She was one life I saved.
“Angelica's alive?” Jericho echoed, his voice full of relief, proud and thoughtful at the same time. “Thank, God,” he kissed the top of my head and when I looked up at him, intrigued by the gesture he kissed my forehead as well. “You did good there, kiddo.”
“It's not enough.” I blinked back the tears, refusing to ruin our happy reunion by crying through the whole night.
“It's a start. We'll get them,” he vowed confidently into my hair. “We'll get them all back.”
I had so many questions for him, so many concerns and strategies I wanted to talk through, but now was not the time. We were exhausted and at the beginning of a journey that would take us to the gates of hell.
Tonight, I would simply be thankful that he was with me, that I was not alone and that hope was on the horizon. Tomorrow we could talk until we were sick about rescue plans, and schemes of destruction, but tonight we would rest in the security of each other's arms. Tonight, I would breathe in Jericho and relish in the warmth of another person, of another person that cared about this cause and about avenging the loss of my loved ones and destroying the bloodline that left us both survivors of an evil tyrant.
Tonight I would sleep in someone’s arms, someone that cared about me.
We drifted to sleep, holding each other closely, breathing steady, even breaths and allowing our minds to be dreamless, the sweet sanctuary of the quietness of an empty slumber.
----
When I awoke the next morning, the sunlight was streaming through the window, warming my face and waking me gently. I stretched for a long time, realizing I was alone in bed and that Jericho had covered me with a warm blanket. I turned my head, looking for him and it was a moment before I recognized the sound of the shower.
I sat up in bed, unwilling to leave the comfort of the blankets just yet and pensive for the moment. I was content, satisfied that Jericho was with me and I felt safe for the first time in weeks in our small motel room. I wasn't happy, I wasn't sure if I would ever fully feel that emotion again, but I was content.
The feeling felt strange and foreign, like an alien emotion not native to my body. Just a few weeks ago I believed I couldn't experience a greater happiness or sense of security but when that was raked from me, I was sure my heart would never soar upwards again.
I knew that it wasn't much, that the small ounce of contentment today was just for a moment. Jericho and I would get to work in a few minutes, the emotion would fade away, and I would refocus on our mission. I knew that contentment was not happiness, and that everything I felt was only false security; but for now, I relished in the shared company and safety of the morning.
Jericho suddenly tumbled out of the bathroom in an almost too small white cotton towel, water dripping down his muscular chest and gasping for breath. He was panicked, fear written obviously across his face and I jumped to my feet ready for battle, or ready to run.
“No, no, Eden, I'm sorry,” Jericho sighed heavily, his face relaxing into a smile and his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It's just that, it's nothing really, I, just.... something scared me, sorry, but it was nothing. I mean, really, it's nothing,” he exhaled heavily, running one hand through his wet hair, the other gripping firmly to the towel around his waist.
“What happened?” I asked carefully, not entirely convinced Jericho would be scared of nothing.
Jericho hung his head, his shoulders slumping self-consciously, and shaking from humiliated laughter at the same time. When he looked up at me from underneath his thick, dark lashes, his eyes twinkled with life that had been missing yesterday.
“It was a snake,” he mumbled, turning back towards the bathroom and craning his neck as if to find it inside.
“A snake?” I asked with a flat voice.
“Yes, a snake,” he answered. He stood in the middle of the room, dripping wet, water droplets running across his tanned, defined chest and in the smallest white towel afraid of a snake. “It slithered over my foot while I was in the shower, it just scared me that's all,” he finished weakly.
“Obviously,” I agreed, and then burst into uncontrollable laughter, my body shaking violently and gasping for breath at the same time.
“Don't laugh!” Jericho demanded but couldn't stop himself from joining in. “At the time, it was very traumatic!”
He only made me laugh harder, soon tears were streaming down my face, but not the sad kind, the kind that only appear when something is beyond rational and funny, the happy kind. I laughed for minutes, doubling over and grabbing my side. I wasn't concerned with the snake or even Jericho's embarrassment; I couldn't stop myself from the sweet relief of laughter.
“It's not that funny!” Jericho whined, tapping his toe impatiently against the red cement floor. “Eden!”
“I'm sorry, I'm really sorry,” I struggled to get control of my emotions, standing up and wiping at my eyes. “You're right, it's not that funny,” I agreed, still unable to stop the left over laughter from escaping.
“I'm not scared of snakes, really,” Jericho said bravely, “it's just that, I wasn't expecting to have to share my shower with a slimy, green, awful serpent, that's all,” he cringed while describing the snake and then shuddered from the memory.
“Right, you're not scared at all.” I rolled my eyes, good-naturedly.
I walked over to the bathroom door, afraid to go in lest the snake really be something to be afraid of. Jericho stood closely behind me as if I was the one protecting him. He playfully pushed me forward with one hand strong on my back and I took the initiative to walk over to the shower and pull the white curtain back dramatically.