“Yeah, I’m sure.” He studied her as she picked up the shards of glass carefully and tossed them in a nearby trash can. In the dimmed bar, she looked like a younger version of Gabrielle. When she returned, his eyes followed the length of the track marks up her arms. His hand touched a baggie inside his pocket, and he smiled. A thought came to mind as to how he could get back at Gabrielle and have a little fun at the same time.
He gave the woman his most smoldering look. “What’s your name?”
Her eyes darkened. “Megan,” she said breathlessly.
He leaned over and tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Interested in a good time?”
***
Lash concentrated on the pressure that grew in the pit of his stomach. His body swayed back and forth, relishing the heat on his skin—the only type of warmth that could give him respite from the numbness of the last thirty-five years.
At first, he’d thought of it as an adventure, living among humans. He was honestly curious about what it felt like to be on the other side. He thought he’d be forgiven and taken back into the fold. It wasn’t like he’d committed a deadly sin or anything like that. But months had turned into years and years into decades. When he’d realized he was never going home, his heart had grown cold.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to erase the smug expression on Gabrielle’s face when he was ordered out, but it was seared in his mind.
It bothered him that he had been kicked out so easily. Didn’t they recognize how difficult it was for him to help people who were so ungrateful? It had gotten to the point that many felt entitled to receive what he had to give. People believed that all they had to do was ask and they would receive. Yeah, there were times that he went against orders, but it all worked out in the end, and his assignments were left the better for it. When it came to the little girl who truly did deserve to live, he’d gone on pure instinct. He had been certain that Michael would be on his side about it. Well, fuck that, and fuck his job.
A moan distracted him from his thoughts, and he looked down at the source. Strands of bottled-blond hair swayed in synchrony with his hips, brushing against his thighs. Hot, wet sensations engulfed him as he pressed faster into the slick depths of her mouth, desperate for heat, for release from the darkness that overwhelmed him.
“Fuck!” he cried as the pressure within him erupted. In that small moment, he escaped from the invisible chains that tied him to the cold, and warmth spread across his body. He was home again, walking under the bright blue skies, the sun shining on his face.
As quickly as it came, the feeling disappeared and a chill slid up his back, causing him to shudder. The stench of rotten eggs and urine hit him abruptly, and his eyes flashed open. He was back in the hellhole that was his life now. Yesterday it was the Triple Leaf Motel; today it was The Lucky Seven Inn. They were all the same. So were the women who helped him find his escape, even if it was only for a minute.
Green eyes gazed at him. He imagined it was her face, the one that had condemned him to his fate to walk the earth, far away from family and friends. “Swallow it.”
Megan gulped then stood slowly, rubbing her thin, naked body up against his. “Come on, baby, give me a hit,” she purred.
He reached for his jeans, pulled out a baggie of clear crystal, and tossed it to her.
She squealed and ran to the other side of the room where her purse lay. She threw its contents on the floor, causing a scurry of roaches to run for cover.
Lash walked to the kitchen, if you could call it that in a one-room studio. He poured a glass of whiskey as he watched Megan. Like a surgeon, her hands moved with precision, holding a lighter under a rusty spoon with one hand and a needle in the other. For a brief moment, his conscience pricked with guilt.
“Oh, baby, this is some good shit!” She loosened the band from her arm, crawled onto the bed, and looked at him seductively. “Why don’t you join me?”
In the dim light, he saw a hint of the beauty she once was. It was obvious her drug habit had taken its toll—her hair hung limp and greasy, and her skin looked sallow. Needle-tracked arms reached out to him. “Come here. I’ll help you.”
“I’d need a lot more than that to get any kind of lift off.” He picked her clothes from the floor and tossed them to her. “Put them on.”
She tugged a faded, purple t-shirt down her head. “Why is that? Are you some kind of superhuman or something?”
He snorted. “If I show you something, promise to keep it a secret?”
She crawled to the edge of bed. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” She made the sign of the cross over the left part of her chest.
Lash smirked and took a step back. He dropped his arms to his side, palms facing upward, and relaxed his shoulders. Then, he pushed.
The girl gasped at the sound of tearing skin.
“What are you doing?” she cried as droplets of blood fell to the floor.
He smiled. “Wait. There’s more.”
Her eyes widened as two white objects emerged, lining the length of his back. He gave one final push and they expanded.
“What the ….” She rubbed her eyes. “Fuck me! You’re an angel.”
She jumped at the sound of someone knocking at the door.
“Lahash, it is I, Raphael. Open the door. I know you are in there.”