The Last Wish

19. We go in Circles

"He was the rock in her chaos,
that the rest of the world splashed off.

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Belle stared at the hugest mistake of her life, with her hands propped against her cheeks.

A mistake in the form of a very well known devil, from California to New York, and to Hell presumably.

The unconscious Matt lay on the sofa, the very chair she had found herself when she woke up. His posture was abnormal, his upper body was rested against the chair but gravity was pulling him down, he reminded her of 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame'. She had wrapped a wet cloth around his head, in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

The process of transferring him from the kitchen floor to the sofa was a tedious task, draining almost all of her energy. She wondered what he had for lunch, probably chunks of metal because his weight was akin to that.

She sat opposite to him on the coffee table, her legs crossed and her hands under her cheeks. It was almost half an hour since the 'unintentional attack', as she called it, and yet he hadn't woken up.

As time grew, his skin was getting paler and so did hers, the only difference was that hers was out of fear. She didn't want to make the mistake of killing someone, not when she herself was planning her death.

He stirred and she instantly activated to alert mode. She waited for another movement but he went quiet again.

She leaned towards him and tapped his cheek lightly. "Hey?" she found no response. Is he dead? she thought with arising panic.

He stirred again, this time louder. Reflexively, she withdrew back keeping a safe distance between the two.

He opened his eye lids very slowly and closed it almost immediately, flinching at the sharp light. She looked around the house, wondering where the source of 'sharp' light was. Apparently, this house appeared to her as though someone had passed away this morning, concluding over the gloom and darkness surrounding it.

After some time, he opened his eyes again. This time wide and awake. And Hells Bells they were red and angry.

Belle gulped, knowing there would be a funeral soon. Her funeral.

He tried to move, but the wound was still sore that it made him moan and revert back to his previous position. He touched the wet cloth concealing the sore spot at the back of his head and flinched. "Ow," he moaned and his eyes watered.

The lump in Belle's throat was expanding out of guilt. She decided to break the silence, "before you pull the trigger and bring up a catastrophe I can explain. Well to start off, I don't even know how I ended up here," she said and continued without a break. "I know I must be sounding like a vain psychopath to you but trust me I have no idea who put-"

"I brought you here," he said, his voice hoarse and pained. He wasn't looking at her, his hands working up its way across the bump.

Belle stopped and stared at him, not believing her ears. "What did you say?"

With all the pain cooked inside him, he still had enough strength to roll his eyes, "I brought you here. Okay?"

"Why would you do that?" she asked, bewildered.

"Because-" he started but closed his eyes immediately. She knew he was suffering and felt bad for bombarding him with questions. He pressed his fingers on his forehead, trying to ease the pain.

"Let me help you," she offered but waved his hand in dismissal.

"I can fend for myself," he said curtly, almost glaring at her.