Hibiscus - pt 2

[selenias]

Hibiscus - pt 2



“You, are a lightweight Rafiel.”

I woke upon the floor, face pressed to tile and warm hands rubbing soothing circles upon my back. It would have felt nice, if I knew the hands were not hers and rather someone else whom I was not acquainted, than the guilt would not surface and sting like I knew my indifference towards her did.

“You should have spoken up and I wouldn’t have suggested anything in the first place. Would have saved you from being reduced to this, hmm?” Her voice quipped, and I wished I could have sunk through the tile below into nothingness, leaving my embarrassment far behind where I would not have to acknowledge it.

“If you were going to drink, I would have stayed.” Her voice was rich with unexpected informalities, and her hands were a remedy within themselves as they worked patiently. I swallowed tiredly, and licked my lips to relieve the dryness. It burned in the cracks, and the salivating aroma filled my nostrils once more.

I recalled the night, our conversing and her unvoiced attempts of inquiring about my stature before her departure. My thoughts had plagued me, and the glass that had sat before me provided a wild exit I had never thought to take to escape the throes of my mind… and my condition.

(It was not within my nature to do so, but I would not say that I was not myself, that Rafiel was elsewhere while this mere mirage acted as a substitute for his appearance as his mind slowly decayed and his wings slowly rotted and twisted as is expected of everything touched by Death’s grasp.)

It was sweet, my first sip, but I should have expected that. Everything Nailah provided was all ways sweet in some form or another, gifts of silk or quiet evening visits with Volug and herself through the gardens, I knew it was not a courtesy that she bestowed upon just anyone with her routine, but rather an extended hand of trust and reassurances I had not seen in a while made for myself, and myself alone.

Hibiscus bit deeper than anything back home ever had, and her forewarnings of it then only added on to the lashing of the truth she had so blatantly reminded of me now. It had seemed my attempts of keeping our distance apart had been in vain. I was a fool to deny anything and everything since my arrival.

It seemed wine made the heart grow fonder, and the realizations twice as bitterly sweet as they should have been when they came to light.

My eyes hurt. My head hurt. My body ached. Sleep never sounded so wonderful. Her steps along the floor made everything throb within their wake, and the turning in my stomach only worsened when I opened my eyes, the dim-lit room spinning around in excruciating blurry little whirls along with the shimmering sparkles in her hair.

“Here, drink this.” Her fingers gently braced my head upon her lap, and for a moment I froze, my past experiences make-believing little motives that I knew now were far from the truth of her intentions as she blithely caressed my face.

Another hand of courtesy; this one I could not reject. I wasn’t sure I even held the desire or contempt to do so.

“…I can assure you my intentions are far from intoxicating you anymore than you all ready are, Rafiel.” Her voice held bemusement, and if my face could have turned any redder than it all ready were from sickness, I was sure it was doing just that. “However, you seemed to have delivered that condition upon yourself. I’m merely to blame for being the provider. My apologies…”

Water came to my lips, and I swallowed without a word, worn and tired mentally and physically from my drunken stupor.

She owed me no apologies.

“How is that?”

“…Better. T-Thank you…” There were worse things than drunken states. I knew that well, and I was sure she did too. The scars along her exotic skin spoke louder than voices ever could—or rather, they were voices and stories themselves. I glanced at one within my vision, a blistering and jagged one cut at interesting angles. I could only imagine the battles that she had fought, though from her perspective I was sure she knew all about my own adventures.

I made myself relax and imagined myself sinking, into a bed of floral it may have been back home, but now, palm leaves and crescent-like sand dunes. Certainly, that’s what she reminded me of.

Silently, her scarred body slunk away, only to be replaced quickly with something just as soft. It was cool against my face, though the sudden lack of body warmth left things to be desired, and I silently wished I were a bit wiser, more tenacious, perhaps bold like my deceased brother–

No. I wouldn’t mourn anymore. These feelings were not my own, and I did not want them anymore than Nailah suffered my indifference as compensation for them.

For my benefit.

“If you’d like, I can stay. Otherwise, I’ll let you be in peace for the night and visit come morning.” Her breath was hot on my cheeks, and I had to pause to think; perhaps I was only mildly drunk?

“Nailah? Is that…?”

“What is it?” Her abruptness had the tendency of sounding more impatient, rather than inquiring as she intended. Or so I believed. Wishful thinking?

“…You smell of wine…”

It could have been a game, for how slow our retorts were and the pleasure she seemed to be taking in them. I didn’t even realize the illness writhing in my gut, nor the sweat that stained my skin anymore.

Her smile was all teeth when she spoke, and all I could see was silver whenever she took action.

“Do I? Well, I guess we’re both intoxicated then. ”

I was right. Her demeanor was no longer so prestigious or optimal. But then again, my shoulders no longer felt heavy with the burden that graced them. I supposed drunken states could have been a cure-all for the mentally ill, but it was not a path that I was pleased for having taken. I wasn’t sure the same could have been said for herself, however…

“I’m sorry.” The words came without my consent.

My stupor was gaining a will of its own, while hers seemed to be carving a different path. I half expected a giggle, perhaps a twinkle in her eyes like the herons back home had when liquor lit their mind. But she was no heron. She was a wolf, a woman, and a queen of this devastatingly beautiful country I now inhabited.

And so much more in this forsaken stupor of mine.

Or could I even justify that as anything as all? What did she see? What were the emotions she felt when she looked at me through that glass of wine, the dark haze of the liquid, or the sweet tang within it concealed beneath its surface? Perhaps she saw both, and that was why she acted in the manner that she so carefully did.

She didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated slowly, “for my behavior since my arrival. …I haven’t been myself recently. Many things haven happened, and… it has been a… while since I have been in such company as yours. It was no reason to treat you so distantly the way I have though. I offer my deepest condolences and I would like you to know my gratitude for all that you have provided for me without even knowing about myself. I would like to repay you if you would let me.”

I closed my eyes and waited near breathlessly, my heart in my throat and my mind encased by the aroma of wine. My hands were slick with nerves, and I wondered if it were an affect that came with alcohol. Every breath she took was stronger than the last, as was that aroma that made me as sick as I was now. I imagined her jaded eyes to be filled with rage, resentment at my groveling. She certainly did not seem to appreciate those who begged, but acknowledged those with a reason. I wasn’t sure mine could hold out in such light, so vague it was even to myself. I knew not why I had spoken, if not for my own sanity than for the sake of explaining it to one who would listen. The only one I knew now.

The rest were burned to a crisp. Men, women, children—all with wings had burned to nothing. My home is nothing but corpses and ashes, and I am nothing but a blessed survivor for all the wrong reasons.

So tell me, Nailah, what do you see in me to be as kind as you are? Do you see yourself?

“…I’ll leave you be.”

My eyes flew open, and the drunken pain wracked my mind once more. “W-wait, my Queen!”

She did not seem the type to run from confessions.

Her footsteps ceased, and she watched me silently, contemplatively, that one eye never wavering from my own gaze. “You’re not fit for company right now, Rafiel. If you speak now, there will be things you will wish you had not. I don’t wish to impose, so I ask this of you: Get well, and we shall talk when you decide. But as of now, I’d wish you not to make suggestions you yourself are not ready to agree to. Wine is no good when it comes to making choices such as these.”

She could have been reading from a book, her conviction was so theatrical.

I wasn’t having it.

“My queen… if I do not speak now, I will forget.”

“If you forget, than it must not have been that important to begin with.” Her voice was firm but soft. “…Good night Rafiel. Sweet dreams.”

She took the breath from my lungs and left. If I could have been as brave as to say what I desired, perhaps things would have turned out differently, and she would have stayed throughout the night, and I could tell her those secrets that I kept hidden.

But I am a fool, and she my temptress. We are bound by rules that cannot be broken. A heron and wolf do not fit. We are unseemly, and myself more jagged and sharp than any blade.

Playing with fire is a gamble—and it's not one I wish to take.