by Lola St. Vil
I am crying.
This is crazy, Angels don’t cry. We can’t.
All we can do it make it rain for longer than it was meant to.
But we cannot produce tears.
So, what is coming from my eyes?
I wipe my face and taste the tip of my fingers. Yes, they are, in fact, tears.
I look over at the Maker.
“Tears? That’s what you think I need? Screw you! I don’t need to cry like a weak little human. I’m strong. I’m strong…”
Then a wave of sorrow comes crashing down on me with the force of a typhoon. I want to rage at the stupid tree for making me cry but I can’t. I sink my head down, lean forward and hug my knee.
The wave of sorrow is coming. I can’t stop it. I don’t want to.
There on the edge of the White Forest, for the first time in Angel history, and for the first time since my death, I cried.
My body rocks with waves of overwhelmed, overdue tears.
I speak out loud, repeating the same thing over and over again in-between sobs.
I shout the words to the Maker.
I shout to all the trees in the forest.
I shout to the city that lies across from me.
“Why doesn’t he love me anymore?”
My body shakes with rage and sorrow. My words become screams. My screams become moans. My moans become tears.
I let them run from my eyes, down to my cheek and onto the nothingness below.
I can’t stop the tears from escaping.
It seems they, much like love, are destined to leave me.
***********************************
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: SECOND STAGE
On my way back to the Healing Center, I fly over one of the many reflective surfaces in the city of Daraquin. That’s when I catch a glimpse of myself; my long dark hair, my perfect features and flawless skin. I look like…an angel.
I look the same as I did back when we first started this mission. But so much has happened since then. I feel different. I don’t feel like an angel. I don’t feel at peace like an Angel is supposed to and I certainly don’t radiate calmness.
The girl looking back at me in the reflection feels like a lie. I’ve changed somehow. Not just because of my ability to cry. I’m sure that was a one-time thing anyway. I run my fingers through my hair and study my face closer.
And just like that it becomes clear; my outside should reflect the change that’s inside. And there is no better way to do that than to go shopping. I text Miku and tell her that I need to do something and that I will be back as soon as I can.
She hits me back and asks where I’m going. I don’t answer. The truth is I’m not sure exactly sure where I’m going.
Well, I’m not sure where I am going now, but I have a fairly certain idea of where I will end up. I can worry about that later. Right now, I want to shake things up. I have just spent the last few hours crying. I’m exhausted and disappointed in myself for doing so.
More importantly, I’m tired of everyone looking at me like I’m a wounded animal by the side of the road. If they are gonna talk about me, I should give everyone something to really talk about.
I head back to New York City by way of Wal-Mart. Once outside the store, I take a cab to SoHo. I know it seems crazy but this is actually the only sane thing that has happened in the past few weeks.
I get out of the cab and walk up to the Prive Salon. They are the most expensive and trendy hair place in New York City. The owner knows me and doesn’t require me to have an appointment.
At first, everyone at Prive is shocked by what I want to do with my hair. But after I reassure them that I am, in fact, certain of my decision, they begin to cut away. I also have them add in a little color.
Then I head over to “New York Adorned,” the best tattoo place around, and tell the owner exactly what I want carved into my skin. He tells me that it may hurt; I tell him that I am, in fact, accustomed to pain. He is blown away by how still I am as he works on me. Before I leave the shop, I tell him I want to get something pierced. He smiles and asks why the total makeover. I smile back and say, “To piss people off.”
The last stop on the ‘makeover Mimi’ tour is to a small shop on Price Street called “Seven New York”. I don’t have to look around for long. The moment I enter the upscale shop, I see what I want. Less than a half hour later, I’m headed back to the house.
Once there, I change into my new outfit. I don’t look into the mirror until I have put on the finally show-stopping item: shoes. Why can’t our mission revolve around shoes? Why can’t it be our job to find the hottest pair of shoes on the planet? That way our mission would be complete because the shoes I have in my hands are the best pair of shoes ever crafted in the history of mankind.
I got them when I picked up my boots in the U.K. It just seemed wrong to leave them in the store. It’s like they were calling out for me. I felt better just being in their presence. Man, I could never be a Para. They don’t give any value to things like shoes. If only they knew what they were missing. Finally, I take a look at the complete new me.
My hair has been cut into a stylish, edgy, windswept Mohawk. A handful of the front of my hair is dyed stone-white and falls just above my eyes. The side of my hair isn’t bald but it has been shaved down to only a few inches. The harshness of the Mohawk is softened by the flowing, soft texture of my hair. And the way it falls in place gives it a nice balance between edgy and sophisticated.
The rims of my ears are pierced six times on each side. I had them put in very tiny studs that can only be noticed when they catch the light.
But unlike the studs, the earrings dangling from my ears are very noticeable. They are long, jagged silver spikes that fall halfway down my neck. Now that I don’t have long hair, my neck is bare and elongated, making these the perfect earrings.
Having my neck free from hair is useful for another reason: my tattoo. It’s on the right side of my neck and can be seen very easily. It’s a tattoo of a heart. Not a cute heart like from a hallmark card. No, it’s a tattoo of the kind of heart you find in a medical journal. It comes with veins and valves.
There is a jagged knife that has been plunged into the center of the heart, causing it to bleed. The blood is the best part of the tattoo.
There are drops of blood coming from the heart but they are spread out. The first drop of blood is a few inches away from where the heart is. The drops form a pattern starting at the nape of my neck, down across my chest and disappear into my black low rider leather pants. I have only a few drops of blood tattooed on me but they are all strategically placed.
I found the perfect snug fitted black and gray metallic knitted shirt to show off the tattoo. The shirt is torn in just the right place to reveal the journey of the blood drops.
And last, but certainly not least, are my new shoes. They are black and metallic Christian Louboutin nine-inch ankle boots. They have a crisscross pattern in the front and the soles are signature red.
The girl that stands before me is dark, sexy and miles away from the girl who began this mission. Now I’m headed for where I always knew I would end up—at Rage’s place.
**************************
I bang on his door like I’m a cop and he’s committed a crime. There is no answer. I didn’t think there would be. That’s just how we do it; I bang on the door and we meet up in the alley nearby. And true to form, he shows up moments later.
But this time he’s on motorcycle. It roars into the night sky adding yet another sound to the already buzzing New York City nightlife.
“What, wings aren’t enough for you?” I ask, as he jumps off the Harley.
“Nothing’s ever enough for me; that’s what it means to be evil.”
“I thought that’s what it means to be a guy.”
He smiles. It’s not a sweet smile. I don’t think he knows how to smile sweetly. It’s more like a sexy, dark smirk; the kind that I want to strike and kiss at the same time. As he
strolls up to me, I look deeply into his eyes. They are dark, brooding and soulless. But they aren’t menacing, at least, not now.
He looks the ‘new me’ over. He chews on his lower lip. He sizes me up as if he’s starving and I’m suddenly eatable.
He growls and says, “Nice.”
“I wasn’t looking for your approval.”
“Too bad, you would have had it,” he says as he leans in closer.
“You seem…different,” he says.
“That’s obvious.”
“No, not on the outside. Something else; inside.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“You’re…darker than when I last left you.”
“It’s been a crappy day.”
He comes within inches of my face. His body leans into mine. He never blinks or looks away from me. His laser-beam stare makes me want to shift my weight.
I want to move so that he can’t see into me, into my heart. But he can’t. That’s not one of his powers. It’s just him screwing with me. I make myself face his stare and remain still.
“You’re getting to be less and less like an Angel. I like that,” he says.
“I don’t give a damn what you like.”
He puts his hand under my chin and holds it there. He goes in for a kiss, or so I thought.
Instead he bends my head roughly towards the left to get a better view of the tattoo on my neck.
“Who holds the dagger that’s ripping into your heart, Guardian?”
“No one,” I lie.
He laughs and whispers softly in my ear.
“The problem isn’t the knife going into your heart; it’s that you have a heart for the knife to go into.”
Then he kisses my neck roughly. I grab him as if to stop him but he flips me over and onto the hood of a nearby car.
“We have claws today?” he asks.
“Can’t take it?”
He raises his right hand and a small ball of fire begins to form between his fingertips.
“I can handle whatever you got.”
I call for a nearby metal spike. It stops just short of puncturing Rage’s eyeball.
Meanwhile the fire in his hand has grown to three times the size now and is now dangerously close to my head.
Both of us silently dare the other to move.
I begin to lower my weapon, which causes him to relax. Big mistake. I take advantage and flip us over. Now, I am on top. The changing of positions causes the fireball to fall to the ground.
I kiss him with a frenzied, growing need. He can hardly keep up with me. He pulls desperately at me. I dig my nails into his soulless flesh. He growls in pain. I like that.
I see flashes of Marcus in my head. I kiss Rage longer, harder, and deeper. I kiss him until the picture of my ex fades.
Rage, unable to get enough, pulls off my shirt.
And with the help of the streetlights, he can now see my tattoo very clearly.
He eyes the drops of blood tattooed along my chest.
“How far down do they go?” he asks.
“Do the work and find out.”
Without another word, Rage begins to explore.
******************************
The fire that resulted from Rage’s earlier attack now surrounds us.
It dances dangerously close to the car we’re on.
But we don’t stop.
Rage is at home with flames so he doesn’t care.
But what about me, shouldn’t the flames bother me?
A little while later he takes me on his motorcycle. We ride hard and fast along the New York City Skyline.
“Hey, you know what you did the other day when you attacked us?” I ask him over the roar of the engine.
“What, you think I would ease up because we’re together?”
“We’re not together, and no, I didn’t think you would.”
“What the hell’s your problem then?” he snaps.
“You had a clear shot. You could have taken me out but you hesitated.”
“Bull.”
“No, I saw you. You had a shot but you punked out.”
“So what if I did?”
I fly off the motorcycle causing him to lose control.
The bike crashes to the ground, skids across the road and into the Hudson River. Had Rage been human, he would have been killed instantly.
He flaps his dark wings furiously as he comes towards me.
“What the hell is your problem?”
“Me? What the hell is your problem? You have the chance to kill me, take it!” I scream.
He flies toward me, grabs my throat and backs me into the wall.
“Is that really what you want, Guardian?” His voice is menacing and ice-cold.
I stare back at him unflinchingly. His grip on my throat tightens. I am not scared. I’m angry. Actually, I’m furious.
“Do it,” I challenge him.
“You want to die?” he asks.
“No, but I don’t want you to get it twisted. We are enemies, enemies who screw around. Nothing changes when it comes to the way we fight. Nothing.”
He stares hard at me then reluctantly lets me go.
I call for a large piece of the motorcycle wreckage and send it straight for his head. Shock spreads throughout his body as he realizes he will not be able to duck in time.
I send the scrap metal right through his head. But luckily for him, I slowed down the speed, ensuring that the wound would be surface. It cuts right down his left cheek.
He looks at me with pure hatred. I shout to him as I take off into the air.
“If you have a shot at me, take it; because if I get a chance to take you out, I will; trust.”
I fly away leaving him seething and wounded.
******************************
When I get back to Daraquin, I find all the Guardians conferring in the hallway outside of Emmy’s door.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
They all seem to do a double take when they see me.
“Damn,” Jay says in awe.
“Wow, Mimi. What happened?’ Miku asks.
“Does that mean you don’t like it?”
“No, you look hot but…it’s a little drastic don’t you think?”
“Yes.”
“I think you may actually rival my style and that’s hard to do. Oh, and Jay is dying to ask you a question,” Rio says with a great big smirk.
“What question?” I reply quickly.
“Can we focus, please?” Marcus snaps.
“How is she?” I ask Miku.
“Did you check on Arden and the Witness?” Marcus asks.
“She says it’s only a matter of time before the Hun figures out how to crack the other two mind locks.” Jay informs us.
“Any luck with the date the Sage gave us?” Marcus inquires.
“There was a series of break-ins that took place on the Upper West Side around that time. Miku and I have gone to all the places on the list but so far we’ve found nothing,” Rio says.
“Keep looking. And I need you to read as many people’s color waves as possible. We are looking for anyone near Emmy that may be feeling guilt or hate towards her. Read everyone’s wave.”
“You think it came from one of us?” Jay says.
“No, but we need to cover all bases.” Before Jay can ask Marcus to elaborate, Gray comes out of Emmy’s room and addresses Marcus.
“She’s awake.”
Marcus rushes back into the room. The rest of us follow.
Emmy tosses and turns on the bed of feathers. The color has been drained from her face.
Her eyes are glazed and slightly sunken. Marcus takes her hand.
“It’s okay. We’re here,” he says reassuringly.
“Everything hurts,” she says softly.
“I know,” he replies. Marcus winces and holds her hand tighter.
Miku smiles brightly at her and says, “This is Gray, she’s gonna help us find a way to
make you better.”
She turns to look at Gray who is conferring with another healer.
“Don’t trip, baby girl. This is the best hospital in the universe.”
“And you can stop worrying about your mom. Jay used his power to convince her that you’re staying with relatives and you’re fine.”
“Am I fine?” she asks in a weak, cracking voice.
Marcus reluctantly explains the situation to his girl.
“Do you know who sent the Virus?” she asks after Marcus explains things.
“No, but we will,” Marcus says.
“It’s not me.”
Everyone turns my direction.
“I don’t need to be Rio to know that she was thinking it!” I snap.
“I know you wouldn’t do that,” Emmy says.
“Yeah, being that I love you so much,” I retort.
“No, being that you love Marcus so much,” she says.
I hate her. Okay, hate is a strong word but she needs to get better so I can dislike her without feeling bad for her.
Just then Emmy lets out an earth-shattering cry. All the healers in the room go to her.
She is shaking so hard, she would have fallen off the bed, had Marcus not been there to catch her.
“Emmy, what is it?” he begs.
“My arm, my arm!” she shouts. The healers look at her right arm and find a circle carving itself onto her right wrist. Every inch of the carving causes her yet more pain.
The Healers try to keep her still as they radiate blue circles around the area. Whatever they are doing is not working. Emmy is now shaking so violently, she is in danger of knocking herself on out.
“All of you need to leave,” Gray says in a firm voice. Marcus is about to argue but Gray speaks before he can.
“I will not say it again, Guardian. Get out. We need to focus.”
Rio puts a supportive hand on Marcus’ shoulder and all of us exit the room.
Once we get out into the hallway, Marcus puts his fists through the ivory walls. The walls crack and crumble onto the floor.
“Calm down, man, she’s gonna be okay,” Jay says.
“She’s in pain and I can’t do anything about!” he shouts.
“That’s not true. We can go find who send her the Virus,” Miku says.
