The Angel Cries for God

Chapter 4

Nicholas 

Nicholas vomited for the third time that day, watching as the bile of his morning meal oozed across the floor, claiming every clean spot of wood in it's path. 

"Nicholas?" It was Velore.

He swiped one arm across his mouth, removing the last traces of rancid puke from his face, though the smell still lingered on his breath. He turned around to face the small girl, finding that she was rocking back and forth on her heels with a huge smile on her face; unbeknownst to the horrors that he had faced while locked in her room. She halted her movement, dropping her arms to the side and fixing him with an intense stare now that she had gotten his attention.

"Are you done yet?," she asked it sweetly, like a child asking her mother for a cookie, but her eyes betrayed the contempt and uncaring attitude she secretly held for the man in front of her. Her loving approach was just an act that she used to keep him coming back to her, to keep loving her. It was apparent to Nicholas the way she felt, he knew it from the first time she layed eyes on him after the accident. But despite what he saw in her eyes some part inside of him-the part that fondly remembered the days where Velore used to truly smile, the days where his existence was lost on her-some part wanted to believe that she truly cared for him the way he did for her.

It was all he had left.

"Well?," she prompted with just the tiniest pit of poison leaking into her voice. He forced himself away from the memories of days long past, pulling himself back into the backwards reality that his life had become. 

"Y-yeah, I'm done." Exhaustion and defeat laced his voice thickly, but Velore did not seem to notice; as she never seemed to notice. She clasped her hands together tightly, shooting Nicholas a white-toothed grin.

"Great, because I'm going out to eat."

"Excuse me?" The words came out sharper than he expected, slicing Velore's good mood in the process.

"Is that a problem?"

Was that a problem? The hours he had spent slaving away in that damn room, trying to scrub clean the dirty secret of torn body parts and howling screams, of pleading eyes and blackened blood that refused to leave the wood floor as a final stance of defiance by the victims. Did she not see the suffering he felt every time he had to enter that room? Did she not notice the lingering smell of puke that found it's way into every corner of the house long after the victims had died? The blood that stained his palms long after he had rubbed them raw haunted him every waking moment and even found it's way into his dreams which could've been pleasant a long time ago.

And all this, all of it, just for her. 

He picked up broken skulls with leaking brains just for her. He laboured in the yard with a rusty shovel, digging grave after grave just for her. Soaked up all the blood she had created with his own hands just to protect her from her own mistakes. And now, now she wanted to go back out there and kill God knows who, just so he could go out later and dispose of the mangled remains while others slept soundly. Was that a problem...?

"Yes Velore! Yes it is!" He hadn't meant for his voice to rattle the walls, but as the words left his mouth each one become louder than the last, boiling over along with the anger built-up over countless sessions of cleaning. It was deafening, even to his own ears. For a moment Velore looked shocked, surprised even, that he could speak to her in such away; particularly at a moment like this. But that face was quickly shattered as it turned to one of heated anger, her face contorting in such a way that her delicate features became grotesque.

"And what are you going to do, huh? You couldn't even protect me when you needed to, what makes you think you'll be able to stop me?" She spit the words at him with disgust, her eyes piercing straight through his heart with the intention to hurt.