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A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed: and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.
W.B. Yeats
He met her during a storm, a scared girl who needed saving.
He didn’t think much of her at first, mortal as she was, but her perseverance and indomitable will to live sparked his interest; and as she smashed her lips against his, lips bleeding with the force of it, something in him told him that she might be the one they were all looking for.
So he asked her to be his follower, to devout her short mortal life to him and only him, a sacrifice born out of curiosity and necessity.
But in the month before the ceremony, she carved herself a place inside his heart: her laughter would be the ointment to his every worry, her smile a sight that the ocean itself could barely compete with.
Her humor, her unquestionable capability to brighten his whole world.
Lemuria became a new place with her light, and she became the center of it all, in such a short period of time that he could only call her a miracle.
“Mine heart, the Sea God’s heart, dost thou want it?”
Rafayel found himself in the place of worship, often on his knees, the lines between ecstasy and devotion blurred beneath the ocean.
And to think that she was the one who was supposed to be besotted, once upon a time.
Even so, Rafayel tried to still be as present for his people as he always was, to still be the God his subjects could look up to, but she had the effect on him that the moon as on the tides and he-
He didn’t notice, curled up in her sweet embrace, how his people looked at her with resentment.
How the whispers of a mortal in Lemuria grew full of hatred the more time he spent in their chambers, skin on skin, her legs on his shoulders, her head thrown back in pleasure.
Lost in his cloud of love and bliss, Rafayel didn’t notice the looks she received, full of dismay.
After they went to the surface for that festival, he had to reassure his own people far too many times that he was not planning to abandon them, they he would stay as long as Lemuria needed him. But he did not tell them how fun it had been, to be there with her, to run away from trouble hand in hand, to see her walk on water.
Just as they didn’t confess to him the mistrust brewing in their hearts.
And when he was called to asses some problems in a faraway sea, Rafayel refused to bring her with him because he didn’t want to expose her to any kind of danger, his heart breaking every time he remembered about the fragility of the human nature.
Mortal, mortal, mortal
And he trusted his people enough to leave his own heart in their hands.
When he came back to Lemuria, arms full of silks and jewels and pearls, all gifts that he was waiting to see adorn her frame, waiting to see the smile that would make way for the sun-he didn’t find her.
She wasn’t in their room and when he asked Algie and Konche they averted his gaze and excused themselves, not giving him a proper answer.
Rafayel got nervous immediately, even as her voice ringed in his mind, the laughter that would anticipate her scolding at how childish he was being,but-
There was something red around the Temple, flowing like the silks he bought for her.
He walked slowly; there was a feeling within him, in his stomach, that weighed like the anchor that humans use for their ships.
But he kept on walking, feet heavy on the sand and upon the threshold, he stopped.
Oh, how blind he had been.
She was lying on the ground, a single line of blood going from her mouth to her cheek to her neck.
How many times as he kissed that same trail?
“We did it for you, your Quintessence, so you could regain the power you’ve lost in the clutches of this foolish human.” he could hear Elder Amund's voice, but it sounded as if it was coming from the other side of the ocean.
Her chest didn’t rise, didn’t fall, didn’t move.
“A sacrifice for you, your Quintessence, as she should have been from the beginning.”
He did not know when he got on his knees, but he found crawiling torward her, his hands shanking as he cradledher head with all the reverence he could muster, pearls gently falling on her hair.
The necklace he gave her the day before the festival lied on the ground, broken.
He caressed her face with the back of his hand and she was cold, so cold.
Rafayel raised slowly, making sure not to disturb her with sudden movements.
The Tome of the Sea God was the first thing to burn.
“Your Quintessence-”
“I have been trapped here all my life to be the God that you wanted me to be,” he screamed, teeth bared “and this is how you repay me? By taking from me the one I love?”
In blind rage, everything in his path was thrown to the ground, tears welling in his eyes, voice hoarse, fire enveloping his vision.
He wanted to see the sacred fire extinguished and his own life with it for he couldn't bare to look back, couldn't bare to see her lifeless body one more time.
“I have given you my life, and you took her from me!”
The priest puts his hands in defense, “She would have died regardless, she was only a human, not worthy-”
“I renounce being your God. I will see Lemuria fall down, tear every piece of this Temple apart and I will avenge her death, even if it takes eternity to do so.”
The fire in the Temple went down to a flame, to a shiver of light, to nothing.
He heard the screaming.
Heard the people running but her lips were becoming blue, why?
The water was not cold and her lips were always red, always stretched in a smile, but they did not move.
He could see a sliver of her eyes, all white.
It seemed that Gods had no one to call upon.
Rafayel placed her head on his shoulder, recalling the day they watched the sunset together.
And this time, her firmly in his arms, they watched as everything fell down.
Present Day:
Zayne stares at the man in front of him in disbelief.
No matter how hard he tries to convince the new benefactor of Akso Hospital in taking interest in his own field of work, because God knows if the branch cardiac surgery needs more funds, the man, for a reason that Zayne doesn’t understand, is only interested in the hematology section.
“I am not saying that the hematology department is less important, Mister Qi, but I would appreciate it if you could see things from our point of view. We also need new machinery, and more funds would help us to take better care of our patients.”
The man doesn’t even answer his question, clearly not paying much attention, his eyes focused on something on the wall behind Zayne.
Zayne doesn’t understand how someone so young could have access to all the money that Rafayel Qi clearly has, but he never quite understood the world of art to form an opinion on the matter.
Also, the man is so pale that Zayne briefly worries about his evident inadequate intake of vitamin d.
“So, nice office you have.” Rafayel says, and Zayne can feel his patience running thin, but the hospital doesn’t have so many investors that Zayne can run the risk of angering the man, who is now picking at his fingernails, violet hair falling on his face so that Zayne can't see his eyes; he doesn't understand why a man of such power would wear colored contact lenses, and a man thoroughly in his twenties at that; but then again, that's not something he's interested in.
“We could invite you, mister Rafayel, to have a few drinks with us! So you could meet the people of our department and know them better!” Yvonne says, her cheerful tone probably a better option than Zayne’s monotone voice.
Rafayel smiles, and charming as it might be, there is something deeply upsetting about it.
“I appreciate the offer, but I never drink...alcohol.”
Zayne rubs the ridge of his nose as the man decides to stroll around his office as if he owns it.
He looks at Zayne's degrees as if he's looking at the most boring piece of paper, sometimes making small sounds of amusement, like a child who is deciding which toy to play with; Akso isn’t the olny hospital he funds, and it is always the ematology sector. Zayne brifely wonders what could make an artsit so interested in blood, but he knows that it is not his place to ask.
The man keeps walking around his office, Yvonne’s cheerful ideas completely ignored, but when he arrives at the corner of Zayne’s desk, he stops, and Zayne could swear that he stops moving as well as breathing.
He’s looking at your picture, his gaze so intense it makes Zayne uncomfortable, makes him want to tuck your photo somewhere safe, somewhere in which the eyes of this weird benefactor won't find you, but the stillness that permeates the air is so suffocating he can't do anything but watch as the man tilts his heads, his fingers moving briefly as if to touch your picture; “Do you believe in destiny, Doctor Zayne? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose?” Mister Qi mutters, his voice so low and raw, it sounds like it ought to come out of the mouth of a much older man.
“No.” he quickly answers, unable to shake off the feeling of unease as Yvonne looks at this strange man with a gaze he would consider dreamy.
“Who's the young lady in the picture?” Rafayel asks, and Zayne has to fight against the feeling of protectiveness that surges in him; having the money of this man, no matter how weird he seems to be, might be truly life changing for all of his patients.
He whispers your name, the answers coming more snappish than he intends to, “We’re going to be married in June.”
It seems clear to him that the man not only isn’t interested in all that Zayne said to him but is also toying with him for his own childish amusement.
“Ah,” the man says, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, his hands clenching tightly into fists.
Some of his teeth are abnormally long, but Zayne can't tell which ones.
“A summer wedding, how romantic. Care to wed her on a beach?” Rafayel adds, every word comes from gritted teeth, and the fury in the sentence sends shivers down Zayne’s spine, and even Yvonne recoils, hiding behind him.
But as soon as the tension reaches its peak, it dissipates, as Rafayel carelessly throws himself in the chair in front of Zayne, where he should have been from the beginning.
“So, doc, I will gladly invest in your-” he stops mid-sentence, his index finger on his mouth as in deep in thought, which Zayne doubts, “in this whatever it is that you're doing, but you will have to take more shifts, since I will put my trust in you only, both for the cardiac and the ematology thingies.”
The term “thingies” used for such important topics makes Zayne’s own hands clench into fists.
His eyes move to look at Zayne, as if a decision has been made and that Zayne has no power over it, and the feeling in his stomach is so unsettling that he has to look away from the man who adds, his head moving to the side,
“And I will take no refusal.”
“I love her! Oh, I love her so much!” Tara screams as she crushes into you, hugging you so tightly that you can barely breathe.
“Who are we talking about this time?” you answer cheekily, lightly elbowing her in the ribs.
“Simone! Who else could I be talking about? I could get lost in those eyes,” Tara exclaims dreamily, just before turning to look in your direction mischievously and you know she’s going to add something else, and- “and be crushed by those big, big biceps!”
You both start laughing, and Tara slaps your thigh to add “I did a tarot reading about her, and you know what was in the center of the spread? The Lovers!”
She’s clapping her hands in excitement and there’s a part of you, conceived well enough to be unseen by everyone, that envies her deeply; after what happened with Caleb and Grandma, your light has, regrettably, vanished with them.
And to think that grandma used to call you light of all lights.
It seems like a lifetime ago, and yet you're still waiting for your phone to buzz with a text from Caleb.
"What are you doing, pipsqueak?"
Yous sigh, but are determined to listen to Tara, not wanting to be a bad friend to her, who has been so kind to you, all this time.
“So,” Tara starts, mischief clear in her eyes, “how is it going with your doctor?”
You fall even deeper in the chair at the question, suddenly craving an ice cream.
“As it always is.” you huff, toying with the strings of your hoodie. “He’s such a gentleman, and I care for him deeply, but-”
“But?” Tara comes so close that she nearly crashes her head on yours.
“But he’s so restrained! I feel that no matter how close I get, he’s a thousand miles away.”
You can feel your eyes start to prickle, and you try to steady yourself from the tears that threaten to fall.
“Sometimes I feel that he’s doing all of this just so I won’t be alone, only thinking about taking care of me instead of what he really wants.”
You quickly rub your eyes and Tara’s sympathetic silence helps you to be sincere with your friend, “And I don’t want to be ungrateful, but that is not what I want! I want to be with someone who genuinely wants me and wants to be with me, not with a friend, however dear, who thinks that it is his duty to take care of me.”
Tara puts her hand on your shoulder, rubbing it gently. You breathe in deeply, smiling at her, grateful to have a friend who listens to you.
“How about ice cream?” You propose, your head producing the expression of a disappointed Zayne, the hypocrite, as Tara eagerly nods and takes your hand, but as you move to get up from the chair, you stop. You feel as if someone has just shot an arrow between your shoulder blades, and you move to look back, certain that someone is watching you, watching closely and intensely. You move, words of confrontation ready on your tongue as your heart pounds in your chest, but-
No one is there.
Tara pulls your hand in her direction, and you slowly move toward her, turning from time to time to make sure that you were not imagining things.
The ice cream happily soothes you, even if you still can’t get the sensation off entirely.
But when you see as Tara’s ice cream falls from her hand because she thought that she saw Simone the bad feeling from earlier leaves you entirely, replaced with fondness, as if someone, some kind God, is looking down at your happiness with joy.
Suddenly, you get a text from Zayne, telling you that he must cancel your date tonight because he will have to do another shift.
You put your phone back in your pocket, disappointed; since this weird benefactor came into view, you get to see him even less.
And really, you deeply admire Zayne’s love for his work, but you just wished that he didn’t love it more than he could ever love you. And maybe he isn’t the only one to blame for the situation you tow were in; he scooped up whatever was left of you after the explosion and you clung yourself to him, a steady rock in the winds of your heartbreak.
But as time passed, nothing between the two of you ever changed, and you were left wanting for something you couldn’t name, something he couldn’t give you.
You quickly deliver the news to Tara who, seeing your frown, proposes to you with the same fervor of a political speech a night at the beach with your coworkers; they told you about this bonfire a week ago, but you turned them down to see Zayne.
Nodding, you resume to eating your ice cream, determined to lift your mood by any means necessary while Tara makes a list of the things you should bring to the bonfire. “A towel! Of course! Maybe something to drink, I’ll ask Simone what her favorite drink is!”
You listen, nodding and writing the items in your notes app when slowly, enchantingly, a voice slithers its way in your head, as if someone is gently whispering in your ear.
It's the voice of a man, low and gentle, every foreign syllable a warm invitation, as if his lips are but an inch away from your face.
And you follow it, your body angling itself in the direction of the voice that seems to be closer every second, the sudden urgency in every word igniting something in you and you close your eyes, trying to understand what he's saying, a phantom wind moving your face like a lover would, but then Tara screams in excitement, breaking the moment; Simone replied to her text.
You open your eyes, disoriented, the heat that rose inside you quietly disappears, and you punt a hand on your chest to quiet your breathing.
You briefly wonder what happened, trying to form a reasonable answer; it’s probably due to how tired you are with your work, a job that is gnawing at you to the point where you’re hearing voices.
“Oh, don’t worry! I'm sure that tonight will be the night you find your King of Cups!”
You wiggle your feet in the sand, a cold drink in your hand.
Coming to the bonfire has been a wonderful idea in the beginning, but distractions can only get you so far.
So you gaze at the sea, an inescapable feeling of longing claiming it’s hold on you.
Sighing, you kick a little shell in the water; you don’t understand what’s wrong with you.
You are here, with your friends, Tara’a laughter an ever present symphony in the background alongside the cracking of the fire, but-
You think of Zayne, of how dearly you care for him, of how nice he was to you, even when he was exhausted, when dark curcles adorned those piercing green eyes of his and even if you feel deeply guilty and ungrateful, you know.
You know that you don’t love him.
Zayne is one of the best people you could ever hope to meet, but you don’t love him.
You try to dug little holes with your feet, as if you want the ground to swallow you.
With a sigh, you go back to your friends, smiles and open arms.
You seat near Xavier, who looks like he’s going to fall asleep at any moment, his eyes half closed.
“Xavier?” you call. But his eyes are now firmly closed.
You try again, and again.
You poke him in the ribs a couple time just to be sure, but nothing.
He fell asleep.
With all the chaos and the laughter, Xavier managed to fall asleep.
You make an amused sound of appreciation; given your recent sleepless nights, you really need to ask him to give you a tutorial.
But when you turn to see another face, you realize that Simone is nowhere to be seen.
And when you turn just to be faced with Tara’s disappointed frown and crossed arms.
“Tara,” you coo, moving to sit beside her, “don’t be sad, you tried your best!”
“I did!” she answers, loud enough to wake a dormouse, but not Xavier.
“And she didn’t even come! And this other one, who was supposed to help me is sleeping like a baby!” she adds, pointing an accusatory finger toward the man in question.
You try to stifle your laughter, so that you don’t anger her.
“Let’s dance!” you shout, taking her hand.
The sand is not the best ground to dance on, but somehow you make it work.
More and more of your friends and colleagues reach you, and you can see as Tara searches for a dark head in the crowd, but Siome is still nowhere to seen.
“Why doesn’t he wake up? He could call her and fake an emergency!” Tara exclaims, impatience lacing every word.
“I’m sure she will appear when you least expect it.” you answer, improvising some dancing moves to distract her.
Just as the music picks up, Xavier appears, and you have to try and shush Tara who is clapping her hands in excitement “Xavier, we have a work to do!”.
You leave them alone, but not before giving a double thumbs up to your friend in encouragement as you decide to talk a stroll on the shore again, the water lapping at your feet.
One step after another, the noise from the bonfire becomes so distant that it's just a faint sound behind you.
You let the sound of the waves lull your thoughts, until something catches your attention:
there is something in the water.
You try to see what it is, but all you can see are two red dots, right in front of you.
Standing on your tiptoes, you try to understand what it might be, but you can only watch as the color becomes more and more intense the longer you look at it.
Your feet move on their own accord, the cold water reaching your knees.
And the voice-
The voice from early today, that warm, gentle caress makes it’s way through you again, the wind cradling your face and you follow it, again, desperate to have-
to have more.
And finally , the voice speaks in words you understand, just three words
My beloved bride
You don’t know how it happened, but the water is now gracing your chin, and you gasp, the sudden coldness overbearing.
You wonder where the voice went, you want him to come back.
You swim, moving your head as if you can find the voice again and distracted as you are, you do not see the wave that envelops you.
Moving your limbs around, you try to swim to the surface, but to no avail.
Breathe, the voice says, but in your panic you only move desperately around in the water, your lungs burning.
Something grips your wrist, tightly, and before you have the chance to react you find yourself on the surface, gasping for air.
“Breathe”, somebody says, and the voice, so similar to the one in your head seconds ago, is real.
You open your eyes, only to discover that your face is being kept against somebody’s chest.
Given the hardness of said chest you gather that it is a man, and he is keeping you in what you could only describe as an iron grip.
You try to distance yourself and the man let’s go only slightly, his hands now resting on your shoulders.
He is the most beautiful man you have ever seen, but-
You could swear you’ve seen him somewhere before; there’s no way you could forget those eyes, the color like the sunset under water.
You look at him, at the flush on his face and the tension in his jaw, but before you get to say a single word to him, he grabs your hand and drags you out of the water.
Once you reach the shore, you try to wait for the right moment to thank him as he furiously wipes water from his eyes.
“Thank you,” you whisper, your throat sore from the sea water that entered your lungs, “you saved my life.”
The man doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at you.
“Did you hear me?” you ask, “Are you okay?”
You move to touch him, but refrain.
Suddenly, he straighten himself, his cheeks and ears red as cherries.
“Your friends are looking for you.” he says, his voice so familiar.
“Do I know you?” you ask, squinting your eyes at him.
The man laughs, but it’s a bitter sound.
“You should get back to your friends.” he says as he turns your back to you and you can’t help yourself: you grab his wrist in an effort to stop him.
“Wait!”
“You never learn, do you?” the man mutters, but you don’t have the time to ask him what he means before Tara screams your name.
“We were wondering where you disappeared to-” the last letter of her sentence drags on as she looks up and down your mysterious savior.
“And you are not alone!” she then takes a look at you and her eyebrows knit together in confusion.
“Why are you all wet?”
You take a look at your clothes, still dripping, and you turn to your savior to help you with an explanation, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“What?” you look around frantically, hoping to see him.
How could he move so fast that you didn't even see him?
“Where is he?” you ask your friend, and you don’t understand why the sudden disappearance of this kind stranger shocks you so much, but you can’t help it.
“He was there just a second ago, I swear!” Tara says, pointing at the point in which the man was.
Why do you suddenly feel so hollow?
As you look around, you notice something in front of your feet: a calling card, with both an email and a phone number.
At the center of it, a name:
Rafayel Qi.
Rafayel’s back hits the wall, blood dripping from his lips, eyes closed, still recalling the moment.
He held you in his arms, after all this time.
This centuries.
He still cannot believe it.
Even if things didn’t go the way he wanted: he still swims, from time to time, the water soothes him, cradles him.
He didn’t imagine that he would see you there and he couldn’t help himself, he called you and you-
You went to him, no esitation.
And he thought you would remember his gift, all those nights ago, the fact that you could breathe underwater, but then he understood from the look of confusion in your eyes, that you didn't remember any of it, didn't remember him.
You had no idea who he was and it broke his heart.
So, he tried to control himself as much as he could, telling you to go back to your friends and now, now he can’t stop thinking about you; you’re everywhere.
He smells you in the air, the phantom of your touch on his chest, your fingers around his wrist.
He takes another blood bag, bites it and sucks all the blood he can get.
Rafayel needs to see you again, as soon as possible, but he wants you to come to him.
He hopes you saw the calling card he left on the beach, and he knows you enough to know that you did, you were always too curious.
The thought of waiting in front of his phone, this strange technological device, is more than welcome.
He would do everything for you, as he always did.
He closes the refrigerator with the blood bags, satisfied at least with the deal he made with the hospital; Rafayel looks at the shifts of Doctor Zayne, the schedule so packed that he knows the doctor will have to sleep in the hospital, exactly where he wants him.
He will never marry you.
Rafayel hears the vibration of his phone and he runs toward it, but then he sees the name on the lockscreen: Talia.
Looking at the screen, he ponders if he should answer or not, but in the end, he gives in.
“Did you find her?”
“And hello to you too, Talia.” He tries to hide the trembling in his voice, his free hand curling into a fist.
“So?”
He doesn’t know what to do with himself; he paces around the room.
“I did.”
There’s a brief silence on the other line; he found Talia casually, her friendship a solace in his long, nocturnal existence.
There are so few of them.
“You know that everything is different now, right? She isn’t who she was, you aren’t who you were.”
He grits his teeth, clutching the phone until his knuckles go white.
“I know that.”
Talia sighs gently and he takes a deep breath, as useless as it is.
“All I’m saying is that you should be careful.”
He rubs the back of his neck.
“I know.”
Rafayel looks at the moon, wondering about you, if you’re already home or if you’re still with your friends.
“Thank you for calling.” he whispers.
Talia, on the other hand, sighs again.
“Take care of yourself, Rafayel.”
That’s all she says before she hangs up.
Rafayel sighs, as the phone dramatically falls from his hand.
He needs to change: his clothes are wet with blood, and he needs to change into clean ones in case you decide to call him.
He can’t tolerate the idea of giving you nothing else but perfection, so he hurries to his wardrobe, piling up dirty clothes to wash, wondering if you will like the smell of his perfume, the color of his hair, if-
if you can even accept the creature he has become.
It was different, when he was a God, adored and beloved by the same people who betrayed him.
But now, who is he now?
A creature, hiding alone in a mansion that is falling apart, trying to search for a shirt that isn’t stained with blood.
Would you want him now, when the heart he gave you can’t even beat?
He grips the doors of the wardrobe, his eyes screwed shut.
How could he deserve you, now?
How could he hope to make you happy?
What if you touched him, just to retrieve your hand in disgust?
It would break him.
But he waited, he waited eight hundred years, for you.
In the shadow, his only hope was to see you again and he knew that he would, he knew that you wouldn’t leave him.
And he tries, tries so hard to keep the idea, the lovely idea of an eternity with you out of his mind, but how can he?
How can he not think about having you by his side forever?
He hears the sound of wood breaking under his fingers as he tries to control himself.
It’s too early, it’s too early.
He needs to give you time.
And even, even if you can’t grow to love him, he will accept it, he will take everything as long as you don’t ignore his existence; that he couldn’t bear.
He can be your friend, someone that you see only when you get bored, as long as you don’t forget about him completely.
There are no unstained shirts in his wardrobe, and the doors of it are something more he'll have to buy.
And suddenly there's a sound, and his eyes snap open once more.
It’s his phone, ringing again.
He runs toward it and looks at the screen: unknown number.
Rafayel clutches the phone with both of his hands, “Hello?”
He’s sure that is voice is even enough to hide the fact that he is shaking, crumbling on the floor, his phone cradled between trembling hands;
it’s you
“Hello? Am I speaking with Rafayel Qi?” you ask, toying with the calling card between your fingers.
You had it in your hands for so long that you already ruined the paper.
“Yes, you are.” the voice on the other line sounds calm, even if the kind of calm that recalls the surface of the ocean.
“I- I wanted to thank you. I am the girl you saved on the beach, do you remember me?” you ask, and you doubt he could forget in such a short period of time.
The man laughs, a strangled sound as if you said something hilarious.
“I did not forget you. You, on the other hand, I was beginning to think you had forgotten me.” his voice is warm and low, and you smile at your phone like a teenager with her first crush.
“How could I?” you say, and the utter stillness on the other hand makes you panic for some reason.
“I want to thank you! Can I- Can I invite to a game of kitty cards?”
Kitty Cards.
Kitty Cards.
You just invited a grown man to play Kitty Cards with you, a questionable honour only reserved to Tara.
The silnce from him makes you only panic more
“I am sorry, I-”
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight in the evening. Goodnight, cutie.”, that’s all he says before hanging up.
You look at your phone, stunned.
How does he know were you live?
During the day before the date, you are a bunch of nerves. You don’t even remember the last time you were so excited about something, about someone.
For some strange reason, you wanted to the smell of that man around you again, to see his eyes, to hear his voice calling your name.
You didn’t say anything to Zayne, you didn’t want to bother him and-
You wanted to keep Rafayel all to yourself, your secret; nothing is happening between the two of you that would require disturbing Zayne.
You told no one about this date, not even Tara.
Getting dressed gets more than you would ever admit, and it is with a bit of shame that you admit to yourself, that you want to please him.
You want this stranger to look at you with admiration, with desire, things that you never wanted from Zayne.
There is a part of you, evil and ungrateful, that wants to thank the new benefactor of Akso Hospital for keeping the two of you separated, so that you won’t have to face your ipocrisy.
In the end, you arrive early, looking at your feet and waiting for Rafayel with your heart in your throat, and it is only when you two sit at the table that you finally relax.
“Do you know how to play this game?” you ask him, your back straight in the effort of being close to the man on the other side of the table.
“Won’t you explain it to me?” he asks, angling his head, and you blush.
He is always looking you straight in the eyes, as if he staring right into your soul.
So you explain the game to him, and laugh as he puffs in cheeks in mock offense every time a kitten gets too close to him.
He makes you feel light, young, like you haven’t in a long, long time.
And when he brushes is fingertips against yours, you istantly grab his hand.
“You’re hands are freezing! Are you cold?” you ask, trying your best to warm him up, and the look he gives you could only be described as adoration.
“Just dead, I am afraid.” he jokes, which you don’t find funny at all.
You forget momentarly about the game, but keep in mind to get him back for all the times he tried to cheat, when he asks “Do you have a lover?”
The question catches you off guard, and so the utter stillness of the man in front of you.
“Uh- I, I don’t.” you say, not able to look him in the eyes.
Rafayel chuckles, a smile that could brighten the deepest parts of the ocean.
“That’s nice to know, cutie.” he says, as he slips his index finger under your chin to lift your head up.
Your body, every inch of you is set alight with just that small movement of his hand, and you find it: the fire you wanted, that sensation of being so alive it hurts, what Zayne couldn’t give, what no man but the one in front of you could ever give you.
You move closer to him ,as if there was a phantom thread pulling you.
He smiles, pushes your hait back, kisses your forehead, you close your eyes and hum, as if you’ve done it countless times before.
The cold radiating from his skin makes you want to be near him, to give him all of your warmth.
But he retreats from you, and you try your best to hide your disappointment.
“I should bring you home.”, he says, and you want to protest, but you are mortified by the weight of the unexplicable desire you feel for him.
That is the only thing you manage to think about; how is it possible to want someone so much? Someone that you barely know?
You should talk to him, first. Know him, decide wether or not you like him, instead of being completely blanded by your own insticts.
By the fear that it might not be the same for him.
As you arrive under your house you blurt “Do you want to come up?” before your brain can catch up with your mouth.
You just want to be bear him, the need making your body feel like lightening.
And he laughs, right in your face.
“Goodnight, my beloved bride.”
Your face in his hands, his forehead on yours as he leaves you here, moving quickly away from you.
Almost too quickly, as if he was nothing but a dream.
And once you are in bed, you find yourself sniffing your jacket, your hands, in the hopes that he left some traces of himself behind.
-
Rafayel can’t recall the last time he has been this happy.
It was with you, obviously, but this evening-
Aside from the presence of those nasty little hairballs, you were perfect, absolutely perfect, as you always were.
And you wanted him, you wanted him, could smell it all over you, engulfing him like waves.
And it took so much out of him, to not take up your offer, to not come up to your house, to not have you.
But Rafayel knows how to be patient, knows that in order to have you completely he must wait, wait for you to remember.
And the doctor.
The joy you gave him when you dismessed his existence in your life with so little care.
Not that it would matter; doctor Zayne sealed his fate when he thought that you could marry you, you, his bride, the other half of his heart.
He would soon find himself in a tomb of ice, burdened byt the prospective of a scintific breakthrough that simple doesn’t exist.
Rafayel has been alive for a long, long time, long enough to bend reality in the way he wishes to.
And he knows well enough, studied this new life of yours before him to know that you care for the doctor, that je acted as an anchor in a dark period of your life and that it would break your heart if something happened to him, which is the only reason why he is still alive.
He could be patient for you, kind.
But he wanted you, waited for you for centuries; he wanted to seep in every part of your life, like water, like blood.
Wanted to meet your friends, wanted to wed you all over again, but how could he?
How could he, when he can’t even do the simplest of things, standing under the sun?
He wants to give you a life you can live fully, not the prison he is in.
Looking at the moon, he knows that being close to you now could be enough, it has to be enough.
-
When you arrive inside your appartment you are literally kicking your feet and hugging your plushies.
You have never felt so happy, so excited by the presence of somebody else, so understood, so alight and so at ease at the same time.
Writing a message to thank him for the nice evening, you ask him when he will be free again, when you recive a call;
it’s Zayne.
“Hello,” you say, alarmed by reciving a call from him so late.
“Is everything okay?”
There’s a moment of silence from the other side, before Zayne clears his throat.
“I will have to go to the artic for research porpuses, so I was thinking about getting married next month.”
You sit stright on your bed, the happiness you felt now replaced by comfusion and rage.
“Marriage?”
“Yes,” he answers, as if he discussing a particualry boring paper.
“We have been dating for a while now. Isn’t marriage the logical conclusion?”
It doesn’t even sound like a question.
“In this way, should something happen to me, everything of mine will belong to you. I can give you Mister Qi number, so you can ask about the insurance of the research.”
Qi?
“Rafayel?” you whisper, your mind clouded by doubt.
“Yes, you might now him as a famous artist, by he is the benefactor of Akso Hospital. While you may call him, you must promise me that you will stay as far as way from that man as possible.”
You grip your phone in anger “First you want to marry me out of pity, now you want to tell me what to do?”
The sharp intake of breath from the other side is as much shock as Zayne could ever be willing to give.
“It is not pity, I do care about you.”
“But you don’t love me.” you reply through gritted teeth.
“This isn’t true, and it pains me that it is what you think of me, that I could show you so little of what is in my heart.” his voice is now a whisper, reminding you of a sheepish young Zayne tring to share his favourite candy with you.
“Zayne, I-”
“I know that you don’t love me,” he says, cutting straight through your sentence, “but let me be at least able to provide for you.”
You will back the tears that are starting to rise in your eyes.
“No.”
Silence follows as you try to give voice to your thoughts, to your feelings.
“I love you, Zayne. You are so important to me, but I can’t accept this. I need to make my own choices, I need to be free of knowing that my choices will weight on you.”
He chuckles, “Stubborn as ever.”
“When will you leave?” you ask him, hoping to have at least the time to talk to him in person.
“Given the current circumstances, tomorrow morning.”
“But, I want to talk, to clarify, Zayne-”
He cuts you off again, “There is no need for that. I will call you once I arrive.”
Doubts creeps suddenly into your mind.
“If we get married, would you still leave?”
As the question leaves your lips, the air around you suddenly changes: it drops like wet velvet upon you, thick and heavy, as if you are in the deepest parts of the oceans.
“...this mission has the possibility of saving many lives.”
That’s all he says.
In the end, you would have been alone, but with a ring on your finger.
“Please don’t become a popsickle, Zayne.”
A laugh, on the other hand, however strained.
“I will do my best.”
You are about the hand up when he adds “Again, stay away from that man unless I tell you to.”
You hang up, and send the message you were writing to Rafayel.
As you hit send, your room is just your room again.
Zayne has never been good at reading people, and through the lenses of your rage you decide that maybe it was just jealousy talking.
You think about Rafayel, his kind brown eyes, with that strange reddish hues underneath; maybe it was the contact lenses he always wore, unlike Zayne and his glasses.
You want to be annoyed, probably almost hate him, but how can you?
You know the way Zayne loves; it mught appear cold, but it was anything but.
Sadly, I wasn’t enough for you.
And those eyes, Rafayel’s eyes.
You felt them in your soul, as if they were there through all your lifetimes.
And it is with his image in mind that you fall asleep, and as your head hits the pillow you melt into the water of your dreams, to a wonderful city, to fishes swimming near you and marble halls and marble buildings.
And him.
Rafayel, looking younger than the one you know, lighter.
Him, taking your hand as if you were a Queen.
Floating, garments, your hand in his.
His lips on every inch of your skin.
The adoration, the love in his eyes; the way you felt beside him, alive.
You toss and tuen as the images get more vivid, as if you are living them right now, as if his hands were on you now.
The way he made love to you, sometimes urgent, as if the need he had for you was burning him alive, or slow and mischevious, reaching parts of you no one had before as you mapped his body with your fingers: the curve of his shoulders, the moles on his skin, his violet hair.
Sometimes he cried as he held you, a God being grateful.
A God?
You remember the laughter, rolling in your bed with him till sunrise, you remember the land, you remember the eyes-
You remember the hatred.
The hatred that you tried to hide from him, not wanting to stain his happiness, to not stain the love he had for the people around him.
You remember the poison, the chokink, and you were once again nothing more but a sacrifice.
His eyes, the sunset.
You wake up gasping for air, clutching your bedsheets.
Where is he?
You grab your phone to call him, lost in all the emotions you are feeling.
As he picks up the phone, your voice is all heavy breaths as you ask “Where are you?”
“I’m coming to you.”
You are on the edge of your bed, your fists gripping the covers.
“Move.”, is all you say as you hang up.
What has happened to him?
What has happened to your beloved God, the one whose skin was always feverish, now cold as stone?
Why is he covering his sunset eyes from you?
What was it of Lemuria?
He does not enter through the door, but throught the window and you launch youtself at him with enough force that another man would have fall over.
But not him.
You cradle his face touch his body.
He didn’t bother to fool you with the contact lenses, but his eyes are red.
What happened to your sunset?
“Please”, he says, cradling your head, walking you back to bed as your ming tries to piece past and present and all that happened in your absence.
“How long?” you ask, your hands gripping the white fabric of his shirt.
“Centuries.”
“What happened?” you don’t recognize your own voice, guttural and desperate.
“I lost you,” he says, and as he cries no pearls come down.
“I was careless, I should have known, I should have stayed.” the tone in his voice is enough to break your heart.
“But you, you’re so cold, your eyes-”
As you speak he gently places his forehead on yours, and you close your eyes, basking in the proximity: oh, how you missed him, all your life, because a part of you, a part of your own heart was with him.
“I am not a God anymore, my beloved bride. I am something that should have never seen, but I needed to be near you, to see you again. The ocean does not respond to me, the sun could burn me and I love you so much.”
“Please,” he continues, “just let me hold you, just tonight. I missed you so much, all this years, please.”
“Tonight?” you echo, confused.
“I know that I am not who I was. You can’t live a life in darkness because of me, I know that. I will-”
He doesn’t get to finish the sentence as you plant your palms on his chest and throw him on the bed.
“And you think I’d let you leave me?” you ask him, a rage you’ve never known seeping through your body like fire.
“I didn’t care that you were a God, and I don’t care about the creature you became. Do not dare leave me.”
You don’t notice the tears running on your face, but he does.
“Why would even say something like that? What would the grief of losing you do to me?”
He looked at you, and you felt almost sick by the intensity of the love you felt, as if having the blessed opportunity of seeing his face again set free a part of you, as if he made you whole by just existing.
“I can’t make you what I am.” he whispered, his fingertips on your cheekbone.
“We could have this life, your life.”
“Or we could have eternity.”
He looks at you, then.
Looks at you with the kind of hunger that used to send shivers down your spine, his eyes gleaming, the red unfamiliar but something that you will grow to love, you know it.
He kisses you, and something inside you breaks, like a dam that makes way for the water.
You grab his hair, pull until he hisses, but doesn’t stop kissing you.
You need to know that he is real, here with you, on the surface, in your bed.
The kiss was not romantic, more animalistic, tongue and teeth that are too long to be human.
You hear the fabric of his shirt rip under the force of your own hands, and you can barely breath while he doesn’t breath at all.
But you don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care
You want him, feel the need of him in every part of you, to your fingertips to the back of your throat.
He moans as you kiss his neck, as he still tries to reason “But you, your life, you’d hate me.”
You shake your head, look him in the eyes as you lick a trail from his bellybutton to his chest, his own head rolling backwards at the sight.
“I love you”, you whisper, knowing he can hear you, knowing that he will always hear you, because that is the fate the two of you share; to always be together.
He gave you his heart, so he belongs to you, whatever he is, was and will be.
You unzip his pants, the way you removed his flowy garments from his hips countless times before.
“My love.” he calls you, but you just want him, want to feel him, want him inside you in the same way you want air in your lungs.
“My love.” you want to have him, to convince him to never leave you, to have him by your side forever.
“My love.” his hands are gripping your face now, and you entwine your hands with his around your head, to grab him, keep him there.
“Don’t leave me. Don’t say we have just this life, don’t do this to me.” you say on his lips.
He closes his eyes, and you can feel the way his hands shake.
“Are you sure?” he asks you, his voice and voice as if he is in pain.
You nod eagerly, and has his fingers travel torward your lips you open your mouth, your eyes searching his, and he smiles, a smile that is both adoration and wickedness.
He moves his fingers in and out of your mouth and you follow him; the anticipation that you feel is so strong it takes every part of you, like a fever.
Rafayel pushes your hair away from your face, and you look up at him, a God again, if only in your eyes.
He bites his own wrist and moves it to your mouth and you eagerly lap at it, and his chest heaves, as if he is breathing again, living again, just for you.
The blood is bitter, velvet-like and thick.
He kisses you again, staining both of you with his blood.
You want more; in another lifetime he would have said something about human greed, but he doesn’t.
He keeps kissing you, his hands under your shirt, his fingertips on your breasts.
It doesn’t take much for the both of you to be naked, to be skin on skin.
“Is it done? Am I like you now?” you ask him, and he closes his eyes.
“No.” he answers between kisses, clearly unable to be apart from you.
Your hips move on his and he hisses.
“Why.” you whine, and he laugh right in your face.
You move your hips harder, right above his crotch and you feel him, right under you.
“I want you, now. Do it.” you say, your voice breathless.
“Have patience.” he answers, licking a long stripe on your neck and biting lightly.
You moan, knowing how mean he can be, toying with your pleasure like it is something he owns.
“In due time, my bride.”
You grind on him again.
So he grabs you, movees you swiftly so you’re under him, his fingers on your sex, a touch light as feathers.
So you move down, in order to have his fingers when you want them, and he laughs again.
Just when you are about to start screaming, he touches you, and the cold of his fingers makes your back arch into the bed, your head on his chest.
His touch his perfection, his eyes never leaving your face, studying every inch of your pleasure.
You shatter so easily under him, and you don’t have the time to regain your breath before one of his fingers slip inside you and you trash on him.
“No,” you whine, grabbing at every part of you that you can reach.
“I want you now, now, please.”
He shushes you, and as a cold finger enters you he sees how enrapt he looks, just giving you pleasure.
“I need to know I have prepared my bride for pleasure, do I not?” he murmurs.
You let out a whine, but once he adda another fingers and crooks them every kind of fight leaves your body, replaced by molten pleasure.
His other arm tightens around you, bringing you impossibly close to him.
A third finger and your voice is hoarse from moaning, reclining your head to kiss every part of him that you reach.
“Rafayel.” you call him, your mouth on his neck.
“I know, I know.” he whispers as he removes his fingers from your sex, which you whine loudly about.
He moves you gently so that you are on your back, him on top of you.
You can faintly see the shape of Lemuria behind his back, for just a fleeting moment.
The kiss he gives you now his soft, and as he enters you the look on his face should belong on a painting: the way his mouth opens, the scrunch of his eyebrows, the awe and love in his eyes.
You place your hand on his shoulders, his neck, pull him torward you to kiss him again.
His left hand goes to your sex, drawing lazy circles, and the you feel an orgasm creeping up on you from the tips of your toes.
“Let go.” he murmurs, kissing your face, every where he can reach.
“No, want to do it with you.” you answer and he smiles, kissing you.
“You will.” he states, and you come.
And as you grip him tighter his thrusts become harder, faster, his fingers moving at a peace that should be impossible.
Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your mouth wide open as he licks into it.
“My bride,” he says “my beloved bride, love, love you so much.”
His lips are on your neck now.
Rafayel’s teeth lightly graze your skin and you istinctely arch into him as your hands fist the sheets.
He kisses you, doesn’t bite.
Kisses you again.
You mewl, waiting for something blindly, don’t know what he has to do but anticipating it regardless.
You can see the doubt through the pleasure, so you bite him, on his neck.
Not hard, but enough to have a sound escape from his lips.
“You want it then?” he demands, his hips moving frantically against yours.
“Want to be with me for eternity, want to be in the dark with me?”
“I said yes five times already!”
“Three, actually.”
It’s a pity that you can only roll your eyes back in pleasure and not in annoyance.
He grabs your wrist, and makes the tiniest cut; you don’t even feel the pain of it.
But the image that is painted before you, his face lost in the pleasure, his tongue on your wrist; you come again around him.
His eyes glow the darkest red, and he shatters right after you, and you feel as if his presence stretched around you, filling every living space.
Your heart is slowing.
“My immortal bride.”