Of Blood and Roses

Chapter 32

Pierre came every day that followed. It was the only way I was able to keep track of time. Each time they visited I knew another day had passed.

The guards always held back just a little. They were careful to not push Sabine until she broke completely, leaving just enough of her so that she lived.

In the times between visits she mostly slept, and when she was awake her breaths were shallow and ragged. We whispered as I gripped her fingers through the bars of our cells.

Pierre did not enter my cell alone again, leading a guard inside to watch over me as Sabine was tortured over and over again.

Hatred welled up inside of me with each day, growing fierce and potent. I half expected it to spill from me, the whispers of the Angels growing so frenzied I forgot what it was like to not have them. It was as if they were cheering me on the more I focused my anger.

I cultivated and grew my hatred until it was a creature of its own. It was not angelic, it was not divine, but a monster left to haunt and devour. But no matter how much I embraced it, it stayed within. When I died, it would come with me all the same.

Pierre stared down at me after the guard left Sabine. Blood was smeared in dark patches across the floor that glistened wetly in the flickering torchlight.

"You know, love, they say the opposite of love is not hatred; but indifference. Glaring at me like that just means that even now, your passion has not diminished. You will see soon enough that this is all for your own good."

Anger welled up in my chest, but as they always did when he came, the Angel's murmurs were too distant for me to hear. With them had also gone that snarling creature inside me. I pressed my sore and cracked lips together, swallowing my retort.

He didn't deserve my voice. He had taken enough from me already.

#

The next time when Pierre came to see me, there was something different. His usually perfect hair was a little ruffled, his gaze shadowed and darting. Sabine hadn't even woken up the day before. Had it not been for the light rise and fall of her chest, I might have thought she was dead.

I sat in the same place as I had been before. My hair was a mess, soaked in grime and matted from laying on the cold ground.

Not that I had slept much.

I had spent most of my time with the Angels, falling into their voices, letting them lull and coax through me. Despite the pain fading away, my body felt heavy. Unmovable. Like a great weight now resided on my shoulders, weighing me down.

Pierre stalked into my cell, wincing as he crouched before me as if it pained him. He closed his eyes, and though he was a year younger than me, he appeared to have aged years since the last time I saw him.

He opened his eyes, red firelight coloring his black hair a vibrant red. His blue eyes shone purple, piercing into mine. He set his jaw, reaching out to grip my shoulders. I flinched as his long nails dug into the tender skin of my back. The usually perfect line of his red lipstick was jagged and uneven. A fine layer of stubble shadowed his jaw.

"Tell me," he growled. "You have no more time."

I lifted my lips into a smile, but it was more of a snarl. My only reply was a hollow laugh, which cut off into shuddering coughs, something metallic rising in my throat.

He slowly pressed his lips together, rubbing them smoothly over the glossy stain of red paint before he stood and staled to the other side of the cell, starting a steady pace back and forth. The door behind him clanked shut as a guard stepped in with us. I watched numbly as another guard walked into Sabine's cell. I had seen it so many times now I had become numb to the routine.