Beautifully Damaged

25. Return

I couldn't breathe through the shuddering sobs that racked my body, unable to shed any tears; I'd used them all up. Unbelievable. My only shred of evidence into my past didn't believe that I was her daughter, that her daughter was dead. Nothing added up, and I didn't know what to do about it. I attempted to breathe deeply, and succeeded to a slight degree. Heading into the hustle and bustle of Detroit wasn't exactly what I was able to handle at that moment, so I readjusted my route to skirt around the edges.

The Audi was running low on gas, and I was glad for the distraction. After all, the last place I wanted to go was home, as strange as that sounded. I was tired of this mystery, and I wished that I'd never started obsessing with finding the truth of who I was.

Now, I couldn't let it go. How could I? How could I pretend that I knew myself and get on with the rest of my life, if I didn't know what mistakes to learn from in my past?

The questions had returned, and with them, as always, there were no answers.

A deep, swelling emptiness had reopened in my chest, a gaping hole of despair where hope should have rekindled. Was someone like me allowed any hope at all? At that moment in time, it didn't seem very likely. Just like that, panic set in and I had to pull over to the side of the small back road and force myself to breathe.

In the corner of my eye, a shadow flickered, and I put it down to my imminent breakdown. That, however, was not the case. While I focused on breathing and quelling the anguish in my heart, someone materialized in my car.

"Oh dear, sounds like a broken heart." He mused with a lazy smile.

I froze, closing my eyes, trying to convince myself that he wasn't there, that it was all in my head. In spite of this, he stayed, grinning his Cheshire cat grin.

"I'm still here," He hissed, his breath fanning across my neck, impossibly cold.

I was shaking, but that was the least of my worries. "What do you want?" My voice was strangled, choked.

"Who said I wanted anything?" He countered, reclining in the passenger seat, as if he were inclined to stay all night.

I finally opened my eyes, taking yet another deep breath to soothe my raw exposed nerves. Courage gathered in me, and I managed to look at him, straight in the coal black eyes. "Why are you here?" I rephrased, steadying my voice.

"Despite what you think," He began. "I want to help you."

"Why would you want to help me?" I asked, sure that my eyes were close to popping out of my head.

"Always with the questions," He sighed. "I told you, I like your attitude."

"What could you-"

He held up an impatient hand, halting my next question. "Enough questions." He turned slightly in the seat, his body toward me. "I'll tell you now, what I will help you with."

I waited, apprehensive but willing to listen. He hadn't harmed me yet, so I supposed that I could wait it out at least a little.

"I am going to tell you your story."

***

"We have to start way before your story, to have it make sense. We have to go to a place few people understand or believe. First thing, Angels and Demons do exist."

I nodded, putting him in the latter category without voicing it.

Still, he smiled. "Yes, I am a demon. It doesn't necessarily mean good and evil, especially in this story," He paused. "You see, there aren't that many angels just lying around, compared to the human population at least. Unlike demons, there are certain things a person had to be when they die, to become an angel. Not many people fill the description these days.