afflicted

7

She'd been awake for at least an hour now, her body tucked as tightly as possible into the corner of the bed pressed against the wall. She felt safer that way, somehow. It felt less like the world was seconds from caving in on her head. One hand was still shadow-bound to the headboard, but the shadow was gentle. It didn't chafe her or tighten its grip. Just made sure she remained where she was. Maybe Azriel thought she might kill him in his sleep. Her head leaned back against the wall as she continued to labor over every possible remembered detail she could.

Azriel said everyone was dead. She didn't know who was included in his version of "everyone." Gods, she didn't even know who she would constitute as everyone either. It was unbelievably frustrating to lose the essence of yourself. Whatever sense of mental standing she'd had was gone now.

The headaches had started again. They always began in her eyes, as bright flashes stealing her vision, and then became heavy thudding aches behind her eye sockets. She felt as though she could stab a funnel through her temple and drain out her brain just to relieve the pressure pushing up against her skull.

She'd also noticed that more holes had begun to form in her memory. In things that had nothing to do with who she was as a person. She felt like she'd lost her footing. She was afraid to lose more, to function less. She didn't even know how to understand it herself, and certainly couldn't tell Azriel and ask for a mind healer.

If there were even any healers left. How had everyone died? She had a faint and fuzzy memory of a war of some kind. Between who, she couldn't remember. But she saw the red sticky ichor of the spilled blood, and still felt it clinging and coagulating against her skin.

There had been so much of it. Painting battlefields and staining skin. She felt as though she'd never fully scrub it off. She could look down and see that her palms were clean and unstained, but she could still feel it in her bones, like a greasy layer of grime coating her.

She could feel it lathered on her skin now, a physical representation of her sins coming back to haunt her. Sins she couldn't even remember committing. The motive of it all was still escaping her as well. But she knew now she was guilty. Whatever Azriel thought she had done, she'd done it. A heavy guilt settled deep in her bones.

What had she done, what had she done, what had she done...

For what seemed like the hundredth time, she began to cry. Or rather, she wept. Her shoulders shook in silent spasming sobs. She'd done something bad, something so bad that someone had wanted her to forget.

The truth felt like it was a fish in a frozen lake, and she was a dog clawing at the ice. It seemed so attainable but yet it was so far out of reach. She could feel it there, could sense the implications, but it was as if that part of her brain was a separate entity vying to keep her out.

She heard clattering in what must have been the kitchen. Her ears strained with effort as she attempted to gauge the distance of the sounds. She wanted to know how big the place she was in now was. It seemed rather close. The noise continued for a few minutes more before silence settled once again.

Azriel hadn't been back. She wasn't sure how long she had slept or how long she'd stared with unfocused eyes up at the ceiling. The only thing she was sure of was the rumbling of her stomach, demanding food. She whimpered slightly, tugging her knees up to her chest.

The door swung open, revealing a shirtless and damp Azriel. Her eyes blew wide as she took in the tapering lean-cut muscle of his torso. A trail of dark hair descended from his navel and down into his grey loose sweatpants. They hung low on his hips as if taunting her to look.

She cut her eyes away, looking back to the wall with a muffled groan. He still stood in the doorway, keeping his distance. He walked forward, but she refused to take her eyes off the wall beside her head, just for the principle of it. If death was coming for her, she'd rather not know.