Souls Unfractured

Flame’s eyes blinked; once, twice, three times. Then his dry lips parted and he replied, “You stayed.”

The expression on his face had not changed but the tone of his voice expressed disbelief. “I told you I would.”

A sigh slipped from between his lips.

“How did you sleep?” I asked, glad to see that beneath the dried blood and dirt on his face, color had returned to his cheeks.

“I slept?” he asked. I frowned at his question. He waited patiently for my answer.

“Yes, Flame. You slept.”

“For how long?” This time his already broken voice was raspy.

I glanced up out of the covered window of kitchen, letting in the beginnings of the day. “Hours. Maybe seven or eight? I do not know precisely.”

Flame’s breathing increased and his nostrils flared. I quickly sat up as his muscles tensed. I feared he was slipping back into the darkness, back into the pit of hell he was in when strapped to the bed. Instead his lost eyes sought out mine, and he whispered, “I never sleep. I always want to. But I never can. There’s always too much in my head.” Flame’s weak hand lifted and tapped at his head.

I feared my heart had torn straight down the center when I heard these gutting words. Flame swallowed. When he was still the same Flame from last night, the Flame who talked to me so sweetly, I relaxed and lay back on the floor. Flame’s tense body relaxed too.

“You never sleep? At night, you do not sleep?”

Flame exhaled. He held out a bruised arm for me to inspect. He pointed to his wrist. “The flames. They keep me awake. They run though my blood. And they burn. When I sleep, they wake me and he is always here to release them. So I stay awake.”

Flame’s eyebrows pulled down. “I don’t feel the flames now.” He dropped his hovering arm near my leg. “I don’t feel the flames when you’re near. Somehow, you calm the flames.”

My throat closed up. I swore I could feel my heart aching. I shuffled to lie on my front, mere inches from where he lay. I saw Flame’s body tense, but he did not protest our proximity. His hands balled into fists, but he did not speak.

When I saw his fingers lose their rigidity, I said, “I rarely sleep either. Yet, here, on this cold hard floor…” I ducked my head feeling my cheeks heat searching for words, then whispered, “with you. Beside you, I did not wake once.”

Flame searched my face. “Your cheeks are blushing again. That means you liked it. You told me you blushed when you liked something. That I’d just made you feel special.” His lips rubbed together, and I could see his mind turning over. “You liked sleeping next to me. Because it made you feel special.”

A smile crept on my lips. I fought the need to shy away. “Yes.”

Flame hissed through his teeth and, releasing a long breath, said. “I liked it too.”

On hearing his answer, my finger traced along the wood patterns on the floor, but inside my feelings were joyful. Warm and… happy…

Silence ensued for several minutes. My hands remained tracing the wood on the floor, but I could feel Flame watching me. When I eventually lifted my eyes, my cheeks heated anew.

As the light grew brighter outside, I noticed that Flame’s blanket had bunched at his legs. And in this light, I saw the true extent of his injuries, the open gashes on his skin, the dried blood and dirt that he needed to remove.

“Flame?”

Flame, still fighting his exhaustion, struggled to look up at me. For a moment I had to stop myself from reaching out my hand and touching his face. His expression, as he stared up at me from his place on the floor, was so innocent, so lost, I wanted nothing more than to wrap him in my arms and tell him he was safe. Safe with me.

Flame waited for me to speak, his large dark eyes blinking slowly. Clearing my throat, I pointed to the bathroom. “You need to cleanse. You will heal better if you are free from the blood covering your skin.”

Flame looked down at his arms and frowned.

“I shall run a bath for you,” I said, as I got to my feet.

“It has to be cold,” he stated firmly.

I stopped dead and I looked back over my shoulder. “Okay.”

I went to move again, when he instructed, “The coldest it can be. No hot water.”

I dropped my head, fighting sadness and wonderment at why it had to be that way. “Flame—”

“I need it to cool the flames, Maddie. I can’t fucking have it any other way.”

“As you wish,” I replied, and entered the bathroom. When I had cleaned the day before it had taken me a while to find the towels. They were in a closet that I knew had never been opened. I suspected he did not use them.