Where I Lay My Head
Till Death Do Us Part
There was no hesitation on Rachel's part when he reached Cecil's door but there was enough time in between to hear water running in the kitchen. Amidst a cloud of frantic, fading thoughts, his mind envisioned Adeline standing on the other side as he once knew her, her arms buried in a mound of steaming bubbles in the sink, radiating the smell and warmth of fresh cherry pie, and her face merry as she looked adoringly across the counter to Rachel. In retrospect it was true that Sebastian would soon steal them both from their swooning adoration but Rachel had long buried thoughts like that in his pit of disposable memories. That didn't matter anymore... what mattered were the incomprehensible, overwhelming feelings that were most definitely there.
To his dismay it was Cecil standing at the sink this time, drowning a mangled dish rag in a stream of water and deep in thought. When a floor-board creaked, he twirled around to face Rachel, swinging the rag in unison so it slashed a freezing wet stripe across his chest. Their faces drained of color upon seeing each other and Cecil very well could have stared at the frantic man in eternal silence if Rachel didn't have plans of his own. Originally, before he hacked Cecil's answering machine, the first thing he would have asked would have been 'Why did you leave?' but now there was only one thing on his rampant mind.
"Where is she?"
Cecil's face drew together in angst and his head fell under the pressure of an intense glare. "She's here." he answered softly, hopelessly, and the defeated demeanor of his reply infected he who had summoned it.
Rachel stepped forward and put both of his hands on Cecil's shoulders, his heart beating a million times a minute, it felt like, so loud and clear that the sound of his pulse was almost deafening. His breathing was forced. "She's hurt, isn't she Cecil...?"
"Yes."
And at that, Rachel was distracted from approaching lunacy as he watched Cecils down-shifted eyes swell like mercury orbs specked with rain and a single tear fell from the corner of each one. Rachel didn't often see any of his friends cry but had never seen Cecil cry, and never imagined just how profound it could be. Yes, Cecil had conformed to the stereotypical rocker look with the rest of his generation; long hair, tight pants, and all that jazz, but the stigma of masculinity had been hammered into him like a nail during his childhood and that nail never fell out. That nail was all that everybody saw him as. Cecil was Grizzly Adams with pretty hair and skinny jeans.
"She's safe now, though. Forever." he trembled, regaining his strength immediately to look Rachel in the eye again. "I don't know if she wants to see anybody right now; I know that you don't want to see her. Trust me."
He turned on his heels and headed for the guest room, not surprised to hear Rachel following at his own will. He was sure that Rachel would hate the moment he ever decided to follow but had bigger concerns.
Everything seemed to pass in slow motion once they reached the bedroom, its door sprawled open to reveal a scantily lit room draped in shadows and the occasional beam of dusty yellow light. Rachel's eyes found a figure laying in the bed, tucked in like a young child would be by his mother. A pile of pillows was wedged under her upper torso and the hem of the covers was stretched across her chest and pinned down by her limp arms.
Cecil stood at the edge of the bed and laid the damp cloth, now wrung and folded, across her dewy forehead. Rachel hesitantly followed. He was now one with that sullen room of shadows and could reach full awareness of the terror which it sheltered.
Something must have told him to ease himself into this, perhaps that anonymous voice which had once predicted this very moment. So his first glance wasn't to her face, it was to her chest, bare and striped with three leathery, rusty fingers which extended from under the covers to the crook of her neck. He squinted to get a better look and his stomach turned for the umpteenth time that day. Burns.
And now there was nothing to look at but her face... Her beautiful, battered face, on standby amidst peaceful sleep. The left side was pure, milky white and freckled just as it should have been. The rosy flush of her left cheek was subtle enough to hide in the contrast of its obnoxious twin but it remained there all the same. The other half of her face was an entirely different story; one which was so graphic and revolting that it seemed to burn the strained fibers of his mind. Her skin was blemished with an entire spectrum of colors, none of them adhering to the standard pallot of a human face. It was like a primitive painting using the vibrant flesh of a blueberry, the ripe sweet tuft of a dandelion, and the dust of crumbled charcoal. And running diagonal across that solemn presentation was a deep rusty slash which began at the corner of her mouth, thick as a number two Ticonderoga, and stretched just as far until it dissipated at the beginning of her ear and dusty hairline. It was held together with no less than thirty stitches matted with a crimson crust.
That was one of those images that can drown a person in terror while leaving them sensible enough to think This is the worst thing I have ever seen and its image stay with me forever. Till death do us part.
To his dismay it was Cecil standing at the sink this time, drowning a mangled dish rag in a stream of water and deep in thought. When a floor-board creaked, he twirled around to face Rachel, swinging the rag in unison so it slashed a freezing wet stripe across his chest. Their faces drained of color upon seeing each other and Cecil very well could have stared at the frantic man in eternal silence if Rachel didn't have plans of his own. Originally, before he hacked Cecil's answering machine, the first thing he would have asked would have been 'Why did you leave?' but now there was only one thing on his rampant mind.
"Where is she?"
Cecil's face drew together in angst and his head fell under the pressure of an intense glare. "She's here." he answered softly, hopelessly, and the defeated demeanor of his reply infected he who had summoned it.
Rachel stepped forward and put both of his hands on Cecil's shoulders, his heart beating a million times a minute, it felt like, so loud and clear that the sound of his pulse was almost deafening. His breathing was forced. "She's hurt, isn't she Cecil...?"
"Yes."
And at that, Rachel was distracted from approaching lunacy as he watched Cecils down-shifted eyes swell like mercury orbs specked with rain and a single tear fell from the corner of each one. Rachel didn't often see any of his friends cry but had never seen Cecil cry, and never imagined just how profound it could be. Yes, Cecil had conformed to the stereotypical rocker look with the rest of his generation; long hair, tight pants, and all that jazz, but the stigma of masculinity had been hammered into him like a nail during his childhood and that nail never fell out. That nail was all that everybody saw him as. Cecil was Grizzly Adams with pretty hair and skinny jeans.
"She's safe now, though. Forever." he trembled, regaining his strength immediately to look Rachel in the eye again. "I don't know if she wants to see anybody right now; I know that you don't want to see her. Trust me."
He turned on his heels and headed for the guest room, not surprised to hear Rachel following at his own will. He was sure that Rachel would hate the moment he ever decided to follow but had bigger concerns.
Everything seemed to pass in slow motion once they reached the bedroom, its door sprawled open to reveal a scantily lit room draped in shadows and the occasional beam of dusty yellow light. Rachel's eyes found a figure laying in the bed, tucked in like a young child would be by his mother. A pile of pillows was wedged under her upper torso and the hem of the covers was stretched across her chest and pinned down by her limp arms.
Cecil stood at the edge of the bed and laid the damp cloth, now wrung and folded, across her dewy forehead. Rachel hesitantly followed. He was now one with that sullen room of shadows and could reach full awareness of the terror which it sheltered.
Something must have told him to ease himself into this, perhaps that anonymous voice which had once predicted this very moment. So his first glance wasn't to her face, it was to her chest, bare and striped with three leathery, rusty fingers which extended from under the covers to the crook of her neck. He squinted to get a better look and his stomach turned for the umpteenth time that day. Burns.
And now there was nothing to look at but her face... Her beautiful, battered face, on standby amidst peaceful sleep. The left side was pure, milky white and freckled just as it should have been. The rosy flush of her left cheek was subtle enough to hide in the contrast of its obnoxious twin but it remained there all the same. The other half of her face was an entirely different story; one which was so graphic and revolting that it seemed to burn the strained fibers of his mind. Her skin was blemished with an entire spectrum of colors, none of them adhering to the standard pallot of a human face. It was like a primitive painting using the vibrant flesh of a blueberry, the ripe sweet tuft of a dandelion, and the dust of crumbled charcoal. And running diagonal across that solemn presentation was a deep rusty slash which began at the corner of her mouth, thick as a number two Ticonderoga, and stretched just as far until it dissipated at the beginning of her ear and dusty hairline. It was held together with no less than thirty stitches matted with a crimson crust.
That was one of those images that can drown a person in terror while leaving them sensible enough to think This is the worst thing I have ever seen and its image stay with me forever. Till death do us part.