Rook

By Laura Hunter-Thomas

   The wind whips through my hair, sharp as a steel blade. I’m sure my hair flutters like strips of silk, showing my pained, smooth white face, eyes closed. Just like a tragic heroine from my favourite books; how fitting. Except, in those books, the girls trip along their paths of pain and are then systematically saved by their fairytale princes. I’m pretty sure no such ending awaits me.
   It’s funny. Now, facing my death, I still feel nothing. My brain tries its best, and although the feelings are too mechanical, too cool and detached, I’m almost convinced- my heart’s been absent too long for me to remember real emotions.
   I take the tiniest step towards the air beyond the cliff edge. And then something smashes into me, hard, and the next thing I know I’m lying on my back. I blink in mild surprise at the pain. I absentmindedly pick and scrub at my hands, trying to get the dirt out of the cuts from throwing my arms out to stop my fall.
   Gingerly, I get to my feet. I turn around, looking for my- what, attacker? saviour?- and then I see him. As I look at him, realising my memory never did that obsidian black hair or those amazing, bottomless tawny eyes, or that graceful lean form any justice, I feel an incredible sensation of pain, hope, anguish and joy rip through me. My knees buckle under me, but suddenly he’s there, holding me up.
   I force myself to look into his face and I’m shocked. The strength and composure I know so well and expect to find there is gone, replaced by something so out of place in his lovely features I almost pull away. But I could never pull away from him.
   He gazes down at me, his beautiful eyes dark and tortured, breathing hard. And I want more than anything else to erase that misery from his face; at that moment, I know I’d do anything to make him smile.
   I slowly brush my fingers against his mouth and, ever so gently, brush over his soft cheek. I pull myself against him, holding him close, wanting it to be enough.
   “Don’t,” he whispers, his silky-smooth voice breaking. I pull back, knowing he didn’t really want me, but his long fingers catch mine and intertwine with them. He leans closer to me, breathing me in.
“I didn’t mean don’t touch me, I meant don’t try to leave me.”
His eyes search mine, and he pulls me gently closer to him.
“You thought I didn’t need you.” It’s not a question. I look away, confused and ashamed. But he drops my hands, takes my face and forces me to look at him. He’s almost crying.
“You have no idea how much I need you,” he whispers, his voice full of sincerity. “When I…when I left you before it was because I thought you didn’t need me. You were so strong and brave, I thought you had healed, and didn’t need you with me anymore.” His silk voice is suddenly laced with anger. “They haven’t hurt you again have they?”
   “No,” I reply, and my voice is hoarse, choked with tears. I clear my throat harshly and continue, “They’ve left me alone. No abuse, no stealing lunch money, no knives.”
   “Good,” he sighs, then pulls me into his arms and holds me tight. “You know, I always watched over you, even though it was from a distance. I thought you’d be alright without me.” His voice softens and he looks deep into my eyes. “But if you’ll still have me, you only have to say a word and I’ll never leave your side again.”
   My heart expands with joy- it feels as if it’s filling my whole chest. I struggle to breathe but manage to whisper, “I’d like that.” The pain on Luca’s face melts away and is replaced with my favourite smile. His lips are on mine then, and I feel him smile under my lips, and kiss me harder. And then his wings, his huge glossy wings, black as a rook’s, wrap around us, and I think God must be pretty cool to create helpers like these.

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