This Is An Angel?! - 2. Chapter 2

I scrunched my eyes closed from the intense heat. Fire crackled all around me. It was so orange and so bright, that I was sure I’d never see any other colour ever again. Even through my closed lids, I could see its overwhelming brightness.

My lungs ached from the thick sooty air, it was as if giant fists were crushing them. I heard coughing and I opened my eyes again to try to see where it was coming from.

The smoke was making it harder and harder to breathe. I never knew smoke could be so thick. I feared I’d drowned.

I’d only just taken a few steps forward when the roof fell through. A blast of hot air and flecks of burning ash rushed towards my face, my eyes felt like they were boiling in their sockets. Everything blurred.

I heard a strained voice and I desperately tried to move towards it, but the way was blocked with flames. I turned away hoping to find another way to them, but I was surrounded by raging fire.

I fell to the floor, no longer able to breathe in enough oxygen, my body refusing to respond any longer. I coughed uncontrollably as the smoke invaded my lungs, tearing the inside of my throat with more burning heat.

I woke up covered in sweat, the dream sliding away like sand through fingers.

I showered and got ready for work. It was obviously going to be a warm morning. But I didn’t care —or so I told myself— and pulled on a white woolly jumper anyway. It was my favourite. It gave my pale skin a slight glow and my dark blond curls and light brown eyes a soft look. Or at least I liked to think it did. I’d been told I have a baby face on occasions and although the fluffiness slightly accentuated that, I felt the rather tight fit showed that I was very much an adult man.

The thought of wearing the fluffy white fabric when at the office made me feel slightly giddy and rebellious, which I knew was silly —maybe even childish— but I was used to wearing plain grey or black and the occasional light blue, during work hours. And certainly never anything fluffy.

I knew they would make comments on it, but I would feel a sense of pride knowing that I at least somewhat controlled those comments.

Why should I be made to feel stupid about wearing it if I knew doing so was stupid in the first place?

I put on a thin shirt underneath to ensure I didn’t end up being too warm. I found one in a haphazardly folded pile of clean laundry that Ginger was curled on top of. Her orange fur that resembled her name (well, no one said I was good at naming things) coated the top shirt, the exact one I planned to wear.

“Thanks for the cat hairs,” I told her after placing her back on top of the pile so that she could get the next shirt fully layered in ginger fluff.

She let out an adorable trilling sound, before curling back up in the same position as before, looking as if she’d never been moved.

Yeah, the shirt was completely coated in fur but I pulled it on anyway, giving my co-workers something else to bitch about if I ended up needing to take the jumper off.

I gave Ginger a scratch on the head, and she curled around so her tummy was in the air, but I managed to avoid the temptation to tickle it. I tried to soothe myself with her soft fur as my stomach did strange nervous flips. I wasn’t nervous about work or my co-workers I was certain of that. This felt different.

The only thing I could compare it to was the feeling of waiting for an important parcel to be delivered and worrying I wouldn’t hear the door.

I sighed and pulled my hand away from Ginger and she gave me a pleading look to keep up the petting.

I laughed at her. “If only I could take you with me, eh?”

I stopped at my favourite cafe to get a cappuccino first. Usually, I got to work early but today I was going to make sure to be just on time. I’d even be late if it didn’t mean risking my job. I was happy to give my co-workers something to complain about but that didn’t mean I wanted to get fired.

Inside work’s elevator, I pressed the button for my floor. When the doors were almost halfway closed, Logan slipped his slim body through the gap and moved to stand behind me.

I wanted to stop the doors from closing and take the stairs. But instead, my body stayed frozen but for a small twitch of my leg just as the doors slid closed.

I was an idiot.

Even in the most benign situations, my nerves took over. There was no reason I should feel so anxious to be in the elevator alone with him, and no reason to care about what he would think if I had walked out.

I felt as if his eyes were boring holes into the back of my head but couldn’t bring myself to turn around and check. I nibbled the inside of my cheek, my stomach feeling light as the elevator rose.

I needed to stop this. Needed to grow a pair and start saying something. No, maybe I didn’t even need to do that. I just needed to stop letting every little thing get to me, needed to stop letting him get to me.

It was clear what he wanted. I was only making it worse for myself by showing him how much he bothered me.

I looked over my shoulder to see that him looking at me, but it was hard to tell if he’d been staring the whole time or if he’d just reacted to my movement. He looked... good. Had the whole ‘tall, dark and handsome’ down to a T.

He grinned, as if reading my thoughts, amusement twinkling in his eyes. He leaned forward, his mouth opening to speak with what I’m sure had to be something sarcastic and unimpressive, I quickly turned back to face the doors.

Despite it not being his floor, when the doors opened, instead of waiting like any other polite human being on the planet, he pushed past me, spilling hot coffee onto my sleeve. Turning soft white into pale brown.

Maybe I wasn’t happy to give them something to laugh at after all. Thankfully due to my love for milky drinks, it wasn’t that hot.

Logan turned to look at me, “Oh damn, sorry about that, little fishy, I didn’t see you there. It’s as if you’re a ghost sometimes,” he said with a feigned laugh.

I bit my lip hard, trying to release the building frustration, and his eyes zeroed in on my mouth. As much as he acted as if he disliked me, he often showed signs that he was still very much attracted to me. At least physically anyway.

What I had in the beginning found flattering, now left me feeling dirty. As if his looking alone could coat me in that greasy gel of his.

He’d been a complete asshole ever since I had rejected him. I hated his treatment far more than that of my other colleagues despite the fact he wasn’t even the cruellest.

Sure, he got more physical, but he didn’t disrupt my work or threaten to get me fired. I didn’t even have to deal with him the majority of the time since his office was still on the top floor, but whenever I saw him, an uncomfortable pit formed in my stomach. A wariness that I couldn’t explain.

Even before he had started his harassment of me, I had noticed there was something not right with him. Too quick to laugh, his smile always too wide. It was as if he wore a mask. And not knowing what was hidden behind it, left me anxious. Even his fake niceness while he was harassing me, seemed doubly insincere. If asked I doubted I’d be able to explain it.

Every time I saw him, I became more and more thankful I rejected him.

So what if the office acted like a bunch of sneaky kids finding amusement in bullying the quiet kid?

It had to be far more tolerable than any date with him would have been. Thank God I hadn’t wasted even a minute of my private time with him.

“Don’t worry about it,” I told him as politely as I could manage.

His brows furrowed for a second, probably expecting a scowl or a sigh, perhaps even hoping for it, but I refused to even give him even that anymore. I turned away from him and walked to my office. If he wanted to treat me like a ‘ghost’ then I’d do a similar thing with him. I would no longer let him know how much he got to me.

I placed my cup on my desk and heard Melody’s voice ring out. “What is he wearing? And eww, is that a stain on his jumper?”

So much for controlling the narrative.

~*~

There wasn’t time to make the printouts during break. And it wasn’t until people were leaving for home that I was finally able to print the remaining pages.

My finger twitched too late mid-way through clicking the mouse, realising too late, that I had once again sent them to the wrong printer.

I sat for a minute, staring at the shadowy reflection of myself on the monitor. I didn’t want to have to see Logan’s fucking face again. But, I was sure that as soon as the elevator reached the top floor, he’d smell me like the hound he emulated, and be stood outside his office, waiting to ‘accidentally’ throw an elbow into my side.

It was frustrating that even with his office being on the same floor, I still hadn’t managed to remember not to send stuff there. It seemed I had issues with printers.

My first-time meeting Logan had been when I’d sent a print to a room a few doors down from my old office, which had just happened to be his room.

He’d been flirty from the moment he opened the door to my knock. At first, I’d melted under the attention, but it hadn’t taken long to see him for who he really was.

Or rather who he wasn’t.

Yet, I had still managed to keep accidentally sending prints to his room. He was convinced I had been doing it on purpose regardless of how many times I had told him it was an accident.

It was probably, in part, why he had acted so offended when I had rejected him. He had thoroughly believed I had it bad for him. And a mere three weeks after I finally got the hang of sending prints to the correct printer, we had been made to move rooms.

I took the stairs this time, not wanting to get caught in the elevator with him and his crushing aura. I peered around the corner and saw that the corridor was empty. When reaching the office door, I saw a slight sheen on the handle.

Was Logan a tom cat marking his territory with hair gel instead of piss?

I doubted it had come from anyone else. I grabbed the end of the door handle with my fingertips, and pushed it open. I wasn’t going to clean it this time. It was a little awkward but better than touching it.

It was far too cold in the room, but when I checked the windows they were all firmly closed. Walking over to the printer, I felt a slight breeze brush the top of my curls. I pressed my hand to my head to try to remove the tickling it caused my scalp and looked up to see a looming presence.

Dead centre and shining through a large hole in the ceiling, was a dazzling full moon. So blue it resembled lapis lazuli. It was far darker and more luminous than it had been last night. It didn’t look natural — too large and too bright. The glow it was giving off caused an eerie feeling to creep along my skin.

I took a quick picture of it with my shitty phone. It wasn’t great quality, but it was probably the best I could get thanks to being this high up in the building. I’d have to have a look online later to see if I could find a better picture, though I doubted anyone, no matter how good a photographer, would be able to catch its other-worldly aura.

I shoved my phone back into my pocket and rubbed my hands along my arms, trying to wipe away the strange feeling the moon had cast on me.

Something moved at the corner of my vision, I caught its shadow just as it crawled underneath one of the desks that were pressed up against the wall. As was usual, I hadn’t turned on the lights when entering the room so there was only a slight light coming from the outside streetlamps, making it so that beneath the desks was in shadow. It was impossible to see anything underneath from where I stood.

Had a squirrel gotten in through the hole?

Maybe had even caused the hole in the first place?

I should probably report it immediately but found myself not caring. Logan could find it when he next came looking for me, he would no doubt preen at the chance to be the first to spot it.

I was worried for the animal. I didn’t like the thought of leaving it alone and potentially trapped. And if they did call animal control and it ended up being a grey squirrel, the thought of the inevitable euthanasia didn’t sit well with me, regardless of how invasive the little buggers were, I had a soft spot for those bushy tails.

I walked over to the table and crouched down to peer underneath. Right in the corner, barely visible, and about the size of a cat, was a bird. Its wings folded around its body protectively.

I didn’t even know birds did such a thing.

I made the kissy noises I usually made at Ginger —or any cat I saw if I was being honest— hoping to get its attention without startling it. Since it was a bird and it was hiding instead of flying, it had to be injured.

I pulled my jumper off so I could use it to wrap around the bird. Hopefully, the local vets would still be open this late. It still hadn’t budged at the noises I was making. I had hardly expected it to come running but I’d thought it would at least look at me.

Perhaps it was dead after all?

No, I had seen movement. I reached for it, and just as the tips of my fingers brushed its feathers the wings unfurled. I pulled my hand back with a gasp and quickly stood, stumbling in my horror.

It followed, using its wings to pull itself from underneath the table, its movement more like that of a bat than a bird. I took a few steps back as it sidled towards me, its wings blue, like that of an exotic bird.

What the hell had happened to it?

I had never in my life seen anything like it. It was grotesque.

It had no feathers or legs, not even a discernible head on its gelatinous orb-like body. It didn’t even have any skin. A clear thin membrane seemed to be the only thing keeping it held together.

What could have done this? Torn skin from flesh so cleanly?

How was it even alive without a head?

The thing wasn’t even bleeding. Dark red and purple veins showed starkly against pink muscle and indiscernible yellowish organs.

It stopped for a moment and quivered, I gagged at the sight. It began to shuffle towards me again, leaving a damp trail on the floor as it used its wings to drag its twitching body along. It reached me, its height a few inches taller than my ankle.

It ‘sat’, the weight of its own body causing a wrinkled effect that made it look like soft serve ice cream if it was made from raw meat. It nudged itself against my shoe, reminding me of a cat rubbing its face against something it liked.

I didn’t move and it nudged me again, much more harshly this time as if demanding I move out of its way.

There was a click from across the room, then a loud creaking as the door into the office was pushed open. Without even giving it a second thought, I quickly dropped my jumper over the vile mass.

Looking towards the door I saw that, sure enough, Logan had just walked in. I quickly looked back down at the floor. Whatever was going on with the creature, it clearly needed help.

I reached down and lifted the thing, making sure my jumper completely covered it. I let out a slight groan, the thing far heavier than I expected.

It squirmed and my hand moved so that it was touching the bouncy flesh. The texture reminded me of the time I’d painstakingly filled a balloon with wet sand as a child, only instead of cold, it was absurdly warm, as if it suffered from fever. I tried not to gag as my fingers sunk into its thin rubbery flesh.

I hoped I wasn’t hurting the thing, but I had no way of adjusting it without potentially having Logan see it, and I highly doubted he would take too kindly to its appearance.

“What you got there?” asked Logan, standing just by the entryway, one of his hands going to rest in his pants pocket.

The gesture was so benign, yet it irritated the hell out of me.

“Vomit,” I replied.

“…What?” his curious face turned dumbfounded.

“Vomit. I vomited on my jacket. Do you want to see?”

He cringed back slightly as I turned more to face him.

“What? Of course, I don’t. Why would yo-”

“Good, ‘cause I need to leave,” I said walking towards the door.

He blocked my path. “You don’t look very sick.”

“I’m not, I just saw your territory markings and couldn’t help but throw up a little.”

“You... what?” he asked, looking aggravated.

He never let that facial expression slip out when others were around. I was unsure if it was something he kept for me or if it was just me that caused it.

“Nothing. Would you step aside?”

The thing wiggled and I moved my shoulders, hoping it would disguise the movement as I prayed to whatever god might be out there that the thing in my arms didn’t start making noise.

There was no reason to worry though because Logan wasn’t even looking at me but at the floor instead. Clearly looking at the wet trail leading from under the table and towards where I’d been standing, he stared for a second, his overly groomed brows furrowed.

“Your shoe’s wet,” he said pointing at it.

“Must have been the rain,” I answered quickly and gestured with my chin to the ceiling.

He looked up at where I gestured, his brows raised at seeing the hole in the ceiling. He stepped further in and made it so I was able to easily step around him.

He called something after me, but I ignored him and rushed to the elevator and down to my car.

I gently placed the thing on the passenger seat and drove to the nearest vet. I parked outside and reached to pick up the jumper-swaddled creature when something occurred to me.

Instead of picking it up I lifted a corner of the fabric and looked at it.

Even with my head right above it I couldn’t smell anything awful coming from it like I would have expected. No scent of blood or rot, just a slightly sweet pleasant scent. I was tempted to try smell it further, but didn’t want to put my face closer to it.

It was undulating slowly and evenly like the deep breathing of sleep. I could see a small part in the middle that must be its heart, flickering rapidly. The thin membrane made it look as if something was trying to burrow its way out.

What could a vet possibly even do for such a thing?

It wasn’t like they could give it new skin... a new head. Surely, they’d just put the pitiful thing down after they had finished a few minutes of intense screaming.

Maybe it wasn’t a bird after all, but some rare species I had just never heard of. But that didn’t explain the lack of a mouth.

Every living thing needed a mouth, right?

The thing didn’t even appear to have nostrils.

I set off driving again, deciding I wanted to at least try to help the thing. Once home I placed it in a box with some towels, it wriggled, the movement causing a repulsive squelching sound. I immediately threw a towel over the top of it upon hearing it.

Maybe bringing it home wasn’t the best idea. Not only did I not know what to feed it. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feed it. I was probably only lengthening its suffering. But something inside of me was urging me to at least try to give it a chance.

I put the box in my bathroom cupboard under the sink. Not wanting to leave it out in the open with Ginger slinking about. She had all the stereotypes of a cat, and I didn’t trust her not to lay in the box or to not swat it off a table and send the poor strange creature rolling along the floor.