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There are no words - no words. nothing to say. nothing to help.- not really. Nothing in any language can truly capture the kaleidoscope of emotions - churning. tumbling. dragging you under. - in your mind. Nothing can explain the weight - stuttering. pounding. shattering your fragile peace.- settled on your heart. Nothing can give voice to the ache in your chest - crushing. suffocating. sucking the air from your lungs.- threatening to crack you open and spill you out.
What are you supposed to say - no words. no words. no words. -? That you felt numb - empty. silenced. a void. -? That your heart is broken - split. fragmented. rent asunder never to be whole again. -? That you feel like you are suffocating and you aren’t sure whether or not letting yourself surrender to the darkness would be a relief - rest. freedom. a reprieve from the cacophony of feelings -?
You wrap an arm around your middle burrowing further into the cocoon of blankets, not enjoying the warmth - comfort. closeness. soothing. all the things it should be but isn’t. - the hide-a-way should provide. Your eyes are dry - stinging. red. swollen with all your unshed tears.-. You can’t decide if that is a blessing or a curse. The stillness in your body - eerie. deceptive. the calm before the storm. - would be unsettling if you had the capacity to feel beyond the swirling whirlpool - swirling. sinking. deeper and darker and how will you ever swim back up to the surface - you’re already sucked into.
Logically you know you aren’t processing what happened; that’s why you haven’t cried. But you can’t bring yourself to care. The stillness swaddles you, and you revel in it.
Has it been minutes? Hours? Days? Time means nothing within the riptide - unstoppable. all-consuming. towing you beyond your control. - you ride. Your life is measured in knocks and calls and check-ins. You have no response for any of them. Nothing - nothing. nothing. nothing. - to offer the worried faces and increasingly insistent questions.
Through the haze - foggy. muddled. like looking through dirty glasses. - you catch some words: comatose, unresponsive, dangerous. Someone mentions home, your home, away from the Devildom. Your eyes are no longer dry.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The next time you are aware of your surroundings, Lucifer is speaking to someone outside your room. They are discussing returning you to the human world. Getting you to someone there who can help bring you back from your stupor. Help? The only help for you is time. Though you have some doubts about how effective time will be. You stop listening.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
You’re moving. The cocoon is slipping away. No. NO. Why are they taking your peace? Who? Who would do this to you? Stop. STOP. The cocoon comes back. You sink into your safe haven, safe again.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
You think you can hear time moving, now. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock… It is moving so quickly... Or is it slowly? You can’t tell. Does it matter? - it doesn’t matter. doesn’t matter. doesn’t matter. -
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It’s warm. - why is it warm? - You can feel heat - pulsing. piercing. seeping through the cracks in your soul. - radiating from outside your cocoon… Your jaw relaxes, then your neck, then your whole body settles. You feel almost peaceful.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
You wake. Did you sleep? You actually slept. You don’t remember sleeping recently until now. The heat is still around you. Shifting, you sink further into the warmth. Maybe you will sleep again. The sleep felt… healing? Not whole. Not remotely whole. You are still picking up the pieces, cutting your hands on the shards - what’s one more source of pain? - as you gather them. But it is a slow, strange sort of progress. Slumber claims you again.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It’s warmer; like the sun is in your room. It feels lovely; you could almost smile. Almost. You stretch, crack your eyes, and rollover. You don’t know how much time has passed but it feels significant that you are emerging from your cocoon, your safety. But you continue on, determined to discover the source of your newfound comfort. As you move, something shifts away from you. Someone.
“Little Lamb,” the rich tones of the voice you know so well reach your ears. “My Little Lamb.”
You must be a sight, you know you are, but you couldn’t ever resist that voice. Raising your face, you meet Simeon’s eyes.
“My Little Lamb.” He reaches out and brushes some hair from your forehead. “It’s good to see your eyes. I’ve missed them.”
Any response you would give is stuck in your throat. You stare, unable to take your eyes from what you’ve identified as the source of the warmth that has been comforting you. Something wells in your chest; moving up, up, and up until the dam breaks.
You choke on the sob before it passes your lips and collapse into Simeon’s waiting arms. He strokes your head, whispering comforting words as the tears flow until you are wrung dry again.
“I’m here, my Lamb.”
He doesn’t offer empty words of comfort or unkeepable promises of healing. Just his presence. Just his time. Just his heart. You trust him with the pieces of yours in return, hoping between the two of you you will figure out how to fit the pieces back together again.