A half-hour later the pain was bearable, so I could sit up and uncurl my body. My mother keeps humming, and somehow it's helping. It gets so much better than I'm able to get myself to the bathroom. Not upstairs, but still. At least I can walk.
It takes another hour for the pain to subside into a dull ache. Mom's trying to make me eat something, but I don't feel like it. Not until Peter comes back.
His thoughts finally come to me in little blips. He's worried. Freaked out. Desperate. I kinda hope he's been in as much pain. Which is horrible, but if he's been sitting around thinking I was fine, I'm going to be very upset. Epicly upset.
I get more feelings from him and one of them is pain. It's sharp and hard, just like mine. Only it's less physical and more of an emotional kind. Like someone's trying to scoop my soul out with a burning spoon. Well, this is fun. I go from sitting up to curling into the fetal position again. So much for progress. Mom is instantly alarmed. As if she wasn't already.
“What is it?”
“He's coming.” I have to grit my teeth again. Who knew your soul could hurt like that?
“I thought it was supposed to get better.”
“I'm just getting stuff from him. I guess I wasn't the only one in pain.” I try not to gloat.
When he's a mile away, I get his feelings so brilliant and close that I gasp. As if being away has somehow made our connection stronger.
Minutes later there is a crash outside and the front door almost flies off the hinges, he's in such a hurry. He really does look like an angel. I have one last thought that he must have flown because his wings are out before he wrenches me from the couch and into his arms. He isn't gentle. I don't care. Let him crush my ribs. He is here. And I want more.
And more and more.
When I can breathe again, he puts me down and clutches my face. I try to breathe, and find that it is not difficult. It is easy. What was I making such a fuss about?
“I am so sorry. Are you well?”
“I am now. Are you okay?” I feel like I need to check him all over to make sure he's all there. It's so damn good to see him. We just stand and stare for what feels like eternity. It might as well be.
At first we're serious, just basking in the fact that the other is here and we feel whole again. I get a luminescent joy from him that lights me up and I start laughing. He smiles, and it's so perfect I have to kiss him. There's a crash that resonates distantly. I don't bother to look until Peter pulls back and cranes his neck around. Oh yeah, my mom's still here. Imagine that.
She's standing at the other end of the couch. I notice there's a broken lamp on the floor. It's one of the lamps she'd gotten from my grandmother's house before she died. It was her favorite, with handpainted butterflies on it. I glance from the lamp to her, trying to connect the dots.
I think for a second how this must look from her perspective. Here I am, in massive amounts of pain and then this guy with a set of ginormous black wings bursts in, sweeps me up and then kisses me. I'd probably do more than break a lamp.
“See? All better.” I smile sheepishly at her. “I think you can put those away now,” I say to Peter.
“Ah, yes.” There's the Velcro sound and the wings suck their way back into his shoulders. Mom gasps and covers her mouth with her hand. It is pretty impressive. If I do say so myself.
“I am sorry for bursting in, but I could not let her suffer for one more moment.” His thumb traces my face, as if making sure everything is still in the same place. His eyes haven't left me. As if I'm the only thing he'll ever want to look at again. It goes both ways.
“It's fine.” I'm so happy, I'm sure I'll explode with it, sending glitter and sparkly goo everywhere. Peter's eyes and hands finally leave my face and he looks down at the lamp, moving away from me. I have to resist my urge to grab him and never let go.
“Let me clean that up for you. The glass will not cut me.” Mom still hasn't moved. The longer she stays frozen, the more worried I get. I hope I don't have to slap her or anything.
“Here,” I say, going to the kitchen to get a garbage bag and a broom. It's so nice to be able to move without pain. I still remember what it felt like. It's never going to happen again. If Peter has to strap me to his back, that's how it's going to go. Because I can't do it again. It would kill me.
Mom's staring at the broken lamp as if it's going to dance and sing and repair itself.
“Mom? Are you okay?”
Her eyes blink. “Fine. I'm fine,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “It was just, a little shocking. Just give me a moment.” She holds up one finger.
“Take your time. Maybe you should sit down.” I usher her to the couch and get her sitting. Water, I should get her a glass of water. It worked last time. Sort of.
Peter's busy cleaning up the lamp, and Mom doesn't look like she's going anywhere so I dash to the kitchen and fill a glass with cold water. I press it into her hand. She's staring off into space.
“Mom,” I say sharply. She looks up.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She wraps both hands around the glass and takes a sip.
“One moment you were in pain and the next he was here and there were these wings and he was picking you up and it was just a lot to see.” She drinks again. Peter cleans up the mess as quickly as he can.
“Um, maybe you should put a shirt on.” I don't want him to, but it might make him look more normal and maybe Mom will stop freaking out so much. “I have a sweatshirt upstairs you can borrow.” He nods and is back in about five seconds wearing my “District 12 Tribute” sweatshirt. It makes me want to laugh, but the situation is so unfunny that I can't muster up the humor.
“Those wings are very, impressive,” she says to Peter. He comes around the couch and stands next to me. “Does it hurt when you, ah, put them away?”
“No.”
“Where do they go?”
Blink.
Mom looks at me, confused.
“It's not really an exact science. It's more like magic than anything else.”
“Magic?”
“Yeah. There isn't really an explanation. It just is.” I shrug. Mom drains the glass.
“So you two are...” She points at each of us to indicate a relationship.
“It started before the Claiming, but yeah.” Eventually, I'm going to have to explain about the curse, but only if we can't break it ASAP. Which reminds me...
“Did you find anything out?”
“No.” So all that pain was for nothing? Oh, that's just fantastic.
Mom coughs. “I think I'm going to lie down, if you don't mind. Peter, you're welcome to stay.”