A God's Last Death

Help Me

I fasten the electronic tag around his ankle, a hideous black bracelet made of metal, and I make sure he won't be able to break it off. Once I'm finished, I observe my work and smile in satisfaction. That bastard. I'm going to make his life a misery; I'll torture him until he begs for his salvation. I'll make him—

"You know, you can put it around my neck. I think it will look sexier." My eyes snap to his face, and I find him smirking at me, his hair falling over his forehead, his green eyes grounding me still.

"Measure your words— they cost dearly," I try to sound cold, but my voice comes out more strained than I planned. He grins. I ignore him. "Okay, let's go," I say and stand up.

"Go where?"

"Stop asking questions and do what you're told." I push him off the chair and drag him after me through the corridor. Our shoes are the only sound heard in the quiet of the building, most of the officers having left already. In a few minutes the lights will go off, so I try to make it to the stairs before that happens.

We cross the empty corridor, or rather we play a war of tag through the whole length of the corridor (in which I win of course), and after a couple of death threats and use of indecent vocabulary, we ascend the stairs up to the ground level. The moment I open the entrance door of the station, I'm already exhausted.

I pull him outside and with great effort I manage to walk him to my apartment. The sky is dark, thick clouds obscuring the stars from my eyes, and a deep rumble thunders as a roared promise of rain. Without the moon lighting our path, I have to listen the overhanging branches of the neighbourhood's trees and feel the earth beneath my feet to find my way home.

"Beautiful, ain't it?" I hear him whisper from behind me and turn to look at him. In the gloomy shadows his eyes are even more captivating, and I can't help but stare at them.

"Beauty is deceptive. It only lasts little, so that when it's gone, all that's left is rust and stardust," Ι simply reply.

My answer seems to surprise him, because he slows down his pace and surveys my face with a long, unreadable sweep, from my eyes to my thin lips. I don't know why but I like the way he looks at me, as if he's really seeing me for the first time.

My face is like a rock. Years of emptiness and layers of geological centuries cover my laughter. Unnoticed earthquakes of my daily struggle crack it but never knock it down. Many do not see what is behind the rock, but I feel that his gaze is enough to bring all my hidden metal to light, and that terrifies me. I avert my eyes and pick up the pace, all the while holding onto his arm.

As we walk in the dark, we pass by a man sleeping on a bench, and a woman hunched on the pavement, her hands clasped together in a form of praying. We pass by a boy rummaging through the trash. Rust and stardust, indeed. Not long after, we arrive at the entrance of my apartment building, and I abruptly come to a stop. My movements are clearly unexpected because I suddenly feel a hard chest collide with my back and a grunt of pain following right after.

"What the fuck!" he whirls me around and points to his bandaged shoulder. "Can't you see I'm wounded?"

"Yes, very tragic. Anyway. We're here."

"What do you mean we're here? Is this your house? You call this shithole a house? I requested a five-star accommodation, not this!"

With my anger having reached its limits, I snatch him by the collar and bring my face inches away from his. "Listen here, you son of a bitch." I hiss at him. "You want to go back to that freezing interrogation room, huh? Is that what you want? Because I'd gladly drag you there myself."

He shakes my hands off him and gives me an angry look. "Lead the way, then," he says and steps aside for me to go first, which I do without much reluctance.

I unlock the door and hold it open for him to enter. I pass him by, then I head for the stairs, aka my greatest foe. As I ascend the staircase, I feel strange when hearing his footsteps behind me. My sister sometimes pays me a visit, keeping it to a minimum though because she knows me all too well, but I never bring anyone over, so my nervousness has reached its peak.

After what feels like a lifetime, we reach the door to my apartment. I fumble with the keys in my hand, open the door and step in. 

"Welcome to your hell," I say, to which he only smiles, his eyes shining in the dark, and for some reason I fear that even the hottest flames of inferno won't be enough to burn him.