Devils and Angels

v. restless days, sleepless nights

a d v e s p e r a s c i t

the approaching dark ; 

the evening draws near

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CASPIAN WAS THE ONLY ONE home, it seemed―parents out and sisters nowhere to be found―since he had no hesitance in inviting me inside. I'd refused at first, but he'd gently reminded me, both of my current state and the predicament I faced; promising not to ask questions if I just let him help me for a bit, just until he knew I was okay. 

He'd sat in silence with me, for me, for ten minutes, until I regained enough sense to defiantly shove at the arm he offered to help me up, and clamber to my own feet, steadying myself on the wall until the softness of his sofa came into view, and I collapsed onto that instead.

He brought me hot chocolate, topped with a mountain of whipped cream, and clutched the first-aid kit in his hand with a death grip. Sitting back a respectful distance, he watched with the faintest touches of a smile on his lips while I curved my hands around the searing warmth and mutely and begrudgingly thanked him, before taking my first scalding sip.

Meanwhile, he cracked open the first-aid kit on the coffee table and seized a cotton ball and disinfectant, preparing to clean me up.

"I can do it myself," I muttered in protest, and he nodded, I know, Tia, but didn't relinquish them to me.

"I've had a lot of practice," He murmured instead, applying the first touch of the sharp, cold liquid to the claw-marks dragging down my skin. I hissed at the first stab of pain, but exhaled as the bitterness of it subsided, and I became immune to the sharpness lacing my marred flesh and making it tingle. 

His hands were deft in cleaning out the permanent gashes on my face, right down to the shredding of my knuckles and the patterns of cuts I didn't know I'd obtained. Fingers pressed into my bruises, and I was too aware of his face uncomfortably close to mine the whole way through. 

When he leant back, I knew he took notice of the shaking relief crossing my face, but he took it in his stride, betraying no trace of the hurt that had crossed his features in all our previous interactions. 

"I'm fine now, Caspian," I told him curtly, when he began to ask if I needed anything else, while I was starting to ascend from the sofa. "Thanks." 

"I know you're not, Tia." He exhaled, a whoosh of muffled exasperation. "You don't think I know when you're lying to me?"

"Who are you to decide whether I'm okay or not?" I asked, anger simmering in my eyes, jaw set and locked. "I'm fine." 

"If you were really fine, you'd be calling me Casp," He whispered, the bitter sweetness of it all rushing and curving like whistling, merciless winds across my ears. 

"I don't need you in my life to be okay," I bit back, and he sighed again, expression dropping.

"I know, Tia. You'd probably be more okay without me in your life, in fact. But let's be real, you're not. You're not okay." He stood up, beside me, towering over me in a way that made me want to turn my back on the compassion etched into his features.

He seemingly knew too much and cared too much, and that was dangerous.

I always had a way of falling for it in the end.

"Even if I'm not, it's not your business," I said, harsh and spiked with the razor-edged guards I put up, to stop my real feelings from leaking through the walls. It's not like you'd believe me, my heart hammered, and I tensed, ignoring the sensation of his electric eyes burning into my back. "I should go. You don't need to walk with me on Monday."