Maybe the Angel of the Night was truly the Angel of… Mercy.
Maybe all the deaths I had caused, and would for Scarlett, had purpose beyond my personal need for revenge. I had brought Mercy to this beautiful, once suffering soul. Maybe I was a weapon for God’s Will.
Spreading my arms wide, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
God, cleanse me… I am yours.
Leaps and bounds… Weeks kept passing, and Scarlett kept taking leaps and bounds. That’s not to say there weren’t still many tears of confusion. The more she learned, the more she realized she didn’t know. Then more questions arose. More frustration rose. That frustration eventually turned into anger.
Sal and I were not doctors, nor counselors. The only experience we had with anything close to Scarlett was Isabella, and that didn’t compare to Scarlett’s situation, because Isabella had been a very educated young woman when taken.
Coming from the hallway that led to my bedroom, I entered the living room just as a closed book went sailing by. Wham! It hit the wall. Scarlett was irritably pacing. “There are so many words I don’t know!”
Sal was so patient. “Scarlett, it takes time. You’re doing so well.”
She roared, “My name is not Scarlett! It is Scar!”
Whenever her temper flared because she was frustrated with herself, Scarlett reverted to the name her fathers had given her. It took some time before we figured out why.
She glared at me. “I want the truth.”
I promised, “Sal speaks it.”
As frustrated as she was, I was still grateful she was fighting. Every day, she fought to learn and deal with all her shortcomings that she wished didn’t exist.
“How far behind am I?”
Sal and I may have been avoiding certain subjects, but we always tried to be honest. Especially when she was demanding the cold hard truth. Like right now. Exhale… “Scarlett, you may have the education of a child, but you have the heart of a woman.”
Sal would oblige and call Scarlett, Scar, but I refused.
Overwhelmed tears started to fall. “Angel,” she tugged on Sal’s shirt at her chest and growled, “I hurt. Right here.”
I went to her, wanting to yank that pain away, but instead tried to give her hope to hold on to. Cupping her face, I told her, “Your heart may be hurting because you are sad, but there is good news. Sometimes that pain is a reminder you’re still alive.” I let one hand fall so that my fingertips could gently tap her chest in the rhythm of a heartbeat. Tap, tap. Tap, tap.
Tears fell from her chin as she stared up at me. “I don’t want my heart to stop.”
Tap, tap. Tap, tap. “Then talk to it. Tell your heart what you want. Tell it to keep beating, even when it feels like it’s breaking.”
Slowly, those fingers that were ringing out that shirt softened. Their artistic curve returned. The tips dared to speak to her heart… Tap, tap. Tap, tap.
So, so proud of her never-ending gumption, I smiled and whispered, “You are the bravest woman I know.” Tap, tap. Tap, tap.
Those huge blue eyes stayed locked to my gaze. Tap, tap. Tap, tap.
I nodded. “That’s right. Tell that beautiful heart of yours to never give up. No matter how hard it gets.”
Tap, tap. Tap, tap.
I kept nodding. “Yes, just like that.”
I couldn’t stop myself as I kissed her forehead. She was simply too magnificent for me not to love. Her courage was like fuel in my veins—fire in my soul. It was… life.
“Now, go get that book and try again.”
She stared at my mouth, barely nodded in return, then quietly went to retrieve the book. In a whole different way, my own heart started to pound as she continued to stare at my mouth while walking back to Sal, who was waiting by the couch.
He chuckled when she bumped into him. “A little distracted, Dove?”
If Scarlett had found me distracting, then she should have been known as the tormentor because that is what she did when having her first bowl of chocolate ice cream.
Curled up on the couch under dryer-heated blankets, she moaned, “Oh, Sal, this dessert is amazing.”
What was amazing was her tongue. It was licking her spoon masterfully.
If Scarlett’s prayers were answered, and God had considered letting me back into Heaven, She was most certainly reconsidering the Hell option after the way I was thinking of Scarlett’s tongue. And I wasn’t the only one buying the ticket to Hell by way of thoughts.
Sal and I sat on the couch, bowls of melting ice cream in our laps. Our hands couldn’t move. We hadn’t had sex in a couple of months, and despite Sal not having those kinds of feelings for Scarlett, I could see his struggle. We were starving for a whole different dessert, and he was not happy that he was feeling that way towards his “Dove.”
In unison, we both stood and said, “I need a shower.”
I glared at him. “No, I need one first.”
“Angelo, this shower is a must right now.”
“You have no idea how dirty I am right now.”
“Oh, I can assure you I am downright filthy right now.”
Moan and groan… “Go. Go shower. I am fine. I won’t move until I lick the last drop.”
My eyes were locked on her mouth. “Sal, are the doors locked?”
His eyes were glued to her mouth. “Uh, yes.”
"It is Soldier Tug time.”
We both took off running in opposite directions.
Since I felt cleansed by God in the rain, showers had become a way for me to try and rein in my desire for revenge against human traffickers. I had to wait until Scarlett was safe with family.
With this particular shower, I just needed my erection under control. As soon as I ejaculated, my head fell forward in relief. But then I heard another scream. “Fuck!”
Running with a towel around my waist through the house, I found Sal also in a towel at the laundry room entrance. He was covering his mouth, absolutely horrified.
Oh no. Scarlett.
My heart thundered as I wondered what could have possibly gone so tragically wrong in the five minutes we had left her unattended. I prepared myself for a gruesome sight as I pushed past Sal.
Scarlett was frantically pushing buttons on the washing machine. “I am so sorry, Sal! I wanted to surprise you!”
“W-What is going on?” I asked, so confused.
“Oh, Angel. I was trying to wash Sal’s suit like he washes my cup! Please help me stop this machine!”
I sagged into the wall, never so happy Sal’s dry-clean-only, expensive suit was being ruined. “You’re okay.”
“What about my suit?” the not-so-tough Italian man almost cried.
At the formal dining room table, Scarlett inspected the scars on her wrists. She just had her fill of Sal’s scrumptious homemade alfredo. Her favorite. “Why do we not talk about my fathers?”
Suddenly feeling ill, I set my fork down.
Sal did the same and leaned back in his chair.
Scarlett eyed us. “Why don’t you two have such scars?”
The answer would’ve been heartbreaking, so all I could muster was, “Sal and I were raised in a different environment than you.” I never knew I could feel guilty for experiencing love all my life.