I push him away and open my eyes. For a moment, his face is interposed over that of an angels. His eyes become something less than human, his skin shines with a soft, golden light, and blood drips from ripped, burnt wings. But then, my vision shifts back into place, and I know that I am in deep, deep trouble.
The sand scratches my back as I try to get from beneath him. He leans back on his knees to let me try to sit up, an expression of relief obvious on his face.
"I thought you were dead. Jesus, I thought you were dead." He runs his hands through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. His eyes look unfocused, and he is breathless.
I cannot say anything. My jaws are locked shut. I stare at him as I have been stared at before by others- as if he is inhuman. My lips burn and pulse with my heartbeat. I am suddenly angry with myself, with my body, for betraying me so. I am angry at this situation, and, perversely enough, angry at my savior.
I scoot back farther in the sand, but find it nigh impossible to move far. my muscles still barely respond. I am as helpless as a newborn. It is infuriating.
He gestures in my direction, about to say something, and I flinch away as if undergoing physical pain. He stops mid movement and stares at me, hurt and disbelief warring for room behind his eyes. His expression becomes veiled after a long minute, a hardness settling into place.
"So, we're back to that again are we? I saved your life, and you can't bring yourself to have me touch you?" He rolls onto the balls of his feet, going from a sitting position to a crouch, using his elbows to balance on his knees.
I want to tell him that I am afraid for him to touch me again, afraid of what it will do to me. I do not know how to react in this situation. I have never been so weak, or so lacking in control. something is breaking free in my head, and I do not know what it might be.
The sand scratches my back as I try to get from beneath him. He leans back on his knees to let me try to sit up, an expression of relief obvious on his face.
"I thought you were dead. Jesus, I thought you were dead." He runs his hands through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. His eyes look unfocused, and he is breathless.
I cannot say anything. My jaws are locked shut. I stare at him as I have been stared at before by others- as if he is inhuman. My lips burn and pulse with my heartbeat. I am suddenly angry with myself, with my body, for betraying me so. I am angry at this situation, and, perversely enough, angry at my savior.
I scoot back farther in the sand, but find it nigh impossible to move far. my muscles still barely respond. I am as helpless as a newborn. It is infuriating.
He gestures in my direction, about to say something, and I flinch away as if undergoing physical pain. He stops mid movement and stares at me, hurt and disbelief warring for room behind his eyes. His expression becomes veiled after a long minute, a hardness settling into place.
"So, we're back to that again are we? I saved your life, and you can't bring yourself to have me touch you?" He rolls onto the balls of his feet, going from a sitting position to a crouch, using his elbows to balance on his knees.
I want to tell him that I am afraid for him to touch me again, afraid of what it will do to me. I do not know how to react in this situation. I have never been so weak, or so lacking in control. something is breaking free in my head, and I do not know what it might be.
