Page 50 of Straightjacket

When will it end? Probably never.

Closing the door again, I wipe the tiredness from my eyes and walk into my bedroom, stripping out of my t-shirt and sweatpants to put on a pair of pyjamas. Once I’m dressed, I head over to my bed, determined to have a decent night sleep.

Instead, my heart drops.

On top of the black sheets there’s a sketch... of me. I’m almost too afraid to touch it, a swarm of memories crashing into me from all sides. This has to be a sick joke, someone taunting me because there’s no way, it can’t be.

Slowly I reach out my hand, fingers trembling as I pick up the sketch. Swipes of charcoal spread across the page, curving in different angles to make up the image of me sitting in the chair at the window. The detail is incredible, almost as if... whoever drew me... is close to me.

Instantly I drop the paper onto the bed, my hand cupping my mouth as panic quickly begins to settle in my bones. I stumble backwards, crashing into a solid mass.

“Did you miss me, little demon? Cause I sure as hell missed you.”

Fuck, it’s been so long. Too long if you ask me, since I’ve had my hands on my little demon, since I’ve been able to breathe her into my lungs. I thought being on the brink of death was agonising, but being without her for so long is even worse.

Even as I stared into the eyes of the grim reaper, I knew nothing would ever compare to losing her the way I did and nothing would ever prepare me for the onslaught of feelings rushing through my body, now that I have her in my arms.

Standing behind her, my height towering over hers, she trembles in my hold. Even through the black gloves that cover my hands, I can feel the chills rising from her skin.

“Look at me, baby.” I demand. The new mask muffles my voice, but she doesn’t turn around, almost like she’s afraid of what she might find.

“No, I can’t. It’s... it’s not you. I watched you die; it’s not you.”

Trailing my hands up her arms, I scoop up her luscious long hair and sweep it to the side, revealing the junction of her neck. Her heart hammers, the pulse point in thrumming as I lean down to run the mask across her skin, imagining my lips tasting her. “Your mind might not think that it’s me, but your body doesn’t lie to me. It knows exactly who I am. It knows who owns it, doesn’t it? All you have to do is turn around.”

In the silence of the room, her breath shudders. “This isn’t real... I’m dreaming, I must be.”

A grin pulls at my lips, and I drop my hands from her shoulders to wind them around her hips, pulling her closer to me. Right there, a slight whimper slips past her lips and it’s enough to convince me that she hasn’t truly forgotten who I am, what I mean to her.

“You might think this is a dream, but I’ve never been more real. Everything you’re feeling right now, my hands on your skin, my chest against your back– even my voice. It’s all real. What do I have to do to prove it to you, baby?”

“I... I don’t know,” she stumbles over her words, but I don’t miss the way she begins to melt into my hold. “I don’t know what to believe.”

Throwing all caution to the wind, I drop my chin to her shoulder and move my hands from her hips, holding them out in front of her, palms turned towards the ceiling. She looks down slightly, assessing the black fabric of the gloves. Every inch of my skin is covered, concealing the tattoos she knows so well.

“Then believe me. Take these off and look at my hands. Touch them, recognise that they’re yours.” There’s a desperation in my voice, because I don’t think I’d be able to handle the rejection if she turns me away. I keep my hands out in front of her, waiting for her to make the next move. The seconds tick on, then she lifts her hands, fingers trembling as she begins to pull them off.

Beneath the low light of the moon that shines through the window, I turn my hands over, revealing the ink that covers my skin. She drops the gloves to the floor and hovers her fingers over mine, electricity sizzling between us.

“Put your hands on mine.” I say, a hushed tone to my voice. For a moment, she pauses then plants hers on top of mine, eliciting a sharp inhale through her lips. Warmth immediately spreads across my skin as she feeds her fingers through mine.

“I know you recognise these hands, little demon. They’ve felt your skin a thousand times and wiped away your tears, they’ve held every inch of you. My hands recognise you, just as much as my soul does.”

I watch over her shoulder as she takes the hand that I broke, into hers, her fingers grazing gently over the scar that runs down the outside.

“Does this hurt?” She murmurs, running her hands over the scars that circle my wrists.

“No,” I tell her. “But what hurts more is not seeing your face. Please, look at me.” My voice breaks and I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread, a constant state of limbo until she drops her hands by her side, then begins to turn around slowly. A hazy glow circles around her from the moon, turning her midnight hair into an endless pool of blue and the moment my gaze meets hers, my heart stops for a second time.

“Can I take this off?” She tips her head towards the black mask that covers my face, and without hesitation I take her hands in mine and bring them towards me, allowing her to lift it up. As soon as my face is free, she tosses the mask behind her onto the bed and throws herself into my arms.

I catch her straight away, hoisting her up until she’s able to wrap her legs around my waist. She clings onto me, tucking her face into my shoulder and I feel her crumble, sobs wracking her shoulders. I feed my hand into the back of hair to cradle her head.

“It’s... really you, isn’t it?” She stammers.

Pain lances through my chest at the hurt in her voice, and I nod. “It’s really me, baby. I promised I’d find you and I wasn’t breaking that, not for anything. I’m just sorry it took me so long.”

Iris pulls back slightly, her hand finds my face and she cups my cheek, caressing the scarred flesh with her thumb. “I’d have waited forever for you, Silas.”