“The patient has consented to the surgery. It’s all here,” Dave insisted, pointing to a clipboard.
“Don’t.”
My eyes flicked to Liam, who stood like a stone statue, arms crossed. This was not my soft eyed lover or the fae king on his throne. I took a queer kind of satisfaction from the fact that he looked almost as destroyed as me. Bags hung under his eyes, the lines on his face drawn deep, but it was in his eyes that I saw my mirror. I snorted, frowning and then peering closer, unsure of what I was seeing, but sure enough, there it was.
He didn’t have the energy to maintain his rough and ready façade, to rasp something offensive and hot, to throw me off balance. Instead, there was just this—a flat, empty, nihilism that I think burned at the centre of the man, that no matter what he tried, he expected to end up here.
And I was right there with him.
“Kira…” My head jerked around to a frantic-looking Jake, who climbed up and over the guard rail and onto the bed. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You don’t know what’s happened, what this means. You’re with us. You’re in here.” He tore off the ratty old shirt he was wearing until I could see his fist thumping against the lean chest there, then his nails started to score at his pale skin.
I watched the tears form in his eyes with a curious detachment. Was this how far they were prepared to go? To fake this kind of reaction? Or was it real? Trying to determine which made my head hurt, little squiggles at the corner of my vision warning away from that thought process. Dave nodded with a satisfied smile when I looked away.
“Kira…” Jake straddled my blanket covered form, blotting out the bright lights as he loomed over me, forming a brightly coloured halo around his head. He frowned, then unwrapped a red leather wristband that had been wrapped several times around his arm. The colour had dulled from frequent wear, but it felt soft and well broken in when he grabbed my arm and wound it around it. I let out a little gasp when he buckled it on, the band cutting into my skin a little.
“This won’t take it all away, Butterfly,” Billy said, leaning over the railing. “If it would, I’d make him do it for real, cut the bond. It will change everything and nothing at all.”
“Time for your incision,” Dave said briskly, and even beyond the mask, I could see his grin. If my eyes weren’t deceiving me, there were more teeth there than was strictly normal. He produced a scalpel that glittered in the glare.
“That’s not him, not Dave anyway.”
Lucas appeared suddenly at the head of the bed, but his eyes were on the laughing ‘surgeon.’
“I didn’t want this…” His eyes flicked to me, then stayed, as if caught. “I didn’t want any of this, but you, you can be free. If that’s what you want.” He glanced back at the chattering Dave, who approached like some kind of killer in a D grade slasher film. “He’s your animal.”
“Time for your procedure,” Dave purred.
“Kira!”
Aen was staring down at me when my eyes flicked open, his hand smoothing back my hair as I gasped for breath. For a second, I thought I could see the gleam of the scalpel behind him, but as I struggled to sit up, I saw it was just the lights behind his head.
“So no peace, even in sleep, huh?” he said. “Then I guess it’s plan B.” He got to his feet and pulled open a drawer, pulling out shorts and a T-shirt. He dropped them onto the bed beside me. “Get dressed and meet me in the cocoon.” Cocoon?
I looked at each piece, saw they were pretty skimpy, just a cami and a little pair of sleep shorts. I slipped them on, not surprised when they fit like a glove, if a glove left a wide band of bare flesh around my abdomen. I found out what the cocoon was as soon as I stepped into the lounge room.
It’d always been a massive space, open plan with the kitchen, dining, library, and lounge all blending into one, but some of the furniture had disappeared and had been replaced by a… Cocoon was probably the best way to describe it. Made from neatly woven rattan, it formed into almost a squat onion shape with a circular opening cut out in the front. Aen stood a foot away from the glass, staring out into the valley below, his hand on his chin.
Fuck, he was beautiful. I should stop being so surprised by that, I thought. We all were. Transition seemed to smooth away all the rough edges, refining us until we became…well, this. He wore a pair of loose pants that hung on his hips and that was it, the long lines of his body complemented by the simple garment. The light picked out every muscle lovingly. Then he turned to me.
I felt something catch in my chest when he smiled, then cursed myself. I was such a dumb little bunny, my head always turned by a pretty face, but his smile remained, despite my answering scowl. If anything, it got warmer, sweeter, as if somehow my irritation pleased him.
“Come on,” he said, putting an arm around my shoulders and steering me towards the cocoon. “You need more skin to skin with that face.”
“You’re always saying that,” I grumbled, but I let him direct me inside. Bloody bastard was right, of course. I crawled into the darker, closed off space and felt something settle inside me. Less to see, less to engage with, less noise—just less. I could still see the sky beyond, and that was it. Except for him. He followed me in, still smiling when I edged away, reaching out and dragging me closer.
“It’ll stop the hurting, I promise,” was all he would say as our heads landed on the pillows.
A quiet fell over us that was as soft and cosy as the cocoon, and for a while, all I felt was the repetitive brush of his breath on my neck.
He was right of course. I still felt tender inside, the muscles in my stomach still sore, but no more than my heart. It swelled again, the pain, now that there was no Ashanti, no shower, no fighting over breakfast, but somehow, his warm presence made it possible to keep on breathing, even when I felt like I didn’t want to. The tears came much more gently this time, not scratching their way free of my sockets. They just oozed out, as if the silence required a payment and this was it.
“Oh, my love…” Aen crooned gently, over and over, watching me cry until I could no more.
“Why does this work?” I asked once they had finally dried, my face feeling curiously tight in response.
“Part of the pain you experience comes from feeling alone. ‘He doesn’t like me and I’m alone,’ ‘she rejected my offer and I’m alone.’ Just feeling seen, being held, goes some way to alleviating the pain, because it's shared.”
I thought of the guys, bringing Lucas to me as I slept at Johnno’s side, placing him against my skin.
“That’s not all though, is it?”
He chuckled at that, then stroked my hair.
“No. Skin has a magic to it. It's how we experience the world first—through touch. First it's our mother, then our surroundings when we are born, then each other. We learn the power of touch. To stroke, scratch, rend, and tear. To guide, to demonstrate, to create, to fulfil.”
He leaned over me, his eyes glowing bright in the comfortable gloom. “What is more magical than that?” He brushed a kiss against my lips, pulling away before I could complain. “You hurt, so I touch you. To bring you back to the here and now, to reawaken that very sensual side that got to flare so brightly for just a moment, to remind you there’s more going on in the world than a small group of brutal little boys who like to tear the wings off butterflies. I touch you to bring you back to you.”