eight !
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Rosa sleeps most of the day and she assumes that Warren does too, but, when she wakes up, he's no where to be seen.

Until she rolls onto her back and sees him lying on one of the steel beams, wings hanging either side, one knee up and the other leg dangling down, swinging in the open air.

Can he even catch himself if he falls?

Using the wall to support herself, Rosa manages to stand, though she swears her ankle is worse than before. Then, she takes flight. Flapping her dark wings only a few times to ascend to his occupied beam.

She lands, balancing with her weight on one leg and using her wings to steady herself. Before she tumbles, she sits.

"Why are you still here?" He asks, slurring his words.

Her gaze snaps to him and, sure enough, he's acquired some kind of liquor and is sipping it steadily. A constant flow of alcohol streaming into his system. Blurring his mind and body.

"What?" Her features crush into a frown.

"Don't you have somewhere better to be than here?" He chugs from the bottle, watching her over its glass as he awaits her response, those blue eyes dulling with the substance. Flooded, breached by a bitter anger which swirls in turmoil, sinking ships and claiming lives.

"Yes," she says slowly, nodding her head, "I do, but I believe I would surely be struck down by karma herself if I left you here to rot."

He has no snarky response to that. He just stares at her with those unbelieving eyes shrouded in pain and intoxication.

"Can I have some?" Rosa asks quietly, unsure if he'll oblige.

To her surprise, he passes the bottle over and she takes it, eager for the taste of something other than blood. Dying to burn away her taste buds so she never has to taste it again. She glances at him and finds him watching her curiously.

So, she satisfies his curiosity as she puts the bottle to her lips and tilts her head back. Takes down a huge gulp, eyes watering at the poisonous taste, and throat burning as it trickles all the way down into her empty stomach.

Rosa wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and shoves the bottle back his way.

"That's awful," She comments when he takes another swig.

His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows it down. He glances away from her, bottle resting on his thigh, and replies, "That's the point."

"Give me more."

Again, he obliges and she takes another big gulp, understanding. This time, she doesn't hand it back straight away. She lets the cold of the glass sink into her thigh as the sensation subsides, final licking flames dying.

"Where would you go?" He asks, leaning forward for the bottle. She takes a quick swig before handing it back. "Do you have a home to go to?"

"I have a place where I stay, though I wouldn't call it a home." She picks at the frayed edge of the gash in her jeans, pulling on a loose thread. "It's a school."

"You still go to school?" Warren questions, suddenly reevaluating her age, but she shakes her head.

"I just live there. I used to teach the kids there how to fly. I've been there since I was seventeen because I guess that's the last time I had a home." She shrugs her shoulders, wings readjusting to the movement. This time she doesn't have to ask for him to hand her the bottle. "My parents didn't exactly want me near them or my sister."

"So, they kicked you out?"

She notes that he's full of questions. Maybe he is like her in that sense. Full of a lot of questions, but usually scared to ask them in fear of the repercussions. Maybe her honesty will quell that fear, if only a little.

"Sent me away at the first chance they got," She replies bitterly, the words as sour on her tongue today as they'd always been. She washes them down with the liquor, but the taste is stubborn. "Guess they were scared I'd murder my own sister. Or them."

Now it's starting to hit her.

"What about you? Have you got somewhere to go?" She asks boldly, despite knowing he's not one to share.

"If I did, I would've left by now," He responds, gaze shuttering as she stares into it, locking her out.

From some deep, desolate place inside of her, a laugh manages to bubble out. "I don't know whether or not to be offended that you would've left me behind."

He stares at her in wonder of the foreign noise. He knows it then that what he's about to say is true. "Who said I would've left you behind?"

And how could he after everything they'd endured? How could he consciously leave her here alone when he knows the ghosts that haunt him stalk her through the night too?

Those bronze eyes of hers shift molten as trust forges little by little. As tender and delicate as a newborn and yet fiercely bold. Taking stride after stride hand in hand.

Rosa wets her lips, the taste of liquor greeting her darting tongue, and manages to smile thinly for the first time in days.

"For the record," she says, flexing her wings behind herself as the alcohol begins to settle in, lighting her body with a brand new buzz beyond the physical exhaustion, "I wouldn't have let you leave without me anyways."

Warren almost cracks a smile and she takes that as her first success with him, wondering how long it will take to earn his trust completely.

-

-

Rosa lies back on the metal beam staring up at the ceiling, hands folded over her stomach.

Through intoxication, her body no longer aches in the same way as it did before. Even with her injured leg, complete with her swollen ankle and metal bullet lodged into the flesh of her thigh.

The dull throb remains, but no longer screams at her every slight movement. As if she has the capability to do anything about it but wait for it to heal. Impatient and yet powerless. Quietly thankful for her enhanced healing from her mutation, though knowing the bullet will be sealed inside.

The first rumble of thunder jolts Rosa from her doze. Her eyes fly open and she pushes herself up as she stares out into the world beyond the warehouse.

Without a word, she drops down from the beam, cursing as her leg fails beneath her and she's forced to compensate with a beat of her wings. She wets her dry lips with a darting tongue, stepping out into the pouring rain and welcoming its cold embrace as she's never done before.

Wings extended, raindrops rushing along and between feathers, and her face turned into the sky, she finds a moment of natural bliss amongst all the dark.

The rain melts into her cheeks and she reaches her hands to her face, beginning to scrub beneath the downpour. Washing away the blood of her deceased opponents at last. For a moment, she only smears it around on top of her paled skin, but then the unrelenting rain pulls through and washes the ichor away.

At some point, Warren joins her, watching from inside, though his presence is a blur in the background as she welcomes the rain. Not caring as her clothes cling to her slender body, as it drips ice cold down her back, as it soaks her feathers.

A moment of relief in a world of fear and shadows.

She pushes her sopping hair back from her face and turns to him with wild eyes, burning brighter despite the drops of rain running like rivers down her.

"Come on," She beckons, stepping towards him, forgetting again about the injuries to her leg. This time when her wings catch her as she stumbles they shake water into the air around her.

When he doesn't move, she hops into the air and crosses the distance between them. As impulsive as always, Rosa lifts her dripping hands to his face and swipes away crusted blood without a second thought.

Her touch catches him off guard and he steps backwards, but watches her fingers as the blood washes away in moments.

"What if someone sees us?" He asks, his broken wings twitching.

"They won't," She replies. "No one in their right mind would be out in the middle of this storm." Against all odds, she grins right at him and he decides she's not wrong.

He takes a few steps forwards and stands beneath the rain. The relief is immediate as it lashes him with fresh water. Running over his every feature, cleansing his every wound, and washing away a little piece of him with the blood.

Rosa watches him as he turns his eyes to the sky and chances moving closer. Those wonderful white wings still stained red hang awkwardly behind him as the rain offers no consolation for his loss.

"Let me help," She offers, reaching out trembling fingertips towards him. He jerks away. "Warren, it'll get infected."

"They're no use to me anyway," He snaps, his jaw clenching tight, though not moving when this woman who'd been a stranger to him only days ago steps even closer. So close he can see the faint scars on her expression and the care dotted inside her molten eyes.

"They're connected to your spine. They get infected, so does your spine. Then, not only can you not fly, but you can't walk either." Her words are cold and clinical, yet her eyes shine with hot tears. "So," she breathes out shakily, "let me help."

This time, he lets those outstretched fingers make contact with his wing.

With nothing better to use, her hands were all she has to clean the wound. To wipe away the dried blood and flush out any infection that might be forming.

Whens he gets a little to close to the burn, her groans, his hand shooting out to grip onto her shoulder. Rosa hesitates, but, when he makes no move to stop her, pushes on, though her stomach churns inside of her, rolling over and over.

A bent feather falls out beneath her touch and collapses to the floor, bombarded by the rainfall.

He focuses on her through the pain. As her hands work on his wings, he stares right into her. Wonders if she'll ever be able to walk properly again. Put all of her weight on that leg again. Is the bullet still in there? Or is there an exit wound too?

Those eyes of liquid bronze flit between his wings and his face as she works with the most care anyone has shown him in a long time. He can't even remember the last time someone cared whether he lived or died.

But then Rosa Lacuna walked into his life and refused to leave.

A shot of pain shoots along his wing as she washes the wound directly and he hisses through his teeth, grip on her shoulder clenching. A breath rasps from his mouth, worn and shaken.

Her eyes snap to him, locking into his depths of blue. "I'm sorry, Warren, I know it hurts."

He nods his head and she continues, almost finished but knowing that doesn't mean much. The pain won't end when she lets go.

Seeing him so terribly broken sends her heart lurching in anger, the fire inside of her roaring in her ears as her hands drop from his wings.

"The reckless part of me wants to fly right back to them and kill every single one of them for doing this to us," She chokes out despite the way her throat closes as the furious tears build behind her lashes.

"They'd kill you," He replies, rain running into his mouth when he speaks, though it's a welcome freshness to wash away the alcoholic burn on his tongue.

"That prospect scares me less and less the longer I burden this pain, the longer I watch you suffer." She swallows down the lump in her throat, hot tears spilling over as it all becomes too much. They merge with the rain. Indistinguishable. "They deserve to know our pain. To feel it like we do."

His hand draws back from her shoulder. "I know, but you're in no state to fulfil that promise and neither am I. We'd die the moment we stepped foot in that hell. Or worse, land ourselves back in a cage."

Her hands lurch for him. Take a hold of either side of his face as she chokes out, "I would rather die than play their games again." The unspoken meaning hangs between them as her hot hands clutch onto him, desperate and yet soft. "Do you understand me?"

Warren nods his head and she releases him.

He swears he can hear the thundering beat of her heart as she searches his face for anything at all. Doesn't know what she's looking for and doesn't find it anyway.

"We should get out of the rain," She says quietly, the fire nothing more than embers now. Flickering as the rain swallows the flames whole.

Her fury retreats to its shadows as she steps back inside the warehouse, Warren following behind.

She's silent as she ascends to the beam once more and lies back, dripping rainwater onto the concrete below. He comes to rest on the other side of the beam, but she pays him little attention as she tries to block out the ghosts circling beneath, slow and blood thirsty.

Like swarming sharks eager to feed the moment her corpse rolls from its perch.

With half her mind willing to just take the plunge and turn herself in, the other begs herself to survive. To keep on walking even through the agony and so, undecided, Rosa lets her eyes flutter closed and greets sleep with open arms, welcoming the release.

-

2354 words
24.2.19

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