Fear runs like ice through my veins, when I pull back to look into her eyes and emptiness looks back. Her face is pale, lips slightly parted and a stare that sees nothing. Terrified she’s slipping into a catatonic state, I try to think of something that’ll jar her back.
Forgive me.
Looking directly into her eyes, I ask, “What do you mean by gone? How did he die?”
There’s a twisted relief that feels like a gaping wound in my chest, when her face crumples, lips press tight, and tears drip from her red rimmed eyes.
“There’s nothing left,” she whimpers. “No body. No soul. I destroyed it all.”
She reaches underneath the towel that’s molded to her body and pulls out her necklace. Micro fractures spider across the stone… and now it’s a vibrant blue that nearly glows.
My mind goes blank, unsure how to process her words. I understand the death of the body, even to the point to appear there’s nothing left, but the power to extinguish a soul? Mildred’s words from that first night we learned about spirit witches echo in my ears.
It’s a line of witches that not only has control of all the elements, but the essence of magic itself-- of life itself.It’s only now that I fully understand what that means. It’s not just the power to manipulate life, but whether it even exists at all.
“I felt everything,” Callie whispers, her breathing coming in short choppy gasps. “What he was. What he could be. All the light and darkness that made him. Gone. All gone.”
I don’t know how to feel about this, but I do know that outside her immense power, she’s still just a girl. A girl that’s suffered greatly, alone and fractured, and needs people that will love her unconditionally. And I will. No matter her power or abilities, I will always be there to support her. Not as a deity, but as a person.
Pressing my lips to her forehead, I murmur, “I’m so sorry.”
She nods and wraps her arms around my neck, holding me as tight as I’m holding her.
“What can I do?” I ask, desperate to take away some of her pain.
In a voice that speaks to the tortured soul inside, she begs quietly in my ear, “Please don’t leave me.”
I’ve read hundreds, maybe thousands of books in my lifetime, and yet I have no words for how shattered I am by her request. Outside looking in, this may not be the right thing to do but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if this isn’t what friends should do or how it might look. All that matters is what will make her feel better. Make her feel safe.
I promise with everything that’s in me, “I’m right here. For as long as you want me, I’ll always be here for you.”
She twists further at the waist, one of her knees sandwiched between my hip and the tub while the other digs into my thigh, and starts to cry. This time it’s quieter, as if she’s too weak for the violent sobs but the sorrow won’t let her go.
Dirt and blood still cling to her body, appearing that she only stripped down and collapsed into the tub. Wanting to do something to take care of her, I reach one handed for the maroon loofah hanging from the tub spout, pump some of her shower gel on it, and begin gently washing her feet. The hot steam takes on the smell of pomegranate, and a soft smile spreads across my lips over the scent that has become ubiquitous to Callie.
“What are you doing?” Callie sniffs, peering over her shoulder to investigate my movements. She doesn’t sound angry or offended, just curious.
“Getting you cleaned up,” I answer, like this a completely normal thing to do, when this whole situation is beyond surreal. “Thought you might want to wash the night off you.”
Pearls of water stick to her honey colored lashes, and she blinks a few times while chewing on her bottom lip. She’s so heart achingly beautiful that it feels like a heavy weight slamming me in the stomach and makes me want to confess all that I hold inside. Only by pressing my lips together am I able to hold back telling her how magnificent I think she is and how I want her to know all of me-- to never have a secret between us.
When Callie leans back into my left arm, her pale grey eyes taking in our bodies entwined together, I deftly pull up the towel across her chest, dropping the loofah in her lap-- making sure nothing is revealed she’ll regret later. We may be in this bubble that feels like an alternate reality, but life always has a way of eventually making its way back in.
Without a word, she picks up the loofah, and taking my free hand into hers, starts washing the blood and dirt from my skin. When she finishes my arm, she hands it back to me. Questions float from my eyes to hers. Shyly, she holds out her arm to me, and I realize it’s a request to do the same. I give her a soft smile and start washing her hand and arm, gently cleaning away the blood in case there might be more injuries underneath. Back and forth we trade, cleaning arms, legs, shoulders, her back, my chest, in this silent dance. She wipes the dirt from my face. I wash and condition her hair, carefully cradling her with one arm while I rinse her hair with the other.
This is the most intimate moment of my life, this mutual caring for each other, and my body comes alive under her touch. I can’t help my physical reaction, but I know this is all this moment will be. All I can allow it to be. What was true before is only truer now. She needs to be cared for and know no matter what her state of vulnerability, she’ll always be safe with me.
“Ready to get out?” I ask quietly, once we’re both rinsed clean.
She nods in acknowledgement, reaching over to shut the water off. Tentatively we untangle ourselves, again making sure she stays covered. I open the sliding glass door, then bracing my hands on the edges of the tub, lift myself to standing. My boxer briefs are gathered high up on my thigh showcasing the phraseFatum Imperium vestrum suisI have tattooed in a cursive script. It’s the only place I was pretty sure my parents wouldn’t find it.
When I get out, water dripping onto the riverstone floor, I grab the second towel hanging from the rack and wrap it around my waist… and realize this is the only other towel in the bathroom.
Faex.
Callie stands shivering in the center of the tub, her hair hanging in damp waves over her shoulders and back, with the wet towel wrapped tight around her.
“I’ll be right back,” I announce, motioning to the empty towel rack, hoping Mildred decided to keep the spare towels in the same place the Jacobs used to-- also hoping I don’t run into Mildred dressed in a towel. Though innocent it would definitely be difficult to explain.
