Angel Blood

47- Strings of Sanity

After a few more weeks of no progress, I start to wonder if this is what we'll ever be now. The remnants of a man clinging onto the strings of sanity he has left, and me cradling them in my fingers as if they're the most precious thing to behold.

I sigh, ignoring my tightening throat as I trace a finger over the cut of his cheekbones, willing myself to find comfort in the soft sound of his breathing. Amid his deep slumber, he turns his face into my touch.

I lean forward, my heart swelling at the sight of such a simple movement. "I love you," I whisper. I don't care that he can't understand me. Even if he never will again, I don't think I could ever stop.

...

Our days are so simple now. Theo and Samuel don't come in anymore and Sin still runs on instinct, but it calms when I come to him.

He paces when I leave. Bangs on the door so hard there are indentations in the steel. So I don't leave for long, not unless I have to get him food or water or to take a quick shower at Alyse's place. Sam provides most necessities, but it's hard to smuggle everything into the room without rousing Sinclair's possessive nature.

Scary Sinclair means I do most things for him. We hook up a hose to a spout in the corner and pour cold water into the plastic kiddie pool. I scrub him down with a sponge and pull clean clothes over his body. If he minds the temperature of the water, he doesn't show it.

I would care more that I have to do every single little thing for him if I weren't still so taken with the knowledge of him being alive. Even with each passing day, when I wake up and roll over and see his face beside mine, I want to cry out of sheer relief.

Sometimes I do. Sin doesn't really grasp what it means, so I'm not embarrassed. He just looks helplessly at me, brushing his fingers over my cheeks and bumping his forehead against mine in what he probably considers to be something of a resemblance to comfort. To be fair, it works each time, and he seems to calm when I begin to giggle over the fact that this half-savage beast is trying to soothe me when the rest of the time he's attempting to rip everyone's throats out.

I know it's not funny at all, really. I think I've begun to lose it a little. I don't care though. Maybe I can just be content with us being two crazy, slightly vicious fuck buddies for the rest of time.

...

He's eating normally again: both in the "feeding" sense, and legitimate food. The warm, rich tone of Sin's skin that I adore so much is settling back in, the tautness of his face filling back out as he begins to eat regular meals.

He's beginning to look like the Sin from before. It's bittersweet. Part of me expects the rest of him to return as his body fills back into its natural state, but with each passing day that Sin grows healthier, I feel as if the man I once knew is slipping through my fingers.

...

I laugh as he nuzzles his face into my neck, nibbling on the skin as I wipe the damp cloth in my hand over his bare torso.

I push him back onto the mattress behind him. It pales in comparison to his downy-filled bed back in the studio apartment, but it's far better than sleeping on the ground.

"Down, hornball," I say, snorting as he looks at me expectantly. "No sexy time. Bath time." I continue wiping down his chest, then move on to his arms and neck.

He lets me for a few minutes although he leers impatiently at me and finally grabs the cloth from my hand and tosses it on the ground.

I roll my eyes, reaching for it and making a sound in the back of my throat when he pushes it away with his leg so it's out of arm's reach.