Beloved Purgatory (Fallen Angels, Book 2) (2 page)

My mom sniffled. Her face seemed to fold in
on itself, like a sheet of paper being crumpled. Her chest heaved.
She was trying to speak. But every time she opened her mouth she
could only shudder.

"Thank you," she whispered, finally.

I looked down at our hands clutching one
another--her long, brown fingers intertwined with mine. "Let's go,"
I said.

My mom glanced at Oz once more. Then she
wrapped her arm around my waist and pulled me close.

Our knees knocked together as we weaved to
the house. The angel was behind us, as soundless and ethereal as
mist collecting over a field at dusk. He followed my footsteps,
casting no shadow.

I shivered as my mom pushed the front door
open, and the two of us slipped inside.

The silence in the house unnerved me, which
was strange. There were always few words between us. I saw three
glasses--one by the phone, one sideways on the floor by the couch
and another, half-empty, on the counter.

She fluffed the pillows on the couch, but
didn't sit. The light from the corner table made her skin glow a
beautiful, rich color, like stained cherry wood in the sun.

"Where did you go?" She finally asked.

A chill swept through my body, as if I didn't
recognize the sound of her voice. I took a deep breath. "I don't
want to talk about it."

"Did something..." She bit her lip as she
looked down. Her hand clutched the top of the couch, as if she were
falling and reaching for something to hold on to. But she wasn't
falling--everything about her except that hand was still.

My toes curled. She seemed as restless as
me--biting her lip and brushing away nonexistent dust from the
couch. She seemed reluctant to continue this conversation also.

"Did something bad happen?" She finished.

My throat closed. "I don't want to talk about
it."

It was the wrong thing to say.

My mom drew her brows together and cried out.
"Devi, what happened to you? Please talk to me."

I stared at the
floor.
You're not making this any better.
Say something
, I demanded, but I couldn't
move. My entire body pounded with my heartbeat. My breathing was
too quick. If I kept it up I was going to
hyperventilate.

She stood. "I was so worried
about you." My mind replaced her soft words with screaming:
Where were you? Do you know how worried I was? Do
you know how much sleep I lost?

But my mother would never say such things.
She took her pain and focused it inward, like a frog dissecting
itself, or a butterfly tearing off its own wings. She sat quietly
in this room each night, drinking, drinking, drinking, cast in the
indigo light from the TV until early morning. And then, instead of
falling asleep, she passed out and wept as she dreamed.

I want to tell you
everything. I want to erase every painful memory from your
mind.
I bit my lip instead of saying those
things. "Look, it happened once. Most kids go out and maybe stay
out a little too long somewhere all the time. You just aren't used
to me doing it."

God, it sounded like a skit from some teenage
melodrama on basic cable. All we needed were some minor chord
progressions, and then each of us would turn away from the camera
and the scene would fade to black.

But the scene didn't fade. Nothing did. In
real life--in that room--I saw every premature wrinkle on my
mother's face. Her eyes were red with heavy, unrepentant bags under
them.

She shook her head. "What really
happened?"

Her voice was like a candle in the dark. I
held my breath as if the slightest disturbance in the air would
cause her body to extinguish.

"Devi, you can tell me. I promise I won't be
mad."

She was reaching out to me, and I wanted to
answer. I couldn't even remember the last time we'd talked
honestly. I missed it, even though I knew that it was impossible to
miss something I'd never had in the first place.

"I know how kids are," she added.

But you don't know how
demons are
.
She
didn't know about t
he blank expression in
Onoskelis' red eyes as she gutted me, or Forneus' smug smile when
he told me that he wanted to watch her do it. How did you even
begin to describe something like that to someone?

I already knew the answer--you didn't.

She pressed her palms to her eyes. "Anything
you say is alright. I want to help. I want..."

I felt myself moving forward. The
conversation couldn't keep going on this way. It looked like she
would collapse at any moment.

Out of the corner of my eye, something
shimmered. "She's hurting," the angel said, as if I'd somehow
missed that. "If you want, I could relieve some of it--"

"Don't touch her!" I snapped. "Don't touch
anything of mine ever again!"

My mom raised her palms to her temples. "I'm
so sorry. I didn't know."

"Mom, I wasn't talking to
you. I didn't mean--" I stopped. What could I say?
I wasn't yelling at you, but at an angel--the one
who stole Kai and ruined our lives.

My mom gripped her stomach and squealed--a
sound both comical and blood curdling. I recognized it, for it was
the same sound I'd made when Onoskelis had ripped out my
intestines. But no demon was here, hurting my mother. It was just
me.

Devi
, she mouthed, and might have even said something but I
couldn't hear anything except the rapid
thud, thud, thud
of my
heartbeat.

"Angel," I whispered.

He met my gaze unflinchingly. There wasn't
anything in those eyes--certainly not pity nor resentment. For some
reason, it was even harder for me to look at that marble face than
my mother's.

"Do what you were going to do. I don't want
her to hurt anymore." Everything about me was shaking. Even my
voice warbled. I hated asking this of him--hated even more that I
couldn't do it myself.

The angel's white hands started to glow. He
shut his eyes and sighed. Four brilliant wings folded out from his
back.

He advanced until he stood before her. My
mother stared through him, but when he touched her cheek she
trembled. Then, she swallowed and leaned into his embrace.

"It's alright," the angel said. "It's time to
sleep, and to forget, and to heal."

Her eyes lost focus. As she fell, he lifted
her into his arms. Then she pressed her lips to his shoulder and
whispered: "Thank you."

I stumbled back, but couldn't look away. All
of it was beautiful--the poise with which he held her body, the
soft glow of his skin, the contemplative stillness of his face. For
my entire life I'd wanted to take away my mother's pain with a
touch, as he'd just done. And so, even though I knew it was petty
and wrong, at that moment I couldn't have despised the angel
more.

I turned my back to him out of fear my
resentment showed on my face.

"She'll be fine now," the angel said.

Of course she will. She has you. You're
perfect and beautiful. You're everything I'm not. You're--

Stop.

I was being so childish. I hated it, but my
anger kept growing. I had to get out of there.

I sprinted down the hallway, or at least
tried to. My shoulder kept hitting the wall, and my eyes were too
bleary to see anything.

I fell into the bathroom opposite my bedroom
and slammed the door behind me.

"Oh God," I whispered as I turned on the
sink. Cold water ran down the drain. It would have felt good to
splash some on my flushed cheeks and neck, but my hands had gripped
the counter again and wouldn't let go.

I glanced at my reflection in the
mirror--red, splotchy cheeks, dark, sunken eyes, and greasy hair.
It really was amazing Oz still hung out with me. Then again, maybe
he'd just wanted help dirtying up Forneus' car.

I froze.

The door didn't open. The air didn't move.
Only my own face looked back at me in the mirror, but I knew the
angel had just entered the room.

Ever since he'd saved me that day on the
docks, my body reacted to him. I hated the way my heartbeat
quickened, the feeling of bliss that pumped through my veins as if
I'd been drugged, the way every cell in my body unconsciously
reached out to him.

I glared at a space above my head in the
mirror--right where I thought he was. "You must think I'm
helpless," I said without turning around.

Silence. Maybe it was just me, these white
walls, and an overacting imagination. But no, I wasn't that lucky.
Beside my ear, I heard his low, musical voice. "I don't think
that."

Was he really that close? I stopped myself
from shooting straight back--I didn't want to end up in his arms.
"Do you think anything?" I whispered. "I hurt her. I knew I was
going to hurt her, and I did it anyway. Does seeing that make you
look at me any differently?"

No answer. For some reason, the fact that
this indifferent being could comfort her better than I, the one who
loved her so much, made it worse.

I spun around too fast, and my hip slammed
against the edge of the bathroom counter. I cringed.

The angel reached forward but I swatted away
his hand. "No," I groaned. I didn't want him to heal me.

He didn't appear to care whether he healed me
or not. His face was as it always was--a calm mask.

"You can't lie to me, right?" My voice
cracked.

He shook his head. His eyes were so blue
under the florescent light. And the contours of his face, which
should have appeared harsh and rigid, merely seemed mysterious.

I clutched my wrist, and felt my pulse
throbbing under my forefinger. "Please, tell me what's wrong wtih
me. Do you know something about me that I don't? Am I a horrible
person?"

"You're not horrible. People often say or do
things they regret."

"People," I parroted. My anxiety grew, like a
cartoon thorny rosebush twisting around the princess' castle at
hyper speed. "But angels don't say things they regret, do
they?"

He glanced at my hands. "You're squeezing too
hard. You're going to bruise your skin."

I ignored his attempt to change the subject.
"What would you have done if you were in my situation?"

He looked away. "That's not a fair
question."

I grabbed the front of his shirt. "I don't
care. Answer me. What would you have done?"

His cool eyes stared at me. Slowly, he
brought his hands over mine and held them in a way that could have
almost been described as tender. "I would not have lied."

His touch felt intangible, like light sifting
through a forest canopy. I let go of his shirt. He held onto me for
a moment longer, but when I stepped back he allowed my hands to
slip from his grasp.

I turned and clung to the edge of the sink.
"I didn't want to lie. I didn't want to hurt her," I whispered.

"I know."
That same haunting voice
.

I shut my eyes. "It doesn't matter what I
wanted, though, does it? I still ended up doing it."

No response to that, but I hadn't expected
one. The water was still running. I shut it off.

I turned around again. It was a stupid thing
to do, but apparently I wanted to punish myself.

The angel stood next to the towel rack and a
few feet from the toilet. The yellowing wallpaper around him glowed
like a gilded aura around an icon. All that wallpaper had ever done
for me was make it look like I had jaundice.

Was true beauty ageless and stoic? Could it
only be found in things that existed outside of nature? By his
side, I felt like a shadow, sneaking out whenever his back was
turned, and retreating when he deigned to look at me.

I shook my head. What a strange thought. It
was I who lived in the world and he who hung in its periphery, not
even a ghost. If anything he was my shadow--just more brilliant and
lovely than me.

I snatched my toothbrush and looked at my
reflection in the mirror. There, at least, I couldn't see him. "I
need to get ready for bed. Do you mind leaving?"

He lingered for a moment, and the hair on the
back of my neck stood on end. "I'll be outside your door," he
replied finally, then disappeared.

Chapter 2

The first thing I saw when I
opened the door to my bedroom was Oz, sitting in the middle of my
bed, holding the bloody
Beauty and the
Beast
pillow in his lap.

He glanced up and smiled. "Hey."

Immediately my troubling thoughts of my
mother were replaced by panic--what would my mom do if she woke up
and found me alone in here with the guy I'd supposedly run away
with?

I almost slammed my hand in the door. "How
did you get in?"

His smile faltered as he set Beauty aside. Oz
was pretty hot when he was nervous, but I didn't tell him that, or
how happy I was to see him. Instead, I let him squirm as I searched
for something to prop in front of the door to keep my mom out.

The wooden child-sized chair in the corner
would have to do. It sucked that I didn't have a lock on my
door--something that hadn't bothered me until my demon boyfriend
started popping up unannounced in my room.

I rested my hands on my hips, admired my
handiwork, and realized the angel was still in the hallway, which
meant I'd slammed the door in his face and barred his entry.

I started to giggle.

"What is it?" Oz asked.

I fell forward until I hit my head on the
door. Damn, the laughter just wouldn't stop. I couldn't tell Oz how
proud I was of how I'd left the angel in the hallway. It wasn't
like I'd gotten rid of him for good, but I still felt pretty
awesome--