Undone by a Broken Angel

34.) Too Much Heat

"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth!  For your love is better than wine;"

-Song of Solomon 1:2

Abigail:

The only way I am able to stop is focusing on the pain in my hands.  How can my hands move when they’ve been frozen in place for the past day and a half?  When did I start playing?  What caused me to start in the first place?  Where did that come from?  I’ve never laid hands on a piano before, so how did I do that?

I hear a groan from behind me.  I see Abe on his knees, panting.  “What’s wrong?!”  I ask, rushing to him, allowing him to wrap his arms around my shoulders and I tuck my numb hands between us.

“What was that?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I reply.

“Where did you learn, then?” he wonders, awe on his face.

“Nowhere.  That was the first time I’ve ever touched a piano,” I admit, trying to convey my shock.

“Impossible,” he breathes, eyeing me with more than wonder now.  It looks as though he’s come to some sort of conclusion, but he’s too speechless to share his findings.

I notice that I’m getting blood on his clothes, so I pull away.  He grabs my wrists and pulls my hands to his face to take a good look at them. “Why are you so reckless?” he demands to know, rage flaring in his eyes.  “I hope they hurt!” he curses, throwing them away from him as though they’ve burned him.

His anger seems to wake them up and the pain surges back twice as bad as before, the throbbing seeming to take all rational thought out of my mind.  It feels like the sword just went through again; the throbbing feels  as though they have hearts of their own.  Tears fall from the corners of my eyes.  How in the world did I use them, anyway?  Once my fingers had tingled, they moved, but when the tingling stopped, my hands were stiff once again.  It makes no sense!

Then I notice that Abe is touching me with hardly a shadow attached to him.  “Abe, you’re…”

“I know.  Whatever was in your music helped.  You can feel the change too, can’t you?”  His eyebrows are drawn together, showing him turn over information in his mind.

I nod.

He stands up, pulling me with him.  His deep brown eyes look at me with admiration and wistfulness.  He’s never looked at me like this before, or at least  not with me noticing.  Is it because his disease isn’t threatening control of his body?  Is he cured?  “Abby…” he moans, brushing his fingers across my parted lips, over my cheek, and then through the roots of my hair.  He pushes me up against the wall, pinning his body against mine.

I gasp in shock, but my body responds immediately.  My heart races, heat breaking out over my skin, and there’s a tightening low in my stomach.  I want him, but I can’t want him; not like this.  I feel his other hand slip between my back and the wall and he pulls me up against him, my body fitting perfectly against his.  My heart accelerates even more and my breathing becomes raspy, his heart beats fast against my chest.  I know what he is trying to do, and I can’t let him do it even though every cell in my body is rejoicing.

His lips search for mine and they come dangerously close.  I can feel his breath on my lips and I want to capture it. I want him to close the space between us and let me have some sort of release from all this rising need.  His lips could mean death for me, I remind myself and turn away just in time, frustration filling me up and sparking a flame of anger inside me that I cannot have the man I want.  Unperturbed, he kisses my ear instead, causing tingles to run up my body- and then he says, “what I’m about to say cannot affect you, do you understand?”

“Then don’t say it,” I manage to say, but I want him to say it. 

“I can’t hold them back,” he swallows and I feel his stomach move as he takes a deep breath.  “I think I have fallen for you.  You must know by now.”  His body relaxes with relief.  “Damn it!” he exclaims, logic appearing to flood back to him.

But it’s too late.  He can’t take them back.  He can’t take back the joy running through my mind.  He can’t take back the mountain of problems he’s caused.  “I know,” I reply, my voice sounding foreign.  This is bad.  What are we going to do now?  Why do I feel so happy?

“Abigail?  Abraham?  Are you down here?” I hear Dianna’s voice holler.

Abe doesn’t respond to her either by choice, or by being lost in the moment.  The hand in my hair travels down to the bottom of my head and angles it up so I’m looking at him square in the face.  I bite my lips together.  He can’t!  He can’t or I’ll die!

“Abraham?” her voice sounds closer.

His mouth is inching its way to mine.  “Abe,” I whisper, “stop!”

He blinks just in time and backs away.  “Sorry,” he says.  “I lost myself.”

“It’s okay,” I pant, trying to catch my breath, my body all riled up.

“Oh my!” Dianna says.  “What happened here?” she’s referring to the blood soaked room.  I look down at my hands and see blood dripping down them, my white dress totally ruined.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.  I’ll clean it up right away,” I apologize.

“Come with me, child, let’s get you cleaned up.”  She grabs my arm and pulls me away, giving Jack a warning look.  She takes me to an empty room and sets me down on a cot.  This room looks like an exam room of some kind and it gives me unpleasant vibes.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.     

“You’re a savior,” she says, grabbing bandages from a cupboard.

“Pardon me?”

She pulls down a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and opens the cap, pouring it onto my hands.  It fizzes at once and I wince from the stinging sensation.  She pats them dry once she’s satisfied they’re cleaned up.  “Whatever was in your music helped them- drove the sickness from their bodies.”

I cured them?  No way.  That’s all they needed, was a bit of music?  Couldn’t she do that on her own?  Why would she send for our help?  Is this the answer for Abraham?  “I don’t understand.  If music was all-“

“No dear.  Your music helped them.  I needed Abraham here to help me distinguish if it was a real sickness or if it was the virus.  I needed him to tell me if they could be saved.”

“And my music helped them how?”  I wonder, thoughts racing through my mind, sparking a different flame, one of hope.

“You have a very… unique ability, Miss Grace,” she tells me, giving me a knowing look, though I have no idea what she means by it.

She sighs.  “I’ll have to send David in to heal these wounds.  I won’t be able to heal them on my own.”

“In the meantime, will you take a look at Abe’s head?  He was hit pretty hard.”

She smiles and pats my knee.  “You’ll make a wonderful queen, Abigail.”

I smile as she leaves the room.  A few minutes later Abe comes in.

“So what did she say about your head?” I ask.

“Hello,” not Abe’s voice replies.  I startle, taking a better look at him and discover that he is not Abe.  He has a bigger build, perhaps because he’s older.  He has scruff on his face, something I overlooked.  “I’m David McKinley, Abraham’s older brother.”

“I apologize, you look so alike.”  This is the first time I’m meeting one of my possible husbands to be.  Suddenly I’m nervous and I find myself blushing from embarrassment.  This is the man Abe admires.  This is the man Abe feels threatened by.

He chuckles.  “Yeah, we get that a lot.  It’s an honor to meet you, Princess.  I was overjoyed to hear that you were found.  We’ve been looking for so long.”

I smile awkwardly, not knowing what to say to that.

He isn’t expecting an answer, and turns his attention to my injuries.  “So, what is it that hurts?”

I hold up my hands.  “They’re pretty bad.”

He turns them over.  “You’re not joking; no wonder Abe couldn’t do anything about them.  This is going to be a complicated heal.”

“Don’t worry if you can’t fix them right now, I know you need your rest.”

He shakes his head.  “As far as I know, we need your hands to play music.”

I suppose he has a point, though I don’t know what my music has to do with the grand scheme of things.  Just then I feel heat enter my wounds and jump from the great pain that it causes.  I can’t help but let out a whimper.  I silence it, or at least try to, but I squirm in discomfort.

“A reaper blade did this?” he asks.

All I can do is nod.  The pain continues as the heat persists.  Sweat accumulates on my forehead from resisting the pain and a building scream.  I notice beads of sweat on his brow too.  He’s working hard.  “Don’t push yourself,” I say quickly so a yelp won’t escape.

“Oh, this is a piece of cake!”  He takes a deep breath.  “Don’t worry your pretty face, Princess.”

Pretty face?  Princess?  Now he has two black marks to his name.