Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Chapter 7: Death (snippet)
Sébastien carried her away from her mother as gently as he knew how to do, though she fought like a feral cat the entire time. She didn't need to see it…the gruesome and undignified way her mother would depart from this world. Not with a simple shutting of her eyes, but with a despicable release of the bowls. No, he wanted her to remember her mother with a faint smile on her face and blessing on her tongue. She writhed and scratched and he twisted her around to carry her like an infant to her own room. When she realized he was not going to carry her back, when she would not see her mother alive again, she broke down into awful sobs against his breast.
He could hardly explain the wrenching sensation he felt inside, but he had little energy to concentrate or scrutinize what it was or where it came from for the girl wailing in his arms. Left with little recourse, he settled himself onto her bed and held her there, allowing his eyes to take in the slowly dying fire across the room. Sébastien felt her fingers clutch the fabric of his jacket as if it were the only thing anchoring her to this world. She screamed. She screamed into his clothes and dampened them with her tears while his fingers, mindlessly and methodically, ran through her hair. He honestly didn't know what to do, so he didn't stop his fingers and he didn't say anything.
After she was finished screaming, her body shuddered in his arms with violent, wave-like motions born of the sobs and wails eating away at the interior of his ears. He did not stop her, though. There was no comfort enough he could offer her that would blanket the pain she was experiencing. He wasn't sure he wanted to comfort her.
"I did not pray enough! Not hard enough," she was choking on her words and tears. Sébastien smacked her back lightly then pulled her away from his chest.
"Louisé! Listen to me," he gave her a shake to get her attention then cupped her face in his hands so she focused on his eyes. "There was nothing you could do for her. She was sick and sick for a long time. She needed more than prayer. Do you understand me?"
She closed her eyes, shook her head, and sobbed, "How am I going to do this without her?"
He felt her tears warm the skin of his hands. His thumbs brushed her tears away. He would get nowhere with her through Socratic methods after so fresh a loss, so he allowed himself to give into what came naturally. One hand slid its fingers into her hair, the other disappeared around her back and drew her against his chest once more.
"I cannot live without her," her voice cracked, snuffling.
Sébastien bore his gaze into the flames, as if to will them to grow, swell and rise. He lost himself in their flickering, her words lilting through her ears like a supplicant's prayer. In the stillness of his thoughts, he saw the stars in the sky, at his feet in his eyes. From there, he had one singular though: Then you will not have to.
