Page 69 of Even Angels fall
I don’t know how they have a doctor on hand twenty-four-seven like this, but I could get used to it.
I’ve felt my wings drooping to the floor since I climbed the stairs, but it’s when I try to enter my room that it really hits me that my wings are still out, because I bump one of them into the door frame and the pain radiates through my shoulder.
How do I get them to go back inside?
They were useful earlier, but now, they’re just a pain in my ass. I don’t need them now. I don’t know how to exist with them, and I’m not even sure I want to learn.
By the time I’ve crossed to the bathroom, my tears have run the length of my cheeks, and I don’t even bother with drying them with my hands.
Tonight, I just want to forget who I am and drown in my bathtub.
But Cassiopé won’t let me.
She hurries after me, closes my door, and helps to remove the hoodie and my underwear.
I didn’t even bother with my technical clothes. Everything is still where I left it when Elhyor demanded I strip for him: in a pile on the floor of his office. Well, except my daggers, those should be on his desk.
The water has already been drawn, and the scent of something like essential oils permeates the air.
At my questioning expression, Cassiopé shows me the glass bottle she was holding earlier. It’s half full.
“I put some in your bath. It’s the most efficient way, but you’ll still have to use some of it directly on the skin that’s bruised,” she says as she helps me get into the bathtub.
I should feel as self-conscious as I was with Elhyor, but I don’t have the strength for that tonight, so I just let Cassiopé help me the best she can as I slip inside the warm water.
It turns red and murky within just a few seconds, and I should be disgusted, I know, but once again, I couldn’t care less.
I’ll take a shower once I’m done soaking, that’s all.
And that’s what I do.
Cassiopé stays next to me the whole time, and when I feel like the water is barely lukewarm, she helps me up and lets me take a shower alone.
I feel as numb as my body, but I scrub at my skin to remove any trace of the fight of tonight, leaving my skin red and raw. I rinse my wings, too. They’re a pain to take care of, but I manage as best as I can. At least I don’t have to untangle my hair and get the blood out of it. That's the practical side of the haircut my father has forced on me.
As I rinse myself one last time, I feel how much my hair has grown in the past week, and that’s when it hits me. This is the first time in forever that I didn’t get a haircut in over a week, and it might be small, but it feels like a victory, and without realizing, my tears start to flow again.
Cassiopé has the decency not to ask what happened in the shower as she tucks me in and sits on the chair next to my desk.
“I’m not going to break or run away,” I say as I try to find a position to sleep in.
Damnit. I usually sleep on my back, but with the wings, it doesn’t feel possible, or at least not in a way that would be comfortable.
I finally settle on my side before I hear Cassiopé answer me.
“You might shift in your sleep, and you’ll need all the help you can get.”
Shit. I didn’t think about that.
I am starting to feel sleepy, my heart beating loudly, and I feel like it’s going to explode in my chest.
Haven’t I suffered enough tonight?
44
Angélique
It turns out that I didn’t shift overnight. I did get an idea, though.
