Maximus' POV of The Lone Dove: #1.5
Maximus Myers, a treasure to the Queen City High School, his own parents attended and fell in love. His mindset was not a mirror image of his father's, being a businessman was not his main goal when his mother, An...
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CHAPTER 39: I've Lost so many Long Nights Without you
Fire.
I said once it was the element Poppy and I created, that it was what formed from the igniting spark in my limbs and the chilled flames in her, her blue flames of great ice sculptures that could heat my core. My whole world. I told her once that she meant the world to me.
I was wrong.
She meant every golden star in our galaxy, every glowing ember, meteor or not, the beauty of each ball of light couldn't equal her light with scorching millennials of time, of the essence in which each tick of ancient rule rules is til the end. Those ticks slowed as I sit next to her, listening to her read a small romance story as I run the palm of my hand over the thin sculpture of her abdomen.
She was getting better. I saw it everyday, for three weeks now, she was solidly improving but I knew times were so very difficult when I couldn't get her to talk to me as much as I wanted.
I never pushed her. I never want to cause more stress even if I was dying to know why she had been so convinced that dark-wood was no longer after her, why she believed the enemy had been overcome. I couldn't find myself to stop looking at the door, searching the room, even checking every corner of the hospital bed she lies in, checking for monsters.
Monsters that hid her from me for two months and returned her, harmed. I was out for blood, for so long, I read over everything Dark-wood had ever done. Stevens supplied me with every details in those folders from every time he hit her, threatened her and the one other time he had kidnapped her, but she got away, no where near as harmed as she had been now.
"-Maximus, your head is in the clouds, not the story. What's going on?" She whispers to me, placing the book aside, I skim my fingers along one curve of her waist, I was safe where her ribs were, having seen the bandages that I now change.
I'd studied the way the nurses had helped her, before asking if I would be allowed to, Poppy was stricken and greatly confused as to why I would want to, but when I began learning each fold, the cream used specifically for areas of bruising, the screams stopped. If I felt the I could take care of her, I had the knowledge to do so, I was more relaxed, I was always quiet, something she picked up on when I helped her, especially in her movements, whenever she was too stubborn and wanted to push herself harder, I was stern.
I was actually stern with her and the first I said 'No' and lead her back to the bed, whilst lifting her into the covers, when she felt the sheets under her, she'd nod to me, admit I was right, and I spent the time relaxing her, with one hand on her abdomen and drawing patterns of all sorts along her skin.
Right now, I was drawing a Phoenix.
I give her a raised eyebrow, "My mind is focused on every time your skin reacts to a specific brush of the pad of my finger, just above your navel. The words you roll on your tongue as you speak of an old-fashioned romance, that is indeed, in the background. Your heart monitor spikes when you're thirsty, or even when the palm of my hand was cold, before it warmed at our contact. My heads not in the clouds, it's attuned itself, peacefully, to your every movement." I whisper, spreading my hand, the heart monitor jumps as I run cords along each ab, that only my fingers could see, under the furry blanket I'd bought for her and had delivered.
