Angels Fan Fiction / Realism Fan Fiction / Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ On the outside ❯ Conflict ( Chapter 2 )

If they'd ever cared, like… truly cared about her, they would have asked her what was wrong, what went through her mind, and try to listen to her, not lock her in that place. She hated them for that. All of them. Even Sebastian… even him. She didn't want to think of how he's let her rot in there, how he said he'd take care of her, and then just let them abandon her in there. She missed him so much… No, she couldn't hate him. She was mad to think she could ever feel anything but love for him. She wondered where he was, now. Maybe not that far away, maybe she could still have a chance to see him again, to touch his face and tell him, tell him that she loved him, beg him to see her as herself, again, and not leave her all alone. But her Sebastian was tainted by all those looks, by the looks they gave him whenever he was holding her too close, or too tightly for their liking. Her Sebastian drove her away because he didn't want to see her hurt, because he said what she felt for him wasn't real, it wasn't right and it was a sin. He said that it would pass, and that she would heal from her illness. Sebastian didn't want her anymore… They wouldn't let him want her. They wouldn't let him love her. He was the only one who could love her, and they sent him away, they sent her away, they ripped them apart and now she was so lost…

 

The old woman stopped in front of a tall iron gate and looked at her. She realized she was standing just outside the cemetery and she took in a deep breath. She hadn't entered a cemetery since she was nine years old, ever since She'd died. The girl looked up at the wrought iron and saw speckles of cold rain hanging from the odd shapes. The dim light from the candles, and the moon made them shine and the gates looked like they were made of black glass.

 

“Will you enter with me?” again, she tensed at the kind voice of that woman and she wanted to raise her eyes from the ground, but didn't dare. She didn't know what she was afraid of… maybe that she would see them again, after all this was their house. She didn't wanna see them anymore; she wanted to be normal… She nodded and the woman led her inside the cemetery. It was very large, and filled with the smell of jasmine flowers, burnt candles and incense. The graves were placed in a certain order, in even rows and were each very neat. Flowers rested on the cold earth or the marble, and the people went about the place as if it were an art gallery, lighting candles and murmuring endless words. The woman finally stopped in front of a black marvel tomb and just stood there, looking at the tombstone. She didn't know what to do anymore. She'd been caught in this strange ceremonial, in the middle of all there unknown people, but somehow she didn't feel lost. She finally had someone there, with her, and she didn't feel so lost anymore. She raised her head slowly only to se the old woman bend and light a candle, placing it at the base of the tombstone. She didn't wanna read the inscription on the black marble. She was too scared that if she would care enough to read it, whoever rested there would think she cared enough to help. She didn't care to help them anymore.

 

“What's your name?” the old woman asked, and she slowly looked at her wrinkled face, as if she was afraid the woman would just vanish like smoke from before her eyes.

She wasn't sure she wanted to answer, but the woman's face was so filled with kindness, that she began thinking that it was maybe just her paranoia that drove her to be so unsettled when it came to dealing with others.

“Azrael.” She said, reluctantly, waiting for the usual reaction. The woman turned and looked at her with wide open eyes. She knew it was a strange name, but she was wondering why the woman started to shake like that. She usually got laughs and a “Weird name, girl!” This woman looked like she would fall to pieces, and Azrael stared at her in bewilderment.

“Have you come for me?” the woman said, and she frowned for a second.

“What?”

“Are you here for me?” the old woman repeated. Azrael shook her head, and the woman seemed to calm down a little. She wondered why anyone would think she was there for them.

“What is your name?” Azrael asked, and the woman gave her an awkward look, as if she couldn't believe what she was witnessing.

“Amalia.”

“Well, Amalia, you can call me Ana, that's what everyone calls me, because they think my name's too weird.” Azrael spoke slowly, not sure that she actually wanted to let the woman know much about herself. But Amalia was clearly beginning to settle down, and the girl felt more at ease herself.

 

“You shouldn't be that permissive.” Amalia said, then turned her back to Azrael and lit another candle next to the black grave. Azrael looked at the flowers in her hand, then to the dark sky. The rain had stopped, but the air still held that moistness to it, as if someone had sprayed it with water. She was rather uncomfortable, not so much due to the atmosphere, but to the medication. She figured that the lack of antidepressants was making itself strongly known by now, because she was beginning to shiver again, and she couldn't help feeling a little numb, although she was supposed to be tensed from the cold air. Azrael looked around at all the people walking by her, and through the cemetery, knowing that sooner or later she will see them. Especially here, especially at a time like this.

 

And sure enough, a little boy with wide open, black eyes seemed to materialize at her side, looking at Amalia's back. Azrael stared at the strange looking boy. He couldn't have been more than twelve years old, and his clothes were a little out of fashion, like he would have lived around the 70's or something.

 

“She always comes back to see me.” he said, but his lips didn't move. Azrael knew what he meant, knew why his lips were still, even if he was talking to her. She turned her head and tried to stop her shivering. Her mind was a little too cloudy for her to reason correctly, and she knew she was going to lose it again. She would enter that catatonic state which stated so obviously that she could never be normal, she could never even seem normal.

 

“You should leave her alone.” Azrael thought, and the boy's eyes lit up at her, as he frowned.

“What do you know? She didn't love me, so I have to stay here and make her…” Azrael had had just about enough of them and their demands. They thought that, just because they'd suffered while alive, they had the right to make others suffer as well. Well, she couldn't stand it anymore. She felt her heartbeat accelerate, and she choked on her own anger as she screamed, covering her ears:

“Leave her alone!!!” She fell on her knees, next to the little boy, and watched in horror as her scream simply shattered his immaterial body and left behind a blue smoke that hit her chest like a bullet. She whimpered in pain and fell to the ground quivering, rolling her eyes back.

.

.

.

.

“Azrael?” the voice was soft, and vaguely familiar. A cold hand touched her cheek and she flinched, shooting her eyes open. Her entire body ached, as if she would have taken electric shocks again. The memory was still vivid in her memory and she crouched on the ground, embracing her waist. She couldn't keep her eyes fully open, and her body wouldn't listen to her. The numbness was too powerful for her to overcome it by herself. If only… But no, she couldn't take the drugs anymore, she hated them… They meant she was sick, and she knew she wasn't. She couldn't be. She had to be sane, she had to be normal, because that was the only chance she had of seeing him again.

“Azrael?” Again, the voice. She hazily attributed it to some old woman, but she couldn't think clearly. Her thoughts melted like snowflakes in the palm of a wicked hand, and she couldn't follow a stream of thoughts to the end. She began fluttering her eyes open and closed, since she couldn't see anything either way, her vision was blurry, and the pain in her chest wouldn't stop.

 

She wondered if she was breathing, if she was bleeding… She just wanted not to feel like that. Was it so much to ask? Had she been that bad that she didn't even deserve death? Why couldn't she just die? Why wouldn't someone kill her? So many people died against their wish, and there she was, longing for eternal peace, only she was denied of the right to have it. She hated them all. The cold air crept inside her head and she couldn't even hate anymore. She froze, along with her thoughts, and all fell into a swirl of darkness as she relinquished the right to breathe.

 

Azrael, my angel of death, you can't know who you are…

 

She suddenly took in air and hastily breathed in and out a few times before averting her violet eyes to the world. She could still see those grey eyes staring at her from their place somewhere above, somewhere she could never reach.

 

Ashes Eyes…

 

“Amalia?” she whispered, and looked around to see she was in a dim lit room filed with all sorts of shelves for books. The room looked like a real altar for books. They were everywhere. Azrael couldn't make out the furniture underneath all those volumes. She lightly touched her neck, where she felt like a cold hand had been placed just a moment earlier, but it couldn't have been right… There was nobody in the room with her. She didn't feel like talking to anyone, either. She was just wondering where she was, and the only coherent thought she could have told her that she was in Amalia's house. The last thing she remembered was lying down on the ground, in the cemetery… and Ashes Eyes. A presence so strong, powerful and intrusive, like she was nothing compared to it. Like she didn't matter at all. It didn't have a voice, it didn't have a face, nor a body… It was only a pair of ashes eyes, and that's what it told her… Angel of death. My angel of death.

 

The door opened with a small noise and Azrael shot her eyes to the left. Amalia entered the dark room, carrying a tray with something, she couldn't make out what.

 

“I see you're awake.” the woman said, in that quiet tone she always used. Azrael thought she was being a little weird, but who was she to judge? Upon closer inspection, she saw that Amalia had brought her a glass of… wine? She wasn't sure it was wine, because it looked thicker and had a dark red color. It looked more like… Azrael swallowed. Amalia smiled eerily and handed her the glass. Azrael hesitated for a few seconds, but the woman was smiling so kindly at her, that she finally stretched out her hand and took the glass. She didn't wanna drink that… whatever it was, though.

“It'll help, dear.” Amalia said, and Azrael threw the liquid a skeptic glimpse.

“How do you know?” she whispered, from between her teeth. Amalia stepped back, and held the tray in front of her chest, like a shield.

“I just do. It works for those like you.” Azrael continued to stare into the glass, as she stirred the crimson liquid.

“Those like me? Like what?” Amalia let out a sigh.

“Just drink it.” Azrael held her nose and put the glass to her mouth. The thick liquid had no taste, at least none that she could sense at the moment, and it invaded her mouth in a split second. She swallowed it all, and then dropped the glass to the floor, speckling the carpet with small red droplets. She held her throat, and couched a few times.

It was worse than electric shocks