Blood Lily

17

Serafina

You're as much a part of this as I am.

The words echoed in my mind, eating at my thoughts. Was he right? Had I allowed something to bad get too close? Am I finally entangled into a web of madness that's too mad-ning even for me? The way he had touched the bruise on my neck, the way he had called me his muse—it was too intimate. 

And intimate is bad, it's dangerous. It always was. But add the fact he was literally a crazy man, that made this combination from dangerous to absolute radioactive levels of dangerous.

I forced myself to stand regardless of my trembling in my legs. I have to get a grip. This was just a game to Kael, another way for him to manipulate, to see how far he could push before I broke. I'm his new toy, and I was more resistant to his blows than others. I'm not sure if I'm grateful for it or not yet, but I have to figure a way to survive that man for the next two months. 

When the phone rings, I jump. I look at the caller ID and answer. "Ezekiel what's up?" 

I try to adopt a lighter tone, but it fails miserably "He was here, wasn't he?" Ezekiel asked quietly

I sigh, my voice failing me for a moment. "Yeah. He was... just here." I choke up for a second and look at the painting again, debating on telling Zeke or not. 

"Are you okay?" Ezekiel finally asked, his voice steady but soft, as if he were afraid I'd shatter if he spoke too loudly.

I rolled my eyes at the concern in his tone, trying to deflect. "Don't use that tone with me," I groaned. "That's Meiko's voice. I'm fine. I always am." I walked over to the painting and threw the sheet back over it, trying to shut out its eerie presence.

"Sue me for being worried" he groans and I hear a scream and shots firing

"Are you really calling me while working?" I scoff as I sink onto the couch 

He chuckles and fires another shot "Felt you needed it. Spidey senses" 

I groan and chuckle "Whatever you say Ghost" I sigh "Yeah, no. Kael was here. But it went well. He answered to more then I though he would" 

Ezekiel hums, and I continue "He accused me a little but nothing I can't handle to be honest." I sigh and run a hand through my hair "I think I understand why you want me to help him. I don't guaranty crazy results though" 

"We just want him to be able to manage himself enough to be a functional human" Ezekiel mutters 

"As functional as you is what I'm aiming for to be honest. You two are pretty similar" I tell him  

Ezekiel's laugh echoed through the phone, low and amused. "Oh please, don't insult me like that, Sera. Kael and I are nothing alike." 

"Really?" I leaned back into the couch, the exhaustion starting to set in. "Both of you have a talent for compartmentalizing, hiding things behind that cold mask of indifference. And deep down, you're haunted by the same ghosts, the same darkness that led you to what you both are today."

"Difference is," Ezekiel replied, a gunshot punctuating his words in the background, "I know how to keep my ghosts on a leash. Kael, he feeds his. And pretty well."

"Maybe," I admitted, "but that's why I'm here. You want me to teach him how to chain his demons, don't you? To stop feeding them."

"Exactly," Ezekiel said, his tone amused. "Especially since you hide yours better then any of us."

I froze. His words hit me harder than I would like to admit. They were too close to what Kael had said,  and that similarity was making the hairs on my neck stand up. The difference is, I thought to myself, Ezekiel's family. Kael's a stranger. 

"You're exaggerating," I said softly, hoping to divert the conversation.

"I'm really not." Ezekiel groaned, probably from shifting positions. There was a pause before he added, almost carefully, "Considering everything Uncle—"

"Anyway" I cut "I'll do my best."

The line goes silent for a few minutes, only the sound of gunshots and bodies dropping coming through the line, before he speaks again, his voice quieter this time. "I'm sorry, Princess. I didn't mean to—You know I'd never..."

"It's fine Ghost" I say as neutrally as I can "At least, he grew to become a better man." 

"Sera—" he started, but I wasn't ready for that conversation. Not now. Probably not ever.

"I'll talk to you later. Don't get hurt. I don't want to have to clean the bathroom again" I 

His chuckle was soft. "Yeah, yeah. Stay safe, Princess."

I hang up and throw my phone away from me. 

If I had known that me getting out of bed this morning would lead to me spiraling back into memories, I would've stayed in bed. I guess that's why God doesn't give anyone the gift of foresight. 

"Eymen and now Father" I groan as I run a hand on my face, as if the movement would help me forget. 

I was good at locking away memories. Putting them in neat little boxes, tucked away in the back of my mind, in a dark corner that I didn't have access to. But that's all it was; locking away. And I still had all the keys. 

And all it took was a mention, a flashback, and suddenly I run to that corner, opening the boxes up, yearning for the feeling, the pain those memories gave me.

Like a a true masochist  the voice in my head snickered.

I slap my hands on my face and get up, grabbing the canvas. I lock the office and walk outside. I call myself a cab and on the drive home, I let myself imagine what would life have been like if I wasn't me. 

If I was Meiko, or Ace. What if I had a Dad instead of a Father. The thought made me feel like a terrible sibling, wishing I could take their place just because they had something I didn't—luck. Just by not being born first, they got something I will never truly have: a real family. I wondered if they had ever resented me in the same way I resented them. Not there was much I truly had, even if my father gave the illusion of the opposite. 

When the cab finally gets me home, I drag myself to my door, the painting behind me. I unlock the door and walk in leaving the painting at the door as I walk inside to change and fix myself a meal. It wasn't until I passed the canvas on my way to bed that I remembered it.

I stared at the painting for a moment before grabbing it and walking to the living room. I stood in front of the bare wall behind my couch, hammer and nail in hand, wondering if I finally lost my mind. I mean I have, but this was like writing it in stone. 

I stared at the painting for a moment before grabbing it and walking to the living room. I stood in front of the bare wall behind my couch, hammer and nail in hand, wondering if I had finally lost my mind.

I pulled off the sheet, revealing the painting underneath, and waited. Waited for the wall to speak, to tell me this was a mistake. That this was what enabling looked like.

But the wall stayed silent.

I picked up the painting, lifted it with both hands, and secured it to the wall. I took a step back, perching on the headrest of the couch to get a better view.

And despite everything, despite how much I wished I could deny it, the contrast of the golden frame against the riverside blue walls looked... beautiful.

Painfully beautiful.