A Very Unlikely Tale // Loki

Chapter 6

   {edited}

I sit on the couch, glancing down the hallway, waiting to hear the click of a door opening.  My body is tense and tired. The events of last night prevented me from sleeping anymore since my mind kept replaying them over and over, prompting thoughts upon thoughts upon even more thoughts. 

I run my thumb absentmindedly down the spine of the little fairytale book, tracing the faded gold lettering. Loki still hasn't come out of his room.  He's already missed breakfast, and it's getting very close to lunch.  I debate letting him sleep as I assume he's doing, but I ultimately decide not to let him miss another meal.

Last night when he was writhing around his shirt rode up on one side of his torso, revealing his ribs. The man has the palest skin I've ever seen. It was nearly translucent under the glow of the moon, but that isn't what caught my eye.

There, marking his ribcage, were layers upon layers of bruises, so varying in color one could almost mistake them for a watercolor painting. The angry bruises, made even more prominent by the shadows his ribs casted upon his skin, were enough to convince me to try and be kind. Will I succeed?

Quite honestly, I have no idea.

I get up slowly and stretch, feeling very much like an upright cat.  Walking quietly to Loki's room, a glass of water in hand, I open the door slightly to find him...gone. 

Pushing  down the rising bubble of panic, I make my way quickly to the library.  I know he can't be far of course, it's just a matter of tracking him down.

I enter the room of books and find Loki innocently by the hearth, a book in his lap, asleep.

My sigh of relief sounds akin to a whispered laugh and I lean against the door frame, taking a moment to study him. He doesn't like staring.

The glowing coals of the hearth and the filtered rays of sun are the only lighting in the literature filled room. With a small smile, I take a moment to appreciate his disheveled bead head, a strand of which hangs in his face. It moves towards and a way from his lips as he breathes.

Of course, I also notice the purple bags under his eyes and feel a pang of guilt for what I am about to do.

A large part of me knows he needs sleep, and greatly wants to leave him be. An even larger part knows he needs to eat.

"Hey, Loki?" I speak softly from the door.

He results in remaining asleep.

I step tentatively into the room, making my way to him without any effort to conceal my footsteps against the hard wooden floor.

Laying a hand on his shoulder I try again, "Lok-"

In a flash his hand is gripping my forearm like a vice and he pulls me down to look me in the eyes, still not fully awake.  I drop the glass in my free hand and make an icy, jagged knife out of its contents, which are almost to little to be of any danger. Almost.

"Loki, it's Flora.  Let.  Go."  I spit dangerously.

He blinks a little and I feel his grip loosen, though he keeps a tight enough grasp to keep me where I am.

"You should not startle me." He retorts with utter nonchalance.

"You should wake up faster." I argue, still holding the blade.