Re: Elevator: Inside
"No, no, no!" he all but shouted at her in protest, her laughter grating at him, her bare body pressed too close for comfort. "He is here. He listens. He is always here." But even as he said it, he started to doubt his words. Why did He not answer, then? If He was here, if He was listening, why did he allow this to continue?
Doubt plagued him, bitter on his tongue, so much so that he had to close his eyes against it, another tear, another shudder, these self-inflicted for once, born of his own worry and doubt. If He wasn't there, then where was He? Did He even exist? Or was this life, this existence, just a masquerade with a bitter end?
Motion pulled him out of his thoughts and back to the reality at hand, her arm coming around him, fingers laying against his wing. The touch was unwelcomed, unwanted, and he tried to wrench away from her in disgust, at least until her hand and nails caught in the wing. Then he went still, oh so still, even his heart skipping a beat in his effort not to move. Terror etched itself upon his face, olive skin growing deathly pale as he felt the fibers of that wing, of his very being begin to separate.
It wasn't pain that he felt so much as dread, dark and pooling in the pit of his being, and it took all that he had not to simply start crying out of fear. "Please stop. Please don't touch them. Please!" he all but begged, the wings giving a flutter, responsive to his emotions, trembling even when he held himself still.