Chapter Fourteen - Part Two

Archie Parthenia

When I returned from my nightly visits I found Irene in my room, knees drawn to her chest as she stared unblinking into thin air.

She was staring at the diary we found in that cursed laboratory. Thinking about it made me grind my teeth in frustration and anger. But I didn't need that right now, Irene didn't need that right now.

She looked up at me and asked, "Rough night?"

My under eyes must have been purple and black from my lack of sleep. Medina called them my 'beauty circles'. It made them feel more pretty, but now they just felt heavy.

I nodded as I ditched my jacket, "And you?"

Irene averted her gaze, nodding as she did and patted at the space beside her. After stripping into my underwear and oversized shirt I joined her, mirroring her sitting position and just stared at the ruffled bunch of papers that started the whole damned night.

She asked, her voice bland of emotion, "Where were you tonight?"

I replied just as nonchalantly, "Out and about."

She looked my way, "You're always out and about."

I shrugged, "It's busy being a Squad Captain. Things get busier when someone dies."

"I thought no one died here in Grim."

"I thought that too."

The silence wasn't comfortable, to say the least, I flinched at every sound, at the rain that fell outside and the thunder that followed the flashes of light. Irene noticed and extended a hand onto my own and held it there.

Thoughts of Medina filled my head, memories flickered into being like candlelight as they replayed like a poorly directed movie, showing the most random of moments. Times when he laughed, times when he cried, times when he was brave, times when he was scared. Then tonight played in slow motion, the way the blade he trusted all these years sliced at his heart.

Irene was silent next to me, I wondered if she thought about her moments spent with Medina. Of everyone she'd spent the most time with him in the past week, training, eating, then training again. I didn't miss their silent conversations, as if years of friendship had formed in the past seven days bringing them closer than ever. He never faltered in his words when speaking to her, he stood straight and even smiled more.

Irene broke my train of thought as she choked faintly, "He died because of me."

I snapped my neck towards her, baffled she'd even think such a thing. But it must be natural to blame oneself for death since we've all been doing it. Weighing the 'what ifs' in our head on a biassed scale.

What if I'd been faster?

What if I'd been closer?

What if I'd been stabbed?

What if it had been me?

I shook my head and clasped Irene's hand. "No, he didn't."

She raised her voice, "Don't try and pretend we didn't see him take that blade in my stead. It was my death blow. It was supposed to be mine."

Her voice cracked like flowers being torn from the ground and I could hear the tears fall. She folded over bringing her knees tighter but still held onto my hand. The room was heavy with warmth and humidity, but her hand was colder than ice.

She muffled out weakly, "It was supposed to be mine."

I don't know if it was on instinct but I manoeuvred to cradle Irene in my arms. She fit perfectly into me, her head resting in the crook of my neck as my arms wrapped around the small of her back. She wore a shirt similar to mine that hugged her full curves. I rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her breaking heart. Shaking rapidly, she clung to my chest for dear life. I hugged her with that same desperation as if letting go meant certain death. We were sweaty and tired from the grief that clung to our hearts, of the memories and sadness that welled in our fractured minds.

I held Irene's shoulders firm as I forced her face to look at mine, "Look at me, hey, look at me."

I held her chin, it was wet from her tears that continued to fall. Her face was tense, and her facial muscles contorted into one of intense misery. The anguish that must have befallen her was lamentably huge and there was nothing I could do to lessen her burden.

I softened my grip on her face, "You're not to blame. No one is."

She shook her head as a single sob escaped her damp lips. I tried my hardest to stay strong not for me but for Irene whose world just kept crashing down.

"Medina's death was not your fault. You didn't throw the blade and you didn't make him jump in to save you. You didn't kill Medina, Medina simply saved you."

Irene's eyes were misty with droplets of pain. I forced myself to continue, "And you are worth it Irene, you are worth every sacrifice and Medina knew that. He decided for himself. You are not his choice."

"But I— but," she blubbered, trying to fit in words between her wails, "But it should be me that's dead. It would have been better off that way. "

I raised the hand she held to her heart and left it there. One. Two. One. Two. Her heartbeat reverberated through our clasped hands and I pressed just that bit harder for her to feel it. I didn't know where I was going with this but I had to try. "Feel that? That is your heartbeat. It beats for one reason, to keep you alive. Medina didn't lose his for you to take your own."

I tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear as she leaned in close for our foreheads to touch. I stared into her eyes, bright brown hues that glowed in the moonlight. In them, I could see anguish and innocence. It was sadly beautiful.

"Irene," I whispered, my hand now holding her face. Her head leaned into it as I repeated her name like a prayer, pouring my soul into each word. "Irene."

"I'm sorry you have to deal with me, bringing you down every single time."

"I'm here for you," I smiled, the first genuine one since, "Always."

Then she smiled back, not her classic contagious one where she shone brilliantly like the sun but more like the subtlety of the stars, where their glittering small lights are just enough to keep you in a state of wandering bliss. That's what I felt now: bliss.

Even though I lost a part of me today, a core element of my identity, a core element of me, Medina left one dazzling and precious thing behind.

Love.

Because what he'd done tonight was a sign of love, not the passionate kind but the type where you'd take a bullet for someone. Irene was that someone. She was that someone to everyone, even though she didn't realize it.

I never missed how she lifted the mood of the team and sent sparks flying in her curious wake. She brought the essence of joy wherever she went, and it felt like our duty to protect it. We may have lost our lives once, but we'd lose them again in a heartbeat for our miracle Irene. My miracle Irene.

I kissed her forehead, slick with sweat, and held my head there for a moment, then tucked her body beside me as we lay down in the bed, limbs entangled as we cherished one another. Each breath we felt, each rise of the other's chest in our embrace screaming "I'm here, I'm here for you!".

I couldn't help but allow for the exhaustion to take over, for the day to catch up to me. The endless walks, the endless work, the endless worry. I let it all cover me warm like a blanket and let my mind drift off into a world of its own.