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"Omen, you know you don't have to leave. You can stay for a couple more nights," Amaryllis asked, laying a hand softly on his shoulder, trying to coax him back into the hospital.
He knew that another night of rest would help him, his body still felt drained, and when he moved too quickly, the world would spin around him, but he didn't feel like staying was an option he had.
Omen knew that Amaryllis would always make room for him when needed, but a full bed took away space from someone who needed it more. It wasn't his only reason for leaving; he had to make his way back. It had been days since he was last at the safe house; within that time, Val could have come back. "It's alright, Rhyllis. I promise I'll stop by later this week," Omen tried to reassure them as he brushed off their hand and made his way out the door.
Valentina had left him a year ago, and he was starting to lose hope that she would come back. The last month he barely left their home; he stayed until he ran out of food and until he could no longer sleep, worrying that she would come in the night and go with her things. He barely reached Rhyllis's hospital before he collapsed from hunger and exhaustion.
He pulled a hood over his head, making sure that it hid his green hair. Omen kept close to alleyways on his way back to the base, ducking behind signs and bins whenever someone approached too close. The safe house was only safe for as long as no one knew where it was, and with the reputation that Val tended to develop on occasion, it was dangerous to be recognized.
The trek back took him longer than usual, ducking down into alleys to let his breath steady and his head settle down.
Omen managed to reach the safe house without any incident, the streets around it abandoned. Even with the silence, he could feel something wrong before he even reached the building. He slipped the knife out of the holster on his arm and kept it outstretched in front of him as he shoved his way through the front door. The room in front of him was empty, and yet there was a chill racing up his spine.
Omen tested the grip on his knife; he spared the rest of the empty room a glance before making his way towards the staircase that would take him to the second floor. At the top of the first flight of stairs, he started to notice drops of blood; by the third staircase, it had begun to pool every couple of steps.
The closer he came to the top floor, the more Omen tensed, adjusting his hand every couple of minutes to make sure that the tight grip wouldn't numb his hand and to steady the shaking in his body. The pooling blood was a good sign. If it came down to a fight, they would be at a disadvantage. Omen might be weak, but at least he wasn't injured. A bleeding wound was just another hit point that would cause the other person pain, and the blood loss would make them weak.
He reached the final door, bracing against it to take another moment to steady his breath. This was the final room; if someone were here, this would be the last place they could be. He burst through the room, surveying the area in front of him. Everything was intact except for the desk, where his usual clutter was replaced with medical supplies that weren't there previously.
The chair in front of him spun around, and without thinking, he flung the knife in his hand towards the spinning chair. He missed, the knife sailing past the chair and into the wall behind it. Omen grabbed at his leg and pulled out a second knife, preparing himself for a fight that he knew was coming.
"Damn Omen, you've gotten jumpier since I last saw you," Val smiled, seemingly unphased by the knife that had only just passed her ear. `
It had been months since they had been in the same room together; she had left him off on one of her adventures after he begged her to stay. She looked the same, glasses slightly crooked, purple hair curling around her eyes. She looked the same, yet nothing was the same as a year ago.
Val's smile dropped, "you wouldn't have missed a year ago," she tried again, as if she knew the direction that his thoughts had went to. Like usual, she was right; a year ago he never would have missed, but a year ago he never would have had cause to throw a knife at her.
The room began to spin, and Omen shut his eyes until his eyelids began to ache from the pressure.He felt sick, his heart had dropped into his stomach and the sudden lurch had brought back the nausea he had felt earlier. He didn't know if this was real. This wasn’t the first time that she had stood in front of him in this way, many times she had visited him in his dreams and his hallucinations. If he shut his eyes, she would disappear. She couldn’t be real.
He opened his eyes to see her still standing there, as solid as she was a minute ago; clutching the arms of the chair with a worried look on her face.
He tried to speak, his voice disappearing before he even opened his mouth. He wanted to ask her if she was real, and yet the only thing he could manage was a whisper of her name.
Valentina stepped forward, her entire body trembling, "I missed you, Omen."
He had missed her, more than anything, but at this moment all he felt was rage. She was the one who chose to leave. She betrayed him, and yet she still had the nerve to show up like it was nothing and tell hime that she was the one who missed him.
Omen had begged her not to leave, to not take this job; they didn’t need the money that badly. Valentina had promised him that she would stay, and the next morning she was gone without any note, without an apology. She was the one who chose to leave, who stayed away for a year, leaving him to wonder if she was dead, if she was ever going to come back.
"Maybe you shouldn't have left," he snapped back.
Val took another step forward, "Omen, please," she pleaded, her voice wavering.
He didn't know when but his voice rose, he screamed at her until his throat had rubbed itself raw. He was angry at her for abandoning him, for promising not to leave, for disappearing in the night when she vowed to stay until the next day, for not coming back sooner, for not telling him that she was okay. He was yelling at her for staying, for letting him trust her, letting him love her even though he knew that she would always go.
Omen didn't know when but at some point, his words had failed him, and he was screaming—screaming until his voice was cracking, until he was sobbing until it hurt to exist. He didn't want her to leave, not again, not for that long. She couldn't leave him again. She had to stay, he couldn’t do this without her, not again. He couldn’t have someone leave him again.
It was too much, everything was too much, he was falling, and Val was grabbing onto him, and then they were falling together. She was sinking to the floor, and she was crying too.
It hurt, everything hurt, and she was real. Val was real, and she was real, and she was holding him.
"Why did you leave me," he whimpered, clutching onto her shoulders, pressing himself closer to her. Gripping onto her shirt, pressing his face into her neck as he continued to sob even harder. He wanted to be closer to her, fearing that if he wasn’t touching her she would evaporate and so would his memories of her.
He couldn't tell what she was saying, only that she was repeating the same words over and over again, brushing her fingers through his hair, clutching onto him just as tightly as he was holding onto her.
He didn't know how long they sat there; it could have been minutes or hours; all he knew was that it didn't feel like it was enough.
When they pulled away from each other, Omen was no longer crying, his eyes had dried long ago, and his body was shaking like a tree stuck in a windstorm. He kept his eyes closed, pressing his forehead against hers, taking in one breathe after another. He felt her fingers trace his sides trailing up until they met his face and rubbed at the tears stained under his eyes, waiting for him to open them.
He opened his eyes slowly, watching Val's brown eyes stare at him, red from tears and her face wet like his. She didn't say anything at first, instead choosing to brush his hair away from his face, tucking his hair behind his ears before sliding her hands down to cup his face again.
"I'm never leaving again. I'm never leaving you again." She whispered, her hands sliding down to link behind his neck.
He was crying again, this time, Val was ready to catch them, brushing away every drop before it made its way down his neck, and she was crying again too, apologizing for leaving, telling him that she loved him over and over again.
He threw himself back down to her, clutching at her again, and she was kissing him. His eyes hurt, his lips stung already bruised and bitten raw over the past hour, and he could feel her fingers digging into his sides that would leave purple bruises the following day. And all he wanted was to hold her longer, to kiss her longer, until his lungs would hurt and the next gasp of air would taste like her.
He was gasping when he pulled away from her, feeling like he had only just learned how to breathe properly, and this was his first gasp of fresh air. She was leaning down to kiss him again, kissing the corners of his mouth, tracing her mouth over the outline of his jaw before moving back to press her lips delicately against his again, so soft that he could have sworn it was a feather brushing against them.
He tried to speak again, but found his voice gone, so instead, he tried to pull away. He moved to slide off her lap before her hands tightened around his waist and her eyes widened in fear. Omen slid his hand down, finding Val's hand on his waist, prying her fingers off before lacing his hand into hers.
Omen squeezed back before letting go and sliding off of her, Shakingly making his way to his feet before reaching down to pull Val up with him.
She stumbled when he pulled her up, latching onto his shoulders to steady herself, "Sorry," she whispered again before shoving him roughly into the wall behind him—pressing her arms into the space above him.
"Val, please…" He begged; he didn't know what exactly. He didn't know if he was asking for this to be over, if he was asking for time to sleep after all the pain of today or if he was asking her to come back, to hold him as tightly as she was before, hard enough for it to hurt. For it to feel like she was stuck to him, welded to his body so she wouldn't be apart from him again.
He didn’t know what he needed, but she did. Pressing closer to him again and pressing her lips firmly against his. Yanking at his hair.
He reached towards her placing his hands on her waist, and she cried out, her arm quickly dropping to her right side where her shirt was in tatters and the skin peeking through was red.
"Val, I'm sorry, please, Val," he croaked out, blaming himself for the injury. He couldn't believe he had almost killed her; how stupid had he been coming charging through the room with a knife. He knew to look before he threw; why didn't he look. He didn't even know when he dropped the second knife, had he cut her? Was this his fault, he was so angry at her, was terrified she had died, and here he had almost killed her.
He moved her to their bed, reaching for her shirt, trying to pull it off of her to uncover the wound before she grabbed at his wrist, pulling at them to get him to look at her. "It's alright; it wasn't you okay, it's alright?" She reassured him, getting him to sit in front of her.
She let go of him before moving to pull the shirt over her head, revealing the stitched-up wound. "I got caught on some barbed wire, the stitches pulled when I broke in, but I'm alright now," she promised him, explaining the story.
He listened to her, waiting for her to explain everything, the months filled with fear, betrayed by the person paying her. Val told him about the months she spent on the run, her regret for leaving, and her anxiety about not making it back home.
Omen, in turn, had confessed how much her leaving had destroyed him, his anger, and his fear. He told her about the hospital, about what he had done to his body in retaliation for his guilt and self-hatred.
They talked until the following day.
He didn't forgive her, not entirely, but they could get past this; they had to. Their lives had been an angry sea, full of violence and fear. But this, what they had was a life jacket.