The Wingless Angel

I'm a Human, and I was suddenly dropped into Olympus. I have to adapt to this new life, but with who to help me? People think I'm an Angel, and that my wings were just gone somehow. After explaining I'm Human, they're still confused. Especially one Olympian...


3. Confessions

I think I must of feel asleep, either that or I fainted. I was too hot, which was unusual for me. My eyes opened so slowly, I thought they would never open. But they did, in time. Annoyed now, cause everything was still blurry and unfocused. I rolled my eyes, great. I exhaled heavily, my lungs still full and stuffy. I continued breathing in lightly and out heavily. Trying to empty the lungs of the unwanted carbon dioxide. But no matter how hard I breathed out, it didn't make a difference. I gave up, not going to bother wasting energy when it won't make a difference.


A shadow shaded me from the light source above me, whether it was electric or fire I didn't know. His warm breath returned to my skin, it's lovingness bled across the surface of all my skin. I felt as if I was in a coma, and I couldn't move or see. But all my other senses were alive, as if they were never amongst the living. A similar figure sat next to me, but he was holding something in his hand. “I'm sorry I took so long, I need to talk to my Mother.” He turned away from me, and to the side drawers next to the bed I was laid upon.


He took a cloth, and trickled some liquid from a bottle onto the fabric. The light shimmered off the liquid with a crystal quality. So I'm guessing it was water, either that or another liquid that was transparent. He folded the cloth a few times, and returned his attention to me. He reached his arm out, and dabbed my forehead with the damp cloth. It was smooth, and cooling. I could feel the heat evaporate off of me. I wanted to know who he was, I wanted to know where I was, I wanted to know, why is he bothered helping me.


“You have a few cuts, but.” He exhaled densely, and I could feel his eyes were looking at me in disappointment. “The worst cut is on your right wrist.” A massive weight suddenly fell into my chest, like a hiccup that wouldn't go away. My throat began to burn. It's like I was about to tell someone I don't know I was pregnant with their child. But the words wouldn't form from my mouth. Tears rimmed around my eyes, he wiped them away, and pressed finger to my lips. “Don't cry, I wouldn't want to see such a fragile beauty break down on my count.” I took back his finger, and place the damp cloth to the side. But replaced it with a tissue. He gently caught the teardrops that clung to my eyelashes, but they kept coming. My vision began to return to me, and I looked at him fully for the first time. He was spellbinding. His blue eyes pierced through my heart, like a dagger. But the blood it spilt was healing me, giving me hope. Restoring promise into my very soul, with a look. He had eternally imprinted himself in my very being, like there was no me, when there was no him. I'm probably over exaggerating though, I don't even know his name. Let alone what type of person he is. For all I know, he could be a horrible person that secretly is only taking care of me, to take advantage of me.


“I'm sorry,” those were the first words I'd spoken in front of him. He looked at me, stunned. “Why are you apologising?” he asked. I think, genuinely confused. Which confused me, “Because I harmed myself. It's wrong I know, but, I just felt so...” “Depressed?” He asked seconds afterwards, before I could even catch my breath. I nodded slowly, ashamed of myself. I know I told myself I wouldn't anymore, but I couldn't help it. “It's natural, a lot of people do it to reassure themselves.” I thought he would be angry with me or something. “To be honest...” he began. I gazed into his eyes, like they were the stars shining brightly in the night sky. “I've recently done it myself.”


“Why?” I asked without a second thought. I sat up, legs crossed. He looked at me, with a spark of interest in his beautiful ocean like eyes. The light from the window helped me see, my vision was completely back. There was no one word I could say about him that described him, it would take a whole book just to describe just his eyes. His sandy blonde hair shimmered like gold in the morning light directed from the window onto him, like a spotlight. His skin like lightly tanned marble, smooth and polished. No blemishes, scars or birthmarks were visible. He looked perfect, like something I would think of in my mind. Or something I would see in a dream, and forget within minutes. But for those few minutes, you can't help but smile.


“My wife and daughter have recently passed away.” He slouched, and looked down to the floor, pain in his eyes. Children? How? He looked eighteen, twenty-one tops. Unless he knocked her up and their parents made them get married, that's probably more likely. In this day and age, girls get knocked up from the age of about fourteen sometimes. It makes me sick to the stomach. He sighed lightly, he murmured something to himself. I couldn't make it out. I hesitated, I had so many questions, but one that was quite confusing.


“How old are you?” I leant forward slightly, genuinely bothered whether he was alright. I never really cared about people before, cause they just end up betraying me not long afterwards. I learnt this when I was thirteen, a lot of things happened. But I don't want to get into that now, it's a long, and excruciating story for me to thinking about, even in my mind. I feel like I'm talking to myself, or my mind in fact. Oh well, I always talk to myself, but I call it 'Thinking aloud.' He turned his attention back to me, his eyes a little red around the teat ducts. He was crying a bit, but not sobbing completely, just teardrops leaking out of the side of his wise, mysterious eyes. He didn't have a young look in his eyes, they seem experienced. As if they've seen everything, and they just wanted to sleep forever.


“Well...” he began, but trailed off. He confused himself by the looks of it, or he was thinking it through. What's there to think through though, just remember how old you are. Hence why we have birthdays, to remember how old we are, and to celebrate the fact. But when you reach a certain age, you want to get younger, go back to your youth. But I never want to go back to my youth, I want to be over and done with it. He turned himself completely around, and sat crossed legged in front of me. He inhaled, looked deeply into my eyes. And spoke using all of the air in his lungs, “I don't know my age, cause... I'm not Human.”

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