Salvation

Salvation #13

Silence ebbs around me and pain torments my body. A thick delirium swirls around my head. The frosted ligaments of unconsciousness still dig into my mind like shards of razors burrowing beneath the flesh.

A small groan rolls off of my lips. Agony rips through my wrists and the rope digs through my flesh. The splintery wood of the cross grazes my skin.

A dark silhouette moves swiftly through the gloom. Fear and panic slash through the curtain of my groggy state. My pulse swells against my skin and stale air whistles down my throat.

"Ella?" Nate's smooth voice breaks through my painful fog. I only manage a frail whimper.

"Mierda," Nate mumbles. His voice is exotic and entrancing. It envelops me inside it's beautiful, tender sound. His warm gaze flickers over me.

Gently he unties the rope binding my wrist to the cross. I collapse forward, limply held by the rope wrapped around my other wrist. A cry rounds against the roof of my mouth and slips through the air.

Nate slides his arm around my waist. "Lean on me," he says. I cling weakly to his shoulder. Awkwardly he claws at the other strip of rope.

It falls away, sticking to my bloodied wrist. Dark, black stains have crusted over the harsh strands broken away from the rope. Nate easily catches me, stumbling back. "Elle?" he murmurs. His warmth curls around me, engulfing me in it's comfort.

I cower against him, hiding my face in his chest. "Shh." He smoothes my hair back and holds me against him. "Elle you're OK," his nickname for me sounds calming as his Spanish accent surrounds it.

Carefully he lies me down on the concrete floor. "Shh. You're OK now." Tenderly he brushes my auburn hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. It knots around his fingers and clings to the side of my neck.

"No," I whimper, tilting my head into the palm of his hand, "I'm still here."

Nate's lips tighten at the corners and his expression is sobered until it's hard. "I want to go home," I sob. A thick hush ebbs around us like a poisonous lake ready to reach out and drown us. "So do I," Nate sighs eventually.

His hand hovers over my skin before slipping away. "I thought you lived here," I wince, speaking through my teeth. Pain twists around my spine and reaches around my lungs. I suck in a stony breath.

"That doesn't make it home. I was talking about Spain," Nate says. Cringing, I shift slightly.

"What's it like?" Desperately I try to block out the hot rush of pain.

I listen to him talk about his hometown rich with culture and beautiful architecture. My imagination plays with my mind, toying with colourful images. A small, weak smile tugs at the corners of my lips.

"You'd like it," Nate breathes. I manage a slight nod.

"It's always hot there isn't it?"

"No worse than Australia," Nate murmurs.

I whimper quietly as tears pool in the back of my throat. "Show me your wrists," Nate says softly. He helps me sit up and cradles me against his chest. His hand hovers over mine, unwinding the bandages.

The rope has bitten through them and torn at my wrists. Thick layers of dark blood has dried over my frayed skin. "Mierda," Nate mutters under his warm breath.

"Crap," I cry, burrowing my face into his shoulder.

"It isn't really that bad," Nate says.

"Are you kidding?" I choke, "It's infected."