After Michael read through most of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, I fell asleep. The nightmares came, but I only woke up once during the night. Michael had slipped out of the apartment by then. It was harder to fall asleep the second time, but I managed.
I woke when I heard movement in the kitchen. Groaning, I buried my head beneath the pillow until my body stopped throbbing with pain. I ventured to take a peek. Michael had kindly left the bedroom door open, and I could see him laying plastic bags full of groceries on the counter. Almost immediately, my mood perked up. He’d bought me food? Hell, maybe I could get used to this.
My dry throat begged for water so I obliged, draining the rest of the glass that had been sitting on the ever-crowded nightstand. I cleared my throat loud and calling out “Hey” to Michael.
He glanced over at me. “Morning.”
“Morning. Is it weird that I have a hard time picturing you in a grocery store?”
He gave me a cryptic smile. “There’s a lot you’re gonna have to get used to with me. Anyway, roll over. I have to make sure you didn’t bleed through the bandages during the night.”
I turned over, propping my back against the headboard. I’d ditched the ruined button up shirt for a dark purple one—man-sized so I wouldn’t be exposing too much. Sure, he was an angel, but I couldn’t help wanting to be modest around him anyway. Maybe because he was my friend now. Thankfully, the wound was high on my chest, so I could still wear a bra underneath.
I started to unbutton the shirt myself but he told me not to since one of my hands still had a magnificent bruise across the knuckles. Lucky me, though, because it didn’t hurt that much any more. The purplish skin had grown stiff, but I could tell it was beginning to heal, as was the circle of bruises around my throat. With Raphael’s continued treatments, they would fade within days.
Michael waved his hand in front of my face, making me jump. “I asked you if you were hungry.”
Damn, I hadn’t realized how hard I’d been thinking. He’d finished checking the bandages without me even noticing. “Yeah.”
He tilted his head a little. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“You’re chewing your bottom lip like you do when you’re trying not to frown.”
I stared at him in shock. “How could you have possibly noticed that about me? We’ve known each other for like what? Three days?”
Michael merely shrugged. I shook my head. “Go get me food.”
After a moment, I added the word “please” and Michael cracked a smile. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Always a charmer, aren’t we?” With that, he loped off to the kitchen. I watched him go with a strange sort of bemusement. I couldn’t understand how Michael rolled with the punches the way he did. My personality was naturally cranky, but for some reason he didn’t seem to mind. I wondered if the patience came from being an angel.
Somewhere during my musing, I caught a whiff of how I smelled and nearly gagged. My body had been in such a delicate condition that I hadn’t been able to shower since the incident. Unacceptable. I tossed the covers back and set my feet on the floor, firmly resolved to fix this problem. My legs burned with pain after I stood up and several ligaments cracked, but it wasn’t too bad altogether. Huzzah.
I shuffled my way over to the dresser in front of the bed and gathered some undergarments from the corner of the drawer. Really needed to wash my clothes soon. Maybe I’d guilt my new bodyguard into doing them for me. I managed to reach the bathroom without toppling over or anything when Michael called from the kitchen.
“What kind of food are you in the mood for?”
“The edible kind.” I yelled back. “It’ll have to wait until after my shower.”
A pause. Hurried footsteps. Michael appeared in the doorway with a frown. “Wait, what?”
I pointed at the tub. “Me. Shower. Now.”
“Jordan, you really shouldn’t be moving around that much. Your stitches might tear. Can’t this wait a little longer?”
“The day I can’t wash my own ass is the day I don’t need to continue living,” I said, flipping on the faucet. Water rushed into the tub—a relaxing sound in itself.
He sighed. “You have a point. But don’t take a shower. You shouldn’t be standing for any long period of time. Take a bath and don’t let the water soak into your wound. I’ll be out here if you need any help.”
I paused. There was just no way I could let that one go. “Would you like to help me bathe, Michael?”
To my amusement, he cleared his throat and wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Not what I meant.”
“Honestly, it would make the entire experience more bearable.” I could feel the grin taking over my lips and didn’t fight it. Hell, it was the most fun I’d had in a while. Apparently, the new Michael could get flustered. Interesting.
He shot me an accusing look. “You really are shameless, aren’t you?”
Was it my imagination or was he blushing? Ha! “It’s all part of my charm.”
Michael shook his head and shut the door without replying. I allowed myself one small giggle before adjusting the water’s temperature and shedding both my clothes and the bandages.
As the tub filled, I took a good look at myself in the mirror. There was really only one word for what I saw: yikes. The stitches were still visible on my chest, where ugly mounds of light brown flesh had gathered around the wound. Whenever they came out, there would definitely be a large, jagged scar in its place. A ring of bruises marred my neck and a sizeable one peeked out from beneath my hair where my head had hit the wall in the alley. I felt another surge of anger towards Belial. It was one thing to hurt me emotionally, but the bastard had physically marked me. Gabriel said there was no known way to destroy a demon soul.
I was sure as hell going to find one someday.
With my hair down I looked a lot like my mother. She had been from Madrid while my father was black, origin unknown. That was just about the only thing I knew about my father. He’d left before I was born. As for my mother, she was an entirely different story. One I didn’t like to revisit often.
After the tub filled, I took my sweet time lowering myself into the smooth porcelain and soothing hot water. My injuries stung, but it was heavenly after I settled in. I lay my head back and just went still. Got to enjoy the little things in life.
My thoughts started to drift as I lay there, making sure not to let the water hit my chest wound. How long would Michael stay with me? Is this how cohabitation worked—a constant exchange of banter between two people? Or was our situation unique? Hell if I knew. The last relationship I’d been in ended in tatters. We’d never even made it to the moving-in stage. How did people do this on a regular or even permanent basis? Then again, who was I to complain? I had an archangel at my beck and call. You’d think I would be more grateful. Then again, attention from anyone, especially men, made me defensive. Stupid, but true.
I drained the tub and climbed out, drying off slowly on account of my stiff limbs. The underwear took an annoying amount of time to put on, but I managed. Finally, I wrapped myself in a thick navy robe and called for Michael.
Once more, I sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the opposite wall as Michael sat in a chair he’d gotten from the kitchen and redressed my chest. I kept the robe bunched around my waist, hiding everything at navel level and lower. He hadn’t been this close to me before we’d known each other so I started noticing little things about him, like how he smelled. His scent was a mix of Old Spice deodorant and some sort of sweet aftershave. Unlike Gabriel or Raphael, his fingertips were rough from playing the guitar. I’d never noticed how large his hands were up until now.
“Something on your mind?”
I glanced at Michael. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s been five minutes and you haven’t insulted me yet. I’m getting worried.” His green eyes sparkled with
amusement.
I scowled. “It’s not all about you, y’know.”
He chuckled. “My fault. Still, what’s on your mind?”
I searched for something to say because it wouldn’t be appropriate to admit I’d been thinking about the way he smelled or how big his hands were. “Not much. I was just thinking how long it’s been since I’ve had someone around all the time.”
“No boyfriend?”
I winced. “Once. Terrell Molding. It…ended badly.”
“What happened?”
“We had been dating before the incident with Mr. N. As you can imagine, things got rough afterward. I knew I couldn’t tell him what I’d seen because he wouldn’t believe me, so I pushed him away.”
“That must have been hard for you.” His voice was soft with sympathy rather than pity. A small part of me felt relieved by that.
I shrugged and then winced because it still hurt. Gotta stop doing that. “I got over it. It wouldn’t have worked out in the long run anyway.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He wanted the American dream: a beach house in Hawaii, a white picket fence, two kids, and a dog. Despite everything around him, he still held on to the illusion that people are good and life is sweet. We were from two completely different worlds.”
Michael was silent. “I don’t think that’s the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s still the same world, but you two just saw it differently.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“Now that you’ve gotten your life back, will you try to make things work with him?”
That caught me off-guard. “W-Well, I didn’t really consider it, no.”
“Why not?”
“Who are you? Dr. Phil?”
“Jordan, for once, just answer the question.”
“I…I never felt like I was good enough for him, alright? He was on track to become a pediatrician and he came from a large, successful family. I couldn’t stand the thought of going home to his family in California with my background.”
“Background?”
“I already told you what happened to my parents. I didn’t even go to college. His whole family comes from a prestigious line of African descent and I’m mixed. They weren’t very happy with that.”
“Why should they matter at all if you loved the guy?”
“No one ever said I loved him.” My voice was small and defensive when I spoke. I hated that. He didn’t speak at first—just finished the last bit of my bandages and tugged my robe closed.
I shook my head. “I guess that’s a pretty stupid reason for not trying, hm?”
“Want to know what I really think?”
“Knock yourself out,” I said, avoiding eye contact because it made me feel too vulnerable.
Michael leaned forward in his chair and brushed a lock of hair behind my ear to catch my attention. “I think you’re way harder on yourself than other people are, and you shouldn’t be because there’s nothing wrong with you that’s beyond saving.”
Before I could reply, he stood up and offered me his hand. “Now come on. Your food’s getting cold.”