All The Beautiful Lies
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“The truth,” he whispered, “is that we’ve known this whole time what you are.” It was so strange. To talk to someone who knew the worst of you and yet still looked at you with such kindness in their eyes. You thought about his words, but you weren’t sure how much they could be believed.
How much you should trust them when they seemed willing to betray you as soon as it got convenient for them. But there wasn’t anything else left to believe in—not really.
But then he reached out again and touched your cheek softly. And though his touch was gentle, you felt yourself shiver in spite of the hot air around you. He had a good hand with those fingers; not too strong nor too weak, but just right for holding things without crushing them. They were like an artist’s hands.
His gaze was so intent on yours as he said, “You know, I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings from people. Not even from myself. My parents told me that they saw through me from the first moment, but they loved me anyway.”
His voice trailed off into silence for a second before continuing, “I guess maybe it doesn’t matter if they love or hate us as long as they care enough to watch over us. We’re all just broken, after all—”
He smiled wryly, shaking his head. “That probably makes no sense to anyone except maybe you. But it made sense to me.”
“What happened?” You asked, leaning closer now that his eyes were trained on something other than your face. He was watching his reflection in the glass of the window above you; you watched him watch it instead. You wondered what he might see inside himself when he looked up there, and you couldn’t stop looking until curiosity won over fear.
It was a little girl, wearing the same expression as her mother’s. She sat on top of a chair or bench, dressed in some sort of costume, and she stared at the world around her as if she was waiting for something important to happen.
“She wanted to go outside,” he told you, “but she wasn’t allowed because of her condition. Her mom kept saying that she was going to die soon, but she never did.”
Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him more closely. “And the woman in the mirror is…?”
He shrugged. “A little girl that I once cared about very much.”
You frowned and shook your head as you looked back to the little girl in the reflection. “Why didn’t she get to play with her friends while she still could? Why was she forced to sit alone on her bed?”
His smile was sad. “Because that was her fate. Because it was better that way. For both of them.”
For a long moment, nothing passed between you—then suddenly his hands found your hips and he pulled you close against his chest. Your breath caught in surprise, but you didn’t protest. You were already warm from sitting next to him, and you were glad for the heat—wishing that you could feel more of it, more of him, more of everything.
You were surprised by how easily he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you easily off the ground and pressing himself flush against you. His mouth was on yours, his tongue pushing into your mouth in an urgent manner. All thoughts of what he might be thinking fled from your mind, leaving only the burning need for more of him.
He kissed you with hunger; with desire. With a hunger and desperation that left no room for any other kind of feeling. You melted under the intensity of his gaze, his lips, the strength in his body. Everything about him was so big, so powerful that there was almost nothing left of you.
It was like being lost in the forest. Searching desperately for water when you were already dying from thirst. Like stumbling upon an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere; finding warmth there despite all logic.
You didn’t want to think too hard about what was happening. The unbelievability of it all kept you sane, kept you from falling apart completely. There was nothing in the world you’d rather do than forget the reality of your existence. You let him take control of you and you clung to him, desperate for every touch.
It was the strangest thing to have another person’s heartbeat in your ears, pumping blood through your veins. It was terrifying to realize that you would someday be just like the dead ones walking around you, feeding on the living as well.
That one day, you’d turn into one of them too. A corpse with a beating heart and lungs. Just like the monsters who roamed freely in the dark alleys of Seattle, killing without remorse.
As soon as you thought about it that way, your legs trembled beneath you. You pushed away, trying to break free of his grip.
“No!” You cried out at last.
His lips quirked into a crooked grin as he looked down at you. “Is there anything else?”
The word no came to your tongue before you could stop it. You knew that he wouldn’t understand, but you spoke the words anyway.
“I’m not ready for this.”
His brow creased in confusion at your sudden withdrawal. He released you and lowered you slowly to the bed again.
He leaned back onto the pillow behind him and laced his fingers together across his stomach. He looked up at you with amusement, but you saw the sorrow lurking deep within his eyes. He’d seen the truth of your fears in your eyes even before you opened your mouth, and he’d felt your reluctance and pain, but he hadn’t judged you for them.
You sighed heavily, letting his eyes draw you in. They were beautiful, brilliant even in the darkness.
“What happens now?” You asked him softly.
He smiled sadly at you but said nothing.
Instead, he lifted his hand to run his thumb gently over your cheek, brushing your skin with gentle fingertips. Then he drew his hand away and turned to face the window once more.
“I should probably go,” he murmured quietly.
“Oh…” You blinked rapidly a few times as you tried to process what he’d said. Was he really leaving? Or maybe he was just saying that because he thought that was best for you. You weren’t sure if you wanted him to stay. But then again, what would it hurt? What did it matter whether he stayed or left? You were going to die either way.
He looked back at you, frowning a little, but he said nothing more. Instead, he stood up and moved silently toward the door. He paused at the edge, glancing down at you, then stepped out into the hall.
After he’d disappeared down the stairs, you lay unmoving for several moments longer, staring blindly at the ceiling. You didn’t know what to do. How to feel. After a while, you got tired of lying in silence and you rose gingerly from the bed.
Then you went downstairs, looking for him. You found him on the main floor, standing near the front door with his back turned to you. There was something strange in the way he was carrying himself. Almost like he wasn’t sure where to look. Or perhaps he was afraid of getting too close to anyone—afraid of touching anyone.
You walked up beside him and stopped.
“Will I see you again?” You whispered suddenly, your voice breaking slightly.
He didn’t respond for a moment, but then he turned around to face you and his smile returned. “If you’d like me to, yes,” he said with a shrug.
Your heart ached for a second time when he didn’t seem able to say more. The fear and pain that lurked behind his blue-green eyes was too much to bear, and it left you breathless.
But still, you held on. “Can I… can I come with you?”
He studied you for a long moment before saying simply, “Yes.”
***
When he woke you later that night, you knew you couldn’t hide your fear from him any longer. You’d been waiting for him to come back up here since you’d gone downstairs, but he never had.
At least, until now.
“Are you okay?” He asked gently as he slipped into bed beside you and stroked his hand over your bare shoulder.
“I don’t know anymore.”
“Do you need help?” He asked quietly, drawing you closer to him.
“I don’t think so,” you breathed softly, turning your head against his chest.
His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight against his warm body. His fingers combed through your hair tenderly as his thumb traced soothing circles over your forehead, and after a few moments, you fell asleep in his embrace.
The next morning, you rose early enough to get dressed and eat breakfast before heading out the door. When you arrived at the hospital, the place was already bustling with activity. It seemed they’d brought more staff to deal with the influx of patients, which made sense.
You were grateful for all the new people. They took the load off your shoulders and let you focus on what needed doing: caring for the injured and comforting their families.
The day passed slowly as you tended to the wounded men, one by one, and then helped them make arrangements with whoever had arranged for them to be transported. Some of the soldiers had relatives who lived nearby, so they were set straight right there, whereas others were sent to other hospitals in the area for treatment.
It took you well past dusk to finish your rounds, and even though you were tired and sore from moving heavy bodies, you could barely drag yourself home by the end of the day. You had no energy left for anything except sitting in your chair and staring at nothing as the last light faded over the horizon.
So when you heard a knock at your door late that evening, you assumed it must be another soldier trying to arrange transport back to his hometown, but that wasn’t the case. It was Mr. Rufus who stood outside when you finally emerged from the study, blinking groggily at the sight of the familiar man’s handsome face.
He wore an old gray coat despite the heat as he stared blankly at nothing for several long seconds.
Finally, he turned and gave you a sad smile before bowing stiffly. “Thank you for everything,” he said quietly, his accent growing thicker as tears began to form in the corners of his eyes.
You smiled back at him and nodded. “Of course,” you said gently, walking forward to take his hand. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers curled gently around yours and he drew you into a hug. You leaned into his broad chest and closed your eyes, feeling his arms around you. A moment later, he released you, leaving you standing alone on the stoop.
He turned and started down the street without a word, disappearing from view before you had time to think about how to respond. You stood for a long time afterward, wondering if he’d meant what you thought he’d meant.
Had he somehow read your thoughts? You hoped not because you didn’t want him to know. But when it came to Mr. Rufus, you knew there was no way to keep him out of your life entirely.
He’d been a part of it since childhood and you were just too weak to stop him. So, you let him go, knowing that whatever lay between you would have to wait for another day.
***
Two days after returning home from the hospital, you were summoned back again, this time for a meeting. The council met regularly every week for dinner, but today they gathered at the mansion instead to discuss business rather than enjoy each other’s company.
As soon as you stepped inside, the air around you felt heavier. As if some unseen weight pressed down upon you, pressing your mind against the limits of your body, making it impossible to do or say anything. You could almost feel her eyes boring into you from across the room, but she didn’t speak. No one did. Not even Lord Byron was invited tonight.
You took your seat as Lady Beatrice placed her napkin carefully to the right of the table, where only royalty sat, and bowed slightly to her. She ignored the gesture, and when it became clear that all conversation was being held behind closed doors, you looked around at everyone else in the hall, trying to gauge what their reaction would be once they found out what you’d done.
But most of them were staring blankly at nothing like you were; their faces devoid of emotion, their eyes glazed over as if they’d fallen under some strange spell. You weren’t sure how you should act anymore either. What had happened between Lady Beatrice and Lord Byron to make them this way?
After a few minutes, they opened the conference room door and you followed them in.
Lord Byron waited for Lady Beatrice to sit at the head of the long table before he took his own seat on the opposite side. You were seated near the middle, while Lady Beatrice took up the far-right corner of the table. Her maids followed close behind as she spoke.
“Lady Beatrice, please tell us,” Lord Byron said, his voice calm and soothing, yet laced with an icy bite of steel that cuts through the tension of the room.
“There are rumors going around town,” Lady Beatrice began, her eyes never leaving the center of the table. She was pale now, her normally golden skin looking ghostly white. “That you’ve been seen in the company of the devil.”
She paused for a long moment as everyone watched anxiously. Finally, Lord Byron leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his cupped hands. “What rumors are these?”
Lady Beatrice swallowed deeply, then sighed and shook her head as she reached for her wine glass. “I’m afraid they’re true. My husband has come to me asking for help. He says that his soul is in danger.”
The other members of the Council gasped and exchanged looks among themselves. They all knew that Lord Byron’s soul was pure, so surely he couldn’t be in any kind of danger. Yet, the very look on Lady Beatrice’s face said otherwise.
Her brow knitted together and she frowned as if the mere mention of his name hurt her more than anyone. “When the Devil comes calling, it doesn’t always mean death. Sometimes he wants something more than a mortal can provide.
I’m sure he will find another way to destroy Lord Byron, and the sooner we stop him, the less likely that someone will be caught in his wake. If you need my assistance, ask. It won’t cost you anything,” she said calmly, taking another sip of her wine.
You stared at her, stunned by the admission. What could the Devil possibly want with the soul of a God? Was he planning to steal him to use as leverage? You tried to imagine him using Lord Byron as some sort of puppet. Maybe as a sacrifice to gain control over Hell itself, but that didn’t seem to make sense. Why would Satan go to such lengths to bring down Heaven and the Earth?
The End