by Zoey Derrick
Dante's Inferno?
"That's the one. Your mother, though fallen as she is, will not go to hell. She will still be among the souls in heaven, as you call it. Her choices and her actions were ruled by her substance abuse, and while she made all the wrong decisions in that life, she's never actually done anything to send her to hell."
But what about me? What about all the things she's done or let be done to me? Tears of frustration form. I understand what she's saying, truly I do, but what about the fact that she never so much as tried to protect me?
Realization dawns anew and I understand her words. I would never want to see my mother in hell. My mother is in a living, breathing hell of her own, lost inside her mind and trapped in a body that is riddled by her choices.
"Very well done, Vivienne. You're right - she suffers enough as it is right now. She does not need to suffer more. When she comes upon us, she will be free of her living prison, free of pain and suffering. Perhaps one day she will make amends with you."
Who are you? I ask inside my head, then fight the urge to go running and screaming from this room because I'm talking to someone or something inside my mind.
A soft laughter echoes around in my mind. "You are not crazy, dearest Vivienne. I am Zirah." The dream. “I am assigned to be your guide and your teacher, just like Seraphina is Mikah's."
Mikah's name brings me back to the present, to this room. Does Mikah know about me?
"He knows, more or less. The two of you have been having the same dreams; he is seeing the same as you are seeing in Elysium. However, he does not know that you're aware of being an angel when you’re awake, and more than that, he does not yet see that the dream is shared and that you know he, too, is an angel.”
I smile slightly at the idea that I know what he is, but he doesn’t yet know that I know.
I smile wider as the memory of Mikah, asleep with his head on my bed when I woke up from the coma, comes to me. I knew instantly that his presence in the hospital was why I was alive. I knew that he'd saved me. The surge of devotion and gratitude I felt toward him in that moment was stronger than anything I've ever felt in my entire life.
Though I put up a fight about coming here to stay with him, I really didn't mean it. I knew the moment Riley came up behind me that Mikah was right all along: I'm no match for someone like Riley, someone who can easily overpower me. I needed help then, more than what Dr. Alston had been able to provide to me. I needed protection.
"He is your guardian, sweet Vivienne. What happens between the two of you now is up to the Fates. Go to him. Be with your angel," she says wistfully, and I feel a shimmer as she departs from my mind.
EIGHT
My stomach growls as the smell of warm chicken broth fills my nose. I get to my feet and turn toward the door. His back is to me still, but now he is at the breakfast bar with his laptop. I can't see what he's looking at, but the muscles in his neck are strained, tense.
I silently pull open the door and step onto the cool hardwood floor. As I pad quietly toward him, I see him stiffen, but he doesn't turn. The oddest of shimmers skates across his back, noticeable only because of the tight t-shirt he is wearing.
I say nothing as I come up to stand beside him, placing my hand on his back, right where I saw the shimmer. His breath rushes out of his lungs.
"Hi," I say as casually as I can manage, given that I know something he doesn't know.
"Hi," he says. His voice is raspy, slightly more so than normal, and the effect on my body is instantaneous. A shiver of anticipation zips across my back. "How did you sleep?"
I pull my hand away and place it on the of the bar stool.
"Wonderful, thank you. How about you?"
The corners of his lips turn up in a small smile. "Very well. Are you hungry?"
I nod, a little too enthusiastically, and he hastily closes the lid on his computer and stands.
"Good, the soup should be heated up. It's the same from the other day, is that okay?"
"Yes, that soup was delicious."
He busies himself in the kitchen, grabbing bowls, silverware and two placemats. As he puts them on the breakfast bar I take the seat in the middle.
"What would you like to drink?"
"Ice water is fine."
He scowls at me as he places the bowls and plates on the placemats.
"What?" I say. “I drink water all the time.”
"How about some milk?"
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Fine," I say all breathy.
His lip twitches at my exasperated tone and he turns to the refrigerator.
When he opens it, I see that it is fully stocked with all manner of fruits and veggies, along with milk - which he takes out of the fridge - something that looks like iced tea, and a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew. I smirk. He closes the door before I can inspect any further.
He grabs two glasses and pours us both some milk. I raise an eyebrow.
"What?" he says sheepishly.
I grin. "Never pictured you as a milk drinker."
He smiles. "I'm not, but if I'm forcing you to do it, I can do it, too."
I shake a little with silent laughter at his tone.
He reaches for three potholders sitting on the counter. Placing the biggest one between us, he takes the two smaller ones with him to the stove. He clicks it off, grabs both handles of the pot and brings the soup over to sit between us. Then he tosses the potholders aside and grabs a ladle as he comes around the bar.
In a very gentlemanly fashion he serves me first, then fills his own bowl.
When he's done, he takes the seat next to me. "How are you feeling?" he asks as I pick up my spoon.
I think about his question before answering. "I feel great, just really tired for some strange reason." I bring a spoonful of soup to my mouth, blow on it and take a sip. "Mmm," I moan, swallowing it down. "This is really good."
He too takes a bite and nods. We eat in silence for a little while. I drink down all of my milk and stand to get some more, but he stops me.
"I can get it," he says and stands quickly.
"I'm not broken, Mikah, I can do it." I try to sound sweet about it, but he scowls at me. I mentally shrug it off and go to the fridge for the milk.
"I never meant to imply you're broken."
My heart sinks a little bit as I realize it was more of an act of chivalry than waiting on me.
I return to my seat with the milk and begin eating some more. Before I know it, my bowl is empty and I still feel hungry. Just as I'm about to reach for the ladle, there is a knock on the door. I freeze.
"It's just Red," he says quietly as he takes in my frozen state. "He said he would be back with a change of clothes for me. I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I stayed on the couch tonight?" His gaze is warm, soft.
"Yes, please." I smile slightly. I hadn't thought about staying here alone, and Mikah's willingness to stay on the couch warms my heart, though I kind of wish he would sleep with me.
He walks toward the door. "I thought the couch would make you more comfortable," he says as he checks the peephole in the door. "Oh, it's Celeste." He reaches for the knob and then turns back to me, like he is seeking reassurance.
I nod hesitantly. I've at least met Red. Not sure if I trust him, but I've met him. Celeste is another story. I'd never realized I was so skittish about people before.
Then, as he opens the door, I'm reminded of the dream right before we left the hospital. Hearing Nyssa’s name in that dream has given me the idea that people really aren't always as they seem. But I also don't yet know why she would be in my dream in the first place.
"Thank you," I hear Mikah say, pulling me from my thoughts.
"I'd love to meet her," a sweet, soft voice says from the doorway, and I watch as Mikah turns toward me.
I take a couple steps in his direction, and he opens the door a little wider.
"Come on in." He steps aside.
On the other side of the door is a very pretty yet average-looking woman with
blond hair; big, blue eyes; and a warm, welcoming smile. She is taller than I am, though that’s not hard to accomplish. I guess she's in her early thirties.
"Hi, Vivienne. I'm Celeste, Mr. Blake's housekeeper. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"Hi, Celeste. Your soup is fabulous," I say with a small smile.
"Thank you. I'm glad you like it. Can I get you guys anything else?" she asks, looking from me to Mikah and back again.
I shake my head.
"No, I think we're good for now," Mikah says to her, and she hands Mikah a bag.
"Vivienne, I'm not sure if you saw or not, but your closet has some clothing for you, mostly yoga pants and t-shirts. If something doesn't fit, let me know and I can exchange it for you."
I'm pretty sure my face shows the shock I'm feeling at the idea that there are clothes, not to mention that Mikah has spent money on me. "Th-thank you," I finally manage to mutter.
I see concern in Mikah's face as his brows knit together.
"You're welcome." She turns to Mikah. "Call if you need anything else. I'm going to take off for tonight, but I can come back if there's a need."
"Thanks, Celeste. See you tomorrow," Mikah says, and she waves at me. I wave back halfheartedly as she steps back out the door and Mikah closes it.
NINE
"Why did you buy me clothes?" I ask.
His back tenses and ripples at my words. The tension in his back is not anger; it's fear or worry.
"Mikah?"
I watch him come to a decision.
With his hands against the front door and his head down, he says quietly, "I wanted you to have a fresh start." He turns and leans against the door. His eyes are closed. "When you walked out of that hospital today, I wanted you to have a fresh start on everything. A new place to live, clothes on your back, proper food in the kitchen, and..." He pauses and opens his eyes. "I wanted to give you the tools you'd need to be able to take care of yourself." His voice is soft and his accent is thick.
I step back slowly toward the stool. I need to sit; my thoughts are swirling at a mile a minute. I can't speak. He's already given me so much. He saved my life. This just...it's too much.
"Vivienne, I needed to know that you'd be safe, that you'd stay safe, that I could give you the tools you needed to get back on your feet. Clothes, food, a job - whatever you need, it's yours."
I can barely hear him by the end of his speech. Eventually I get my mouth working again. "Why?" I breathe.
He runs his hands through his hair and pulls away from the door, slowly walking toward me. "Because..." He pauses in his stride, clearly deciding something. "Because you deserve it. There is no reason for you to live a life of poverty if I can easily prevent it."
"That's not what I asked. Do you do this for every girl in my situation?"
He shakes his head. His eyes are wary, unsure of my reaction. He should be unsure. He knows how much I don't want to be taken care of. Yes, I've progressed some in allowing him to bring me here, to give me shelter, food.... Are clothes really that much worse? I mean, I don't have any, and whatever clothes I had in my apartment should be burned.
He's wanting and willing to help me, and I push him away at every turn. Is it so terrible to let someone help me? No, it’s not. But it's hard; I've fought for so long on my own that I don't know how to do this.
He watches me as I take in his words. The reality of what he's said sets in. Maybe he's right: Maybe I've been fighting for so long to prove that what my mother has put me through hasn't broken me. But for whom? Who am I trying to prove this to? I get fighting for myself, but for what else?
Am I trying to show my mother, prove something to her? For what? She's never been there for me. By doing it all on my own, was I just trying to prove that I don't need her, that I didn't need her? Or is it more than that? Am I really just being stubborn? It's hard to let go of everything I've done for myself, but what have I really accomplished? A shit job, a shit apartment, barely surviving.... How is that living?
I let out a deep sigh.
I wasn't living. I was alive, but not living.
I look at Mikah, whose face shows that he’s worried about what I'm mulling over. The bottom line is this: I’ve obviously failed miserably at proving to myself that I can take care of myself. Maybe with a little help from him, I can get back on my feet, get back into a better place.
"Thank you," I finally manage to say, and his face and body instantly relax and a slow smile spreads across his lips.
"You're not mad?"
I shake my head slowly. "No, I'm not."
"Good. Okay." He's not sure what to say, as if I've taken away all his argument. "Are you still hungry?" I roll my eyes and he playfully scowls at me.
"Changing the subject much?" I tease him back.
He laughs. "Maybe a little." He looks at me expectantly.
"No, I'm alright for now."
"Good. I'll clean up the kitchen. What would you like to do?" His eyes follow mine toward the guest bedroom as I remember the huge, inviting bathtub in there. "Take a bath?" he asks.
I nod enthusiastically, and he turns on his heel.
"Why don't you go find some comfortable clothes, and I'll start your bath before I clean up."
I stand and head for the bedroom, hitting the light switch on my way in. I hesitate just a moment at the closet door, suddenly nervous about what I’m going to find in there. Then I realize that I've agreed to this, and I turn the handle at the same time I hit the light switch on the wall next to the door.
The closet is huge - about the size of the bathroom and equally as long - but thankfully it's not stocked full. Hanging up on the right-hand side are about ten different t-shirts, and below them are various pairs of pants, cotton ones by the looks of them. I also catch a glimpse of the dresser at the back of the closet, its top drawer slightly ajar.
I step up to it and pull open the drawer. Inside are several pairs of white and fun, colored socks and a stack of rather slinky looking underwear. I shiver at the idea of wearing what I'm looking at.
I pull open the next drawer: some bras and some other, not-so-slinky underwear. There are some really cute designer boy shorts and I start to feel excited; they look really comfortable.
I grab a bra and pair of underwear and turn back to the clothes. On the floor under the pants are two pairs of shoes: a pair of gray-and-white Converse and a pair of fuzzy slippers.
I smile and grab the house shoes, a pair of black pants and a t-shirt.
I leave the closet and head out into the living room to see Mikah in the kitchen cleaning up. "Did you find something?"
"I did, thank you."
He smiles at me and then nods in the direction of the guest room.
I scurry quickly through the bedroom toward the bathroom. The closer I get, the more pronounced the sound of the running water. I push back the door and I'm hit with a rush of steam that is warm and inviting.
TEN
Once inside the bathroom, I shed the purple scrubs - similar to the ones Amanda had given me last time - and drop Mikah's t-shirt to the floor with the pants.
For a moment I study my naked reflection in the mirror. It's almost as if nothing ever happened to me. Other than a faint, small line on the side of my neck and the brace on my wrist, there are no visible signs of my trauma.
I'm filled with satisfaction at the idea that I don't have to go through the nasty healing process. Was I really only out for a couple days?
Instantly, there is a shimmering sensation across my back, almost like a call to attention. I try to look over my shoulder but I can't see anything, so I turn so that my back is facing the mirror.
As my back becomes visible in the mirror, I do a double-take. A brilliant display of whites, blues, light purples and silvers form a beautiful wing-shaped tattoo across my back. My wings.
My head starts to swim as realization settles in, and I take a seat on the side of the tub.
The dream I could have written off as exactl
y that: a dream. The mental conversation with Zirah after I woke I could also have written off as some kind of momentary delusional episode. But this - these wings - solidify the reality of those dreams, the reality of my conversation, and the idea that my super-healing ability is a product of my true nature.
An angel? I muse as I fling my legs over the side of the ginormous tub. Reaching over to the faucet, I turn the water off.
The gentle swirl of jets under the water causes the surface to ripple slightly. There is a slight bubble film across the surface. I slowly sink down into the water, and my muscles begin to relax instantly as they’re engulfed by the warmth.
I close my eyes and my mind drifts back to Elysium, but not like before. I’m not there; I’m just replaying the events from my dream this afternoon.
The emotions I felt about Mikah during that dream were heightened beyond anything I consciously feel for him now. The fact that my feelings for him in Elysium are so strong is intense and frightening, though I think a lot of that is due to my own self-preservation and holding back, to not wanting to admit to myself what Mikah really means to me.
He was genuinely concerned about my reaction to the clothes. He knew that I would be upset with him, and to be honest, I still am. But he's right: I can't work until at least after I see Dr. A. in a couple of weeks, and therefore I have no income and am incapable of taking care of myself. At least in the fashion that Mikah – and even maybe Dr. Alston - wants me to.
The bottom line in letting Mikah help me is that I have nowhere else to go. I'm essentially back to being homeless because I am unable to return to that apartment.
I also know, after Riley's attack, that I'm not able to protect myself.
Is Mikah capable of protecting me? I believe he is.
Suddenly my image of Elysium shifts to the image of the dark cave. I heard Nyssa's name. How does she fit into this? Where was I? In hell?
All these nasty unanswered questions. I can feel my anxiety growing quickly, but I'm brought out of my thoughts by a knock on the door.
"Viv, you alright?"
I smile. I'm in a tub for crying out loud. What could happen? "Yeah, I'm good."
