Bittersweet Arrows [Logurt]
The smell of disgusting, comforting sulfur wriggles into my nostrils, forcing itself so far into my nose that it might have hit my brain.
I think my brain may be going haywire, short-circuiting with false alarms that are failing to send signals to my brain.
Reacting to comfort in positive ways was never my strong suit, never something I knew how to do.
I do not get comfort. Comfort is dead to me, along with everyone who causes it.
I am, again, lost in my own mind, my frontal lobe, encased in insatiable metal.
I am brought back, suddenly.
The kiwi-textured fuzz of a blue arrow-tipped tail, wrapping sweetly around my hand, fumbling with my own thumb. I do not look up, afraid to meet his pupil-missing, glowing, golden gaze.
His voice, slow and a bit concerned, jarrs me, but it creeps into my brain like a patch of green, rapidly growing weeds.
"Logan, freund, are you alright?"
The way his voice aches on his words, vocal chords stretching in a way with concern and worry. I do not respond for a few minutes, still processing that he asked.
"Yeah, 'M fine."
He asked if I was okay.
Something about it seems fake to my untrusting mind, and I can feel the pressure of metal splinters sprouting out of my knuckles, and it hurts. I do not do it intentionally, I do not mean to, but it still happens.
The claws halt their movement when my hand is softly embraced by a three-fingered, alienated hand. He rubs his thumb over the small points, not seeming to care that they are poking him a bit with every graze.
They retract again, and he seems to know exactly what to say.
"No claws, freund. You are safe with me. Nothing will hurt you, especially not me."
Those words make me feel guilty. Bittersweet happiness. Joy has always been a guilty pleasure for me, and it overwhelms me.
I begin to lose track of my thoughts, of my own mind.
He continues rubbing my knuckles, holding me tightly but not painfully.
That has to be the most peaceful nap I had ever taken.