Rain, A Poison to some

Outside, the world seemed to echo my turmoil. Wind howled against the walls, rain lashed the windows – nature's own fury mirroring the storm in my heart. Its relentless patter against the glass became a lullaby of sorts, an oddly soothing presence amidst the chaos of my thoughts.

As the night wore on, the wind's keening softened to whispers, and the rain's harsh drumming faded to a gentle rhythm. Exhausted from crying, I felt the grip of sleep tugging me down into its depths. There, in the cradle of darkness, with the rain's steady murmur as my solace, I surrendered to slumber's cold embrace, hoping to find refuge in dreams where reality's sharp edges could not cut so deeply.

The tap was persistent, a rhythmic insistence that dragged me from the depths of a restless sleep. At first, it mingled with the remnants of my dreams—soft, shadowy fingers reaching out to me through the fog of my subconscious. But as I surfaced into wakefulness, the sound sharpened, grounding me in the reality of my darkened room.

Blinking away the vestiges of tears that had dried on my lashes, I peeled back the cocoon of blankets that had been my solace. The air was chilly, a stark contrast to the warmth of my bed. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting silver threads across the floor that seemed to lead me toward the window.

Each tap was like a heartbeat, quick and delicate, yet filled with urgency. I shuffled closer, cautious not to make a sound that could disturb the silent house. My family slept, blissfully unaware of the nocturnal visitor who dared not raise his voice above a whisper of contact against the glass.

I reached the window and pulled aside the curtain, the moon now a silent witness to what lay beyond. There he was—Shadow, his face contorted with pain, his hands forming fists except for the one knuckle he used to alert me of his presence. His eyes met mine, and even through the barrier, I could feel the raw ache emanating from him.

He was careful, so careful to keep the tapping light, a ghost's touch that wouldn't rouse my kin. But his caution only underscored the agony he must be enduring, a silent scream that resonated louder than any cry of distress. It was an effort for him to keep quiet, to protect me even while he suffered.

"Shadow," I mouthed, unable to utter his name aloud for fear of waking someone. What had happened to him? Why was he here in such a state?

The questions swirled in my head, but they would have to wait. Right now, he needed me, and I couldn't leave him alone in his pain. Not when every fiber of my being pulsed with the desire to ease his suffering, to be the balm to his wounds.

I unlatched the window as quickly as I could, my hands trembling with a mix of cold and anticipation. As the pane swung open, the cool night air rushed in, but I barely noticed the chill. All I could focus on was him—Shadow, the enigma wrapped in torment, knocking on my window and my heart in the dead of night.

The gap between the window frame and Shadow's desperate form widened, his silhouette a stark contrast against the backdrop of the unrelenting night. As he stumbled into my room, I caught him, my arms barely managing to break his fall. His body shivered uncontrollably, not from the cold—I knew it was the pain that wracked him with such violent tremors.

"Easy," I whispered, guiding him away from the open window, shutting out the howling wind that seemed almost spiteful in its persistence.

Shadow's skin, usually the embodiment of strength, was marred with angry red blisters that seemed to pulse with their own heartbeat. My fingers hovered over them, afraid that even the slightest touch would cause him more pain. Werewolves might be creatures forged in moonlight and shadow, but water...water was their bane. The old tales spun stories of their aversion, but seeing Shadow like this laid bare a brutal truth—their fear was no mere superstition; it was a crippling weakness.

I urged him towards my bed, his every movement laced with pained gasps. The sight of him—a warrior brought low by something as benign to me as rainwater—fractured something inside me. My heart splintered under the weight of his agony, each shard a keen reminder of our fragile coexistence.

"Here, lie down," I said, my voice a soft command tinged with concern.

As he settled onto the bed, a grimace carved itself across his features, telling a tale of endurance pushed to its limits. It was then, watching him fight through the torment just to be near me, that the full magnitude of his condition struck home. Water wasn't just an allergy for his kind; it was a cruel and unforgiving poison.

"Shadow," I breathed out, the name now a prayer, a plea for his recovery. "I've got you."

And in that moment, as I stood by his side, I knew there was nowhere else I'd rather be. No matter the cost, no matter the peril, I would protect him as fiercely as he had always protected me. My heart, once breaking, now swelled with a resolute purpose—to soothe his afflictions and shelter him from the storm, both outside and within.

"Stupid, you're so stupid," I muttered, half angry, half awestruck at the sheer idiocy of his actions. "Why would you run through the rain like that? You know what it does to you!" My voice crescendoed into a shout, the frustration and fear for him spilling over.

He grimaced, but his eyes never left mine, glowing with a stubborn determination that was all too characteristic of him. "I promised I'd see you tonight," he rasped, each word punctuated by a wince. "I'm a man of my word, Amina."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Your word? And what of your meetings, Shadow? Too busy to spare a moment until the moon is high and the sky weeps?"

He flinched as if struck, then slowly, deliberately, pulled himself up to a seated position, ignoring the pain that action surely caused. "I felt your distress through the bond," he said, a low urgency in his tone. "All day it gnawed at me, but obligations held me bound. I couldn't break free until now."

My heart pounded against my ribcage, a frenzied drumbeat echoing my inner turmoil. The bond. Of course, he would feel it, just as I felt his every ache. But anger, hot and unyielding, still coursed through me, fueled by betrayal and hurt.

"Liar," I spat, the accusation sharp as a knife's edge. "Don't pretend it's all because of some bond. I know about her, Shadow. I know you slept with someone else." The words tumbled out, harsh and unforgiving, a reflection of the jagged pieces inside me.

His expression shifted then, from pained endurance to something unreadable. He sat there, silent, letting the weight of my words hang between us like a guillotine poised to drop.