It’s small. Smaller than it has any right to be after what he did to me.
It takes the wind out of my lungs.
“Is that you?”
The Angel behind me is so close we could touch. He’s pulling down his mask to show his face, but he doesn’t need to. I’d know him anywhere. I’d know every part of him. That mess of curly blond hair, the baby-blue eyes, the stubble dotting the soft skin of his cheek.
A desperate laugh bubbles up from his lips, and he falls back, mouth open in awe.
My heart stopped beating a few seconds ago. It hasn’t started back up again.
Theo says, “You cut your hair.”
Colossians 3:18—Wives, submit to your husbands.
The last time we spoke, I thought he was going to tear out my throat. He was so rabid that white flecks speckled the corners of his lips. I don’t remember all of what he said, or exactly how he said it, because I couldn’t hear anything but blood screaming in my ears and my prayers that he wouldn’t hurt me more than he already had, that he would stop before he broke me. Lying, ungrateful BITCH.
I told him I was afraid of Seraph, and he hurt me for it, and I’m still in love with him, I still love him, I still, I still—
I pull the knife from my pocket and snap out the blade. It flashes in the light streaming through the stained glass windows and comes right to his throat.
Theo throws up his hands. “Benji, wait!”
I snarl, “You have five seconds.”
“Five?” His voice wavers. “Shit, five? Okay. Um.” Deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
He’s what?
“If you’re going to hurt me,” he says, “I understand; I kind of deserve it.” His words catch, and his throat bobs, and he just looks so pitiful on the other end of my knife. “But I wanted to get that in first. Just so you know. I’m sorry.”
My knife hand trembles. He’s sorry. He’s sorry, he’s sorry. “You kind of deserve it? Dad thought you gave me a concussion. I thought you broke my arm, I thought…”
I thought he was going to kill me. If not by breaking my head against the wall of my dorm, then by telling Mom what I had said. The church wouldn’t have culled me but, God, what would they have done instead?
“Okay,” Theo amends. Every word comes out slowly, like he’s picking them carefully, like I’m a wild animal he’s trying to keep from snapping. “Okay. Yeah, I deserve it a lot. I shouldn’t have laid a hand on you. It wasn’t right. And when you left, I realized that. I was so scared, babe, I thought someone found out what you’d said, I thought you’d been taken away.” He’s deteriorating, picking up speed. “This is a sign, isn’t it? Finding you here? I’ve been praying for a second chance, and I have it now, so please. Please, I’m so sorry.”
Five seconds have been up for a long time. My stomach burns with Flood and Seraph, and so does my ring finger. It feels naked. The knife falls.
I don’t know what’s going on below us, and I don’t want to know. It’s just noise and terror. My world has shrunk down to Theo on the ground in front of me, like it always does.
I say, “What are you doing here?”
“The pilgrimage was the only way to get into the city to find you,” Theo says.
“To find me.”
“To find you.” He moves closer, his eyes catching mine and refusing to let go. “I was wrong. And I know I don’t deserve it, but I wanted to say I’m sorry for what I did. Because I love you.”
I love him too. God, I still do, I still do.