*** SLIGHT TRIGGER WARNING ***
For the first time in what I can't even quite determine the timeframe of I can finally feel his presence. After a while of hitting me with everything he had he eventually slung his arms around my torso and pulled me to himself and this is how we are now. His arms are so tight, they almost suffocate me, his nails so strong in my back that I should feel pain - instead, I feel connected to him in the most primal way known to man and wolf. At points, when he is suffering more than usual, his nails sink deeper into my skin, producing little droplets of blood that I can feel slowly run down my back. His face is firmly placed by the side of my neck, slightly turned towards me so he can hide in it. I can feel his eyelashes caress my skin with every blink, but sometimes, he simply lowers them and doesn't let them rise to open his eyes for long time. Now, his breath is finally even with mine again. His chest rises in time with mine falling, a rise and fall in harmony between the two of us, our breaths containing the same air, shared between us over and over again. And if I pay attention, I can even feel the little welts on his belly that refuse to heal even now. His body now fits mine perfectly again, our anatomy so similar that we entangle completely.
He hasn't said anything yet, and neither have I and secretly I wonder whether voicing anything at all would make this more real. I've been wondering where my tears or fits of rage have been, but except the endless pain and guilt, the only thing I'm capable of feeling right now is the need to keep everyone and anything away from him. I have realised that we were probably never quite as alone as I'd thought. People were around somewhere, but they seemed to keep at a distance at which I wasn't reacting to them. It took me a while, but I figured it's probably because I wasn't truly paying attention. Now I know. I know they're there, but I leave them because of one simple reason. If I suddenly react, they'd realise I'm more aware now and I don't want to talk to them. I want to stay here forever.
I also notice things about where we are. It's a room, but there are no windows, barely any furniture and it's actually quite small. There is a doorway, but no door and right outside, to the right of the frame, are two people. I can sense them there, barely making a move, but also definitely not sleeping. I can hear their breaths and they aren't deep and regular enough.
Tiny little stabs of bright pain draw my attention to him, still in my arms, but stiff and with all his muscles pulled taut, his strength pulling me even closer to him and the nails in my back even further into my flesh. He doesn't relax in the slightest this time and after a while, I can feel my back slowly healing itself around the tips of his fingers slightly lodged into it. This is the first time I truly feel pain again. The tissue in my back is rearranging itself around the foreign object, but I breathe through the pain, taking care not to change my pattern in breathing or move at all, as to not alarm the people outside.
I can hear you. Don't pretend. It's gonna make it worse.
This time my breath does hitch, but I try to focus in on the presences outside. How I didn't notice one of their breathing patterns change I don't know, but one of them is asleep now, while the other one is apparently more perceptive than expected.
I won't disturb him. I say after a while. He will react if I make too much of a fuss and so I quietly lie through he pain. Even once I'm healed, every little movement made by either him or me gives me more pain.
Look, I don't know what's happening in there, but let me help you.
No.
I breath again, deep breaths. Their not the same as his anymore, my chest lifting away from his every once in a while to accommodate my quicker breaths now. I feel sweat on my forehead when he suddenly shifts, his nails grazing the partly healed flesh underneath the skin of my back.
I must have made a noise, because the voice from outside is quick to comment.
That doesn't sound good. Let me help.
I can feel the impatience, but I don't care, I can't.
I don't matter. Is all I can answer him.
Then what about your mate?
That makes me hesitate a second.
He's fine.
He's not fine.
The voice is right, he's not fine, but he'll be worse once he comes back properly. I don't know how he is like this now, but it's better than if he's able to properly realise what's happening. I already don't know how to survive every second I miraculously do, I wouldn't know how to help him.
Look, he's not dealing. And even if you want to stay, how long can your bodies survive like this?
He'll be worse when he comes back. I sound weak now, unconvinced.
Yes. And then he'll heal.
He's not healing. I immediately answer. He's not. I can feel the welts agains my belly.
Everyone heals. How and when is different, but everyone heals in some way.
He isn't.
The voice is quiet now. I feel like I'm trying to convince myself how badly he's doing and that makes my pain even worse. I want to help him. I want to help him heal like the voice said, but I can't. The only thing I can do is to protect him while he's gone like I should have before. I'm not delusional. I know he'll come back. What I'm afraid of is what he'll be like when he does.
I tighten my own arms around him, knowing exactly when the pain in my back sparks again, but not caring either way.
My hand is at his head, cradling it to me, but suddenly he seizes up again and this time, while my back sends me pain, my shoulder also does.
His teeth are sunken into my shoulder, attached to it with a strength that tells me any movement will make him rip a chunk of it away. And so I stay still, through wave after wave of pain I know is caused by his own suffering.
Eventually his hold on my shoulder lessens slightly, but his teeth never leave my flesh, much like his nails in my back.
To lessen the pain, I focus on his heartbeat. It's quicker than mine and slighter harder to pick up, but it gives me comfort. It also intensifies my guilt. It's a sign of his life and the reason for mine, but its loneliness reminds me of what was and isn't anymore.
Can you at least let me in?
I'm not quite sure how much times passes until the voice speaks up like this again. But it's smart. I guess I didn't fool it like I thought.
No.
Please.
No.
There's a beat of silence before it goes on.
Both of you have been in there for too long.
There's no reason. I say.
For me to be there? Yes there is. I won't touch you or even come close. Just let me come in and sit right by the doorway.
I don't know why, but for a second, I consider its request. Maybe it's the plead I can hear, or maybe it's the pain that seems like a very very faint echo of my own.
No. I finally settle on.
He's dying. The voice finally says. It's not a surprise, it's been telling me for a while now, just not directly.
He's fine. I say in reply.
You said that last time, too.
I know. I say.
You don't mean it now, either.
It takes me a while to answer.
I know.
The voice doesn't reply, but I do hear it move more than usual, then footsteps and the next thing I know, it's standing in the room. I don't move or look up, simply wait what it'll do. And so it leans on the wall and slides down. I can feel it's eyes on us, but still I don't move.
I listen out for the second person, but there's nothing. It's just the voice now.
It's quiet as it sits there, but never averts its gaze. It should make me uncomfortable, but I don't really feel anything at all - except the pain inflicted by him.
I refocus on him now, on the pain he gives me and his heartbeat that keeps me alive. And I finally realise what I failed to for too long - his heartbeat is growing weaker. In my panic, my breath hitches and of course, the voice is there immediately.
I told you, didn't I?
I don't even pay attention to it, instead my instinct kicks in and I untangle my arms from him, reach for his jaw on my shoulder and slowly dislodge his teeth. The blood is immediately flowing from he wounds, towards my neck and then past it, but all I can focus on is my mate's head hanging in my hands with no strength at all.
I pull his head from my shoulder and slightly away so I can look at him. He's pale, his lips dry and his cheeks slightly sunken in and the only thing that stops his head from lulling towards the bed underneath us is my hands supporting his neck and jaw. His eyes are closed as they have been for a while now - I never did feel his eyelashes on my neck again.
But the movement must have registered, because I can see them fluttering. His eyelashes, which I previously only felt on my neck, now slowly rise from his cheeks to reveal his eyes, weakly trained on me. They're watery and unfocused, but this time definitely looking at me.
It's gone, isn't it? He can't speak, that much is obvious, so he quietly says it in my head.
At first, I don't know what to say. I want to lie. No, that's wrong, I want to deny it. I want to tell him that everything isn't like it is.
But the answer I give him isn't anything I ever wanted to give reality to.
Yes.