Breaking purity: The wolf // Michael Langdon

The rectangles room

Day 15 morning

You squirm a little and stretch, still not wanting to open your eyes.

-Michael – you grumble and snuggle to get closer to him but you feel something wet on your side – I told you I would mess the sheets. Haven't they dried yet? – but he doesn't respond so you extend your arm to reach his face but something sticky catches your attention – Michael... - you open your eyes and find a giant dark liquid puddle between the both of you – MICHAEL! – you exclaim in the darkness and jump out of bed. Wobbling and tripping with his clothes on the floor, you try to find the light key. When your turn it on, you see it: Michael's body stiffed with blood all scattered on the bed. Your horrified scream echoes across the room, bringing your trembling hands to your mouth in shock. With tears flowing out your eyes and a distorted gaze, you run to the bed again and grab his face abruptly – Michael, Michael wake up, please! – you shake his head harder at his silence and look at his lips: they are of a light shade of blue, just like in your dream. You blink fast, wanting to escape the nightmare, in doubt about your own reality but you can sense his frozen skin, and when you dig your nails in your legs, the pain clarifies your mind. You cry heartrendingly, feeling a sharp arrow embedded in the center of your chest – No, no, you're not dead! You're not dead, Michael Langdon, you're not! – your fingers run along his hair caressing it repeatedly as if it could help you cope with the situation, but your tears keep falling on his torso. You scrub your eyes, staining your own temples and forehead with his blood and breathe through deep mouthfuls to not asphyxiate with the panic. In a moment of consciousness, you bring two fingers to his neck, right under the earlobe, to search his pulse. Two seconds an nothing – Come on... come on baby, please - you whisper frenetically and then you sense it, one weak pump against your fingertips. You exhale in a mad chuckle, growling at the relief, but soon you look disoriented at his rigid body – What happened to you? – He must be hurt, but you start inspecting his front and see no injuries, plus the blood is making it hard to explore – Okay... come here – you go to his side of the bed and try to pick him up but he is so heavy for you that when you finally raise his head and feet from the bed, your arms bend and his body tumbles down on it again – God, please! – Despite that, you are not going to surrender, so you grab his feet and start pulling towards you. You get his legs out of the bed, and when he is seated with his back against the edge, you take his head and accommodate it on the floor. You pull from his feet again and drag him to the door, demanding all your strength. Once you're at the drawing room, your arms and shoulders burn but your mind can't stop now. You leave him next to the wall opposite to the glass door and run to the big bathroom. Inside, you pull the first drawer with brutal strength and grab the three towels you find. Then you turn the sink faucet on and wet one of them. You come back at full speed to Michael and lean over his body to start wiping the blood stains off of him. His skin gets clear with the moist fabric but after you've lain him on his stomach and finished washing him, you realize that he is not bleeding and there are still no visible injuries; in fact, it seems that he has bled out completely on the bed. You sit down with your back against the wall and legs bent close to you, and accommodate his head on your lap – Wake up, Michael, please – your fingers run trembling along his hair, his beautiful pale face so rigid and cold – I know you are there, come on! – your heart sinks and you cry disconsolately – What do I do? Just tell me what do I do and I'll do it, I promise you, please! – your fists hit weakly his chest – You can't do this. You can't leave me alone in here. I need you, Michael, please wake up – your forehead touch his and you kiss his lips shaking, your tears falling on his cheek. Then you lean back against the wall again, gripping his hair -This is not happening, this is clearly not real.

Day 15 afternoon

Your eyes are wide open but you are not looking into anything, just letting tears run down your cheeks as your digits are tangled with his hair.