Forever Now *Reboot*

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Kryzstofer’s eyes narrow in an angry way, the skin around them creasing so tight that his eyes almost burst out of their sockets. He stares at me for a long time before a flap of wings marks my vision, Kryzstofer disappearing in the blink of an eye. My hands drop to my side in frustration. He said he was willing to do anything; I merely provided a possibility.

I turn, rubbing my hand down my face. I rub my temples and sit down on the large bed; I was getting a headache already and he’s only been here 10 minutes.A yawn escaped my lips. I throw myself back on the bed and look up at the ceiling. Oh, how things have changed! There was a time when I would never say anything to upset Kryzstofer in anyway; I would be beating myself up by now in that time. But now, sleepy and indifferent, I can’t even come up with a good argument against my proposition.

Well... I can, but why do it and make Kryzstofer think I was backing down? If he really ‘loves’ me like he says he does, he wouldn’t even blink at the thought; he would have done it centuries ago without hesitation, but I guess we’ve both changed in a way that, up until now, I hadn’t noticed.

How many times has he come down to earth and spoken to me; demeanor, soul, and contrite? And how many times did he leave without a goodbye or a warning? In regards to Kryzstofer, nothing was simple. He made the stock exchange look easy.

I turn in bed, curling up to my pillow, hugging it to my chest and sigh. I miss him already, having just gotten him back. The touch of his skin - even if he hadn’t touched me tonight – the feel of his eyes on me, the shivers he sends down my spine when he walks very close to me. I miss... everything and it made me mad.

For one hundred and forty-seven years, I’ve been on my own and ten minutes with Kryzstofer reverts me back to the same sniveling little girl he met and changed forever.

I get up, too frustrated with myself to go to sleep. Mind you, it’s not like I was going to go to sleep anyway. My mind would be up, listening to any change in the air that marks the presence of the angel. Stretching my arms over my head until my shoulders popped in a satisfying, tension releasing pop, I begin to tidy up my room.

Cleaning always makes me feel better. The thought of straightening everything out, making sure it is in the correct spot in the correct position, always helps me clear my mind.

I pick up a few stray papers from a novel I’ve been reading, whose pages constantly fall out from its age. Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde, my all-time favorite book, with its intimate knowledge of the human condition and horrible yet outstanding ending has nearly all its pages pulled out from decades of reading. I put the papers in order, putting them inside the old book cover and securing them by wrapping a rubber band around its length.

I pick up some receipts and random papers that are on my desk next to my laptop. I clean my desk with a clean cloth I got from one of the cabinets on the side. The black finish is grey in color, and every time I clean it, some of it rubs off, making the desk turn duller and duller with every cleaning it gets. But at least it will have no more dust! When the desk is nice and shiny, I organize my laptop right in the center; the apple logo looking up at me with a ‘use me!’ look that I ignore.

Then, I turn to my bed; oh, how I hate making beds. I may love to clean, but bed making is right up there with laundry in my not-to-do-list. But, if I don’t make the bed, my room will look like crap. So, after a few hesitant moments where I stare down the bed covers, I pull off the linens - leaving only the mattress - and begin.

By the time my bed is ready – hell, you could practically bounce a penny off the covers – my mind is clear and all frustration against Kryzstofer and anger towards myself is gone. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop!