I grab the broom, carefully sweeping up all the clatter left behind from the most recent, and horrific fight Patch and I'd ever been in. You hear about couples breaking up all the time, just never do you expect it to occur to you.
Breaking up. Two simple words, said constantly, and yet, they're some of the scariest ones possible. Tears well in my eyes as I sweep through the glass and ceramic left coating the floor, as well as the gold of the ring he himself had gifted me after the war between the fallen and nephilim. Patch had only said that he needed some time to himself, but the tension in the air could have been cut with a knife.
As a I pick up the dustpan, a new thought blooms in my mind, the kids. The twins, Angelina and Evangeline, Cassiel, as well as the new one along the way that I'd yet to inform Patch of. After the girls were born last year, he'd made it evident that he had no intention of new kids, as well as claimed he'd run out of angel names that he liked. We'd been more careful about protection now, and I've been taking pills, but it's been easy to forget with the running around with the children all the time.
My thought stream is suddenly interrupted by the smashing of the window next to me, and a the tall, definitely nephilim man standing in a mask whilst holding a devilcraft coated knife. My mind is suddenly in a flurry, thoughts flowing here and there, but mostly, I have to wonder how. Devilcraft was eradicated years ago, making this nearly impossible. If I've learned anything in life, it's to always expect the unexpected, yet nothing had prepared me for this. My next thought is of the kids. They're all still (hopefully) in their beds sleeping, where they are presumably in less danger, but I won't be able to live with myself if they get hurt. Unfortunately, the living with it part isn't very necessary, because the next thing I know, the devilcraft laced knife is lodged straight through my rib cage, and deep within my chest. Based on the positioning of the knife, it's probably safe to assume that there is no chance for me now.
Lying on the warm hardwood floors, I find it difficult to recognize the pain. I don't even remember the man leaving, but rather the only thing I can seem to think of, is Patch. Patch, Patch, Patch. His name echoes terribly in my mind, causing unbearable grief. I reach into the back pocket of my jeans, hardly feeling a thing, and pull out my cellphone. Hastily, I type in his number, something I'd long since memorized, and listen to the ringing. It isn't long before the phone goes to voicemail, so I call once more, this time getting an answer.
"What?" A tired, and obviously angry Patch responds.
I waste no time, and immediately begin in, "Patch," I pause as a groan of pain comes up, "you need to promise me that when you get back, no matter what you see, you'll take care of the kids, you'll make sure they have great lives, and guard them with all you have. I want you to tell me that even when I'm gone, you'll be happy, and more connected to others than ever, and finally, that you will never forget me, nor what you are promising."
I hear a sharp inhale, followed by a quickening of breaths, along with squealing of tires. I can tell that he's turning the car around to race back to the house, but if the now blue tinted blood that's leaking and pooling out of my body is any indicated, I don't have long before I'm done.
"Nora, what the hell are you talking about?!" He rushes, "Are you alright, I'm on my way home, I can be there in ten minutes." With that, the car clearly speeds up as he hurries back.
Once again, my eyes swell with tears, "It's alright, Patch, it's too late. No matter what it is that you do, you won't make it in time. I need you to tell me that you promise to do everything I said, and I want you to know that I love you more than I ever thought possible," I gasp out. My speech has become breathy, and I'm not sure if it was even eligible.
"Angel," I hear him murmur and choke through tears, "Angel."
"Patch, I need to hear you say it!" I say with my last gasp of air.