The Beginning of the End

Chapter eight, Intimacy

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My whole body shakes in agony. Everything feels so surreal. My chest heaves, I struggle to catch my breath. I gasp for air. I know if I don't calm myself down I will hyperventilate.

I feel two soft hands cup both sides of my face, making me pause a moment. It is Lena. She slowly moves my gaze up so that I will look at her. To my surprise, she speaks gently, unlike her typical sarcastic tone. “Look at me, Anthony…” she says.

I shift my eyes to look directly at her. I can feel with every breath it is easier to take in oxygen. Her warm breath against my face soothes me. She has a pitiful look in her eyes. That is the last thing I want. A slight sense of uneasiness sweeps over me. My stomach churns. She had been forced to watch all of the previous events happen. She has no idea why it had been so hard to finish my mother for good. Or maybe she does. I'm not sure.

She looks into my eyes for a minute, then wipes away the tears that spill onto my cheeks carefully with her thumb. I lean into her touch, finding comfort in it. My face is damp from sobbing. My eyes sting. How long have I been crying for?

“You did what needed to be done,” she speaks in a way so quiet it is almost a whisper.

“But… I… she–” “Shh…” she says, “I know, I know. It's gonna be ok. We're gonna make it through this together, alright?”

What she says catches me off guard. I have never seen this side of her, in the very little time I've known her. But honestly, I am grateful for her support. I need it, badly.

I nod, though I'm not so sure if we are going to make it out of here alive after all. I was hardly able to survive my psychopath of a mother without becoming a victim. How am I supposed to survive something even more powerful? I have done it before, but can I do it again? “Alright,” is all that I can manage.

“Promise?” she says.
“I promise,” I utter, my voice cracking a bit, even though I don't entirely know what she means by that. I think she's just trying to comfort me at the moment.

“Now, let's go clean that wound.” She glances down nervously at my injured shoulder, the bleeding has mostly subsided, but small puncture wounds are in my flesh, exposing it to infection. I sigh quietly. I don't remember my injury until she mentions it.

When all has gone silent, I suddenly hear something drop from the trees behind me with a thud. Both Lena and I are taken by surprise. We flinch at the sound and I pull away from Lena, standing to my feet to see what had fallen from above.

I turn and see a young woman about my age standing before me, only a couple yards away. There is a sense of familiarity to her, but I can't quite place it.

The woman, thin and I will admit, quite short, juggles a sickle in one hand. Smirking mischievously as she observes us with her deep brown eyes. Just then I notice that I don't have my dagger in my hand. Where is it? Had I lost it in the commotion? What if I need to defend us? I suppose physical strength will have to be on my side.

The woman speaks, “Finally. I thought you'd never stop sobbing. Really, Any, I expected better from you.”

I suck in my breath, just staring at her for a moment. I find some sort of intimacy in her slight yet recognizable English accent. I hadn't realized it at first, but now I am almost certain who this is.

“Honestly though, your skills are on par with a blindfolded chicken playing hopscotch,” the woman says, chuckling at her own remark. “You should've just driven the dagger straight into her heart before you had the time to get sentimental.”