

Elijah helped carry Allen out of the building, and thankfully we went undetected. We took back streets and alleys to avoid weird looks. I found the nearest hotel, and stitched Allen up from a kit Elijah carries.

I look around at the pale, dim lighted room and see a simple wooden chair in the corner of the wall, next to the window. A plain and dull bathroom next to the bed's right side, while a nightstand with a lonely clock sits next to the left side of the bed, a few feet away from the entrance door.

The door opens, Elijah steps inside with two blankets and extra pillows. I start to internally panic, while my face remains calm and unbothered.

Elijah glances at Allen, then rests his gaze on me. "You're all set, so I shouldn't see you near that place again," he lowers his voice.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good," he replies with finality in his tone.

He walks over and sets the bedding on the chair.

I clear my throat, "Thank you. For everything."

"Yep," a pause, "Well, I'll be on my way."

"Yeah, uh, thanks for helping me get Allen back." "It won't happen again," he states. "I would hope not," I agreed.

Elijah walks to the door, while I get up to shut the door behind him. Just before I get to hear the click of the door shutting, Elijah stops the door with his foot, "Rhea," he blurted.

I hold one hand against the solid white door, and one hand on the doorknob, "Yeah?"

"I'm not going to hurt you, I'm not going to come back here or anything, I promise you won't see me again," he reassures. "Right," I choked out.

Silence hangs between us.

"Goodnight, Rhea."

"Goodnight, Elijah."

He releases his foot from the door, while I hear his footsteps fading away. I quickly shut and lock the door, turning to face a sleeping Allen. I sigh, walking over to the bed, and climb inside the covers, sitting upright and against the wall.