Occhiolism (#2 in the Hajar Series) [ON HOLD]

ten

chapter ten - pejorative

song of the chapter: for the crowd - lolo zouaï

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THE PADS OF Israfil's feet lightly tapped the floor as he made his way up the stairs. After checking the locks on the doors at least three times, he felt confident no one unwanted would enter. He crept on the balls of his feet, careful not to make any of the wooden stairs creak too loudly. The house was now silent and dark, all lights switched off, giving it a slightly eerie feeling. The rain was pounding hard outside, knocking on the grand windows with its anger.

It usually never rained in California but Israfil blamed it on the fact that it was now the later months of the year, meaning winter season was coming, and it was going to be wet. He rounded the corner of the staircase, now at the top. He had no trouble manoeuvring through the dark, he never did, due to the way his eyes were made. He could detect motion through the shadows, making it easy to see, even through the darkness. Still, he preferred having a little light. 

His hand clasped around the doorknob to their bedroom door, his other muffling the crack between the door and the doorframe, attempting to muffle the sound of it opening in hopes of not waking Farah up. She was a light sleeper, after all.  He slowly pushed it open, closing it carefully behind him. He let out a light sigh of relief, walking further into the room. He could see the outline of her body under the blankets, seemingly still and asleep. 

He headed to the bathroom, washing his face and brushing his teeth before leaving. Israfil then silently slipped off his clothes, changing into sweatpants and a tee-shirt, something far more suitable for sleep than his jeans and sweater from earlier. He threw his dirty clothes in the hamper, knowing how annoyed Farah got when he left them on the floor. After plugging his phone in to charge, he rounded the bed and peeled away the blankets to climb in.

Israfil could only see her back and her breathing sounded even enough to reassure him she was sleeping. Biting his lip, he slowly applied his weight onto the bed, hearing it creak slightly with the pressure of now two people on it. He moved the pillow over, laying his head lightly on it, carefully moving closer to her. His fingers shook slightly as he carefully wrapped his arm around her waist, unsure if she'd wake up.

He couldn't help but feel surprised when her hand clamped around his wrist and shoved his arm off of her. '"I thought you were asleep," he whispered into the dark silence.

"I don't want you to touch me. I don't want to talk to you," her voice was audibly uneven despite its low volume. 

"I'm sorry." He muttered. And he meant it, he was truly sorry. For everything. He didn't mean for it to go that far, he didn't want to lie at all. For the greater good or not, Azrael's point still stood: Israfil couldn't protect her from everything that came her way.  He hadn't intended his lies to hurt as much as they did-- he didn't think it was as big as it actually was. But he knew better now.