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To Save an Angel

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Formerly Saving his Angel Marco has it all; nothing. He truly has nothing at all. However, when he hears a car accident and a piercing scream, his instincts force him to take action. It's there, in the midst of blood and wreckage, that he meets and begins to save His Angel. IT ALL HAPPENED SO FAST. The sound of tires squealing, the scream of a horrified angel close to fulfilling her nicknames sake, and praying she didn't. Not yet. Then the echoing crash, ravishing the sunset blazed street with a vengeance no one deserved. The shouts, the commotion, the frenzied 911 calls. 50 some people calling; no one getting through. Then the wails of the sirens aboard the 3 EMS ambulances, the frantic, ear-shattering horn of the fire brigade. Next came the chatter of first responders and cops; Yelling orders. Making lists, taking names, checking it twice. But Santa wasn't coming to town. No, Fate was coming to town and she happened to be a certified b*tch. But boy, did she work wonders. To conclude the tragedy, there was that short, bitter silence. Sort of like the one that most had missed. It was between the crash and 911 calls. That patch of silence, patched two people together. Whether or not they'd stay that way; whether or not they should-- well, that was up for debate.

Chapter 1: Meeting Angel

IT ALL HAPPENED SO FAST.

The sound of tires squealing, the scream of a horrified angel close to fulfilling her nicknames sake, and praying she didn't.

Not yet.

Then the echoing crash, ravishing the sunset blazed street with a vengeance no one deserved.

The shouts, the commotion, the frenzied 911 calls. 50 some people calling; no one getting through. Then the wails of the sirens aboard the 3 EMS ambulances, the frantic, ear-shattering horn of the fire brigade.

Next came the chatter of first responders and cops; Yelling orders. Making lists, taking names, checking it twice.

But Santa wasn't coming to town.

No, Fate was coming to town and she happened to be a certified b*tch.

But boy, did she work wonders.

To conclude the tragedy, there was that short, bitter silence.

Sort of like the one that most had missed. It was between the crash and 911 calls.

That patch of silence, patched two people together.

Whether or not they'd stay that way; whether or not they should-- well, that was up for debate.

Whether or not they'd stay that way; whether or not they should-- well, that was up for debate

M A R C O

I HEARD THE screeching tires first.

Gli Americani, I mutter to myself, always with their rushing.

(Americans)

When I hear her scream, though, I cannot berate Americans with an eye roll in my head.

I cannot ignore it like I want to, sip my horribly prepared coffee in a cold, aloof silence.

My body will not let me.

Will not allow me to let that scream go unheard.

It propelled me forward, urgently, though I myself see no need for urgency.

I do not recognize that scream.

I do not know that woman.

I have no obligation to her.

The crash hits, skidding, shifting the world on its axis. It all changed then. Suddenly, I am urgent. Suddenly, my body, heart, and mind are all on one accord:

Save her.

It's as if I have one mission; one purpose, to accomplish. Nothing else matters.

Nothing else exists.

Not my million dollar deal, not my billion dollar company.

The air around me seems to chant:

Save her

Save her

Help her

Save her

Help her

A-And for the life of me, I cannot seem to resist.

I cannot even seem to want to.

So I am tearing down the street from the coffee shop, my heart pounding, knocking on my chest as to smugly say:

Still here, bastardo. Open up.

(B*st*rd)

I do not answer; do not ponder answers to give my smug heart.

I don't have the time.

A crumpled purple hunk of distressed metal climbs up a tree trunk, resting it's smoking hood there. She doesn't say anything; nothing. The tree and car are a ways away from where I am.

The coffee shop and the tree with the metallic heap are at least 800 feet.

My feet move 800x faster.

I race to it; to her, trip on the bumper less-than-gracefully, out of breath, out of sorts, and fresh out of moves.

What now?

Her moan of pain answers me succinctly, jump starting me into action.

A feeble, pained yet very angelic voice says every softly:

"Help..."

Whoosh! Like that, my breath leaves me in a hurry, trying to rush to her, I think.

I pry the passenger seat door open with a bit of difficulty, but the mere frantic fervor of my attempts made it feel easy.

The chipped painted door creaked in protest at my earnest efforts, but relinquished it's hold. Compressing my 6'4 frame into the crumpled opening, I reach in and grab her gently. She whimpers, invoking a flinch in me at the sound of her pain.

Clutching her small frame to my huge one, I lift her out and set her down on my lap.

Then I look at her.

Her hair was stained crimson with blood, marring the original honey brown color. Her skin was soft as silk, caramel and milky. It looked sweet, like candy, but under the current circumstances, I resisted the urge to taste it.

She had a little button nose and soft plump lips. They looked sweet too; everything about her looked sweet and edible.

I took a harsh breath, shocked by her beauty.

So shocked, in fact, only after I'd explored her delicate features, did I notice she was not breathing.

The alarm bells went off again.

Save her

Help her

Love her

Help her

"Signorinia?" I check her pulse—faint. Scarily faint. Deadly faint.

I apologize to her quickly for my ungentlemanly behavior before bursting into action.

I place my mouth on hers, accidentally stealing her breath at my correct assumption.

She does taste sweet.

I flood her lungs with air. I beg her telepathically; plead with her.

Steal my breath

Take it

Just...breathe.

She won't.

She will not breathe no matter how desperate my inward pleads get.

My eyesight blurs, and for the briefest of moments, I entertain the thought of crying.

It is so laughable, I almost laugh.

But that is also laughable, so I don't.

I pound in her chest, trying to jump start her heart. I breathe through her, into her, trying to kick start her lungs.

Per favore, cara mia, please. Just breathe. Do not die. Do not leave me too. I don't even know you yet.

I haven't even loved you yet.

Let me have a chance to love, cara mia.

Let me have a chance to love you.

I don't my realize my eyes are closed until I see a violet pair staring back at me.

I don't my realize my eyes are closed until I see a violet pair staring back at me

A N G E L

"Daddy?"

Identical violent eyes blinked happily back at me.

"My Angel!" I run to him eagerly, his arms wide open ready to receive me warmly. I throw myself into his embrace and he tightens it filling me with warmth.

"Oh Angelita," my dad tearfully murmurs in my neck, "I missed you so much my little princess."

"I missed you too daddy!"

He pulls back to look at me.

"You're so grown up! How are you?"

Should I tell him? Should I tell him his beloved wife and my mother had become a witch?

Sobs erupt before I can quench them.

"Daddy she's evil!"

"Not evil darling. Lost. Just.... very lost."

I sob in my daddy's arms, not caring if I'm dying or dead.

I feel a splatter of water on my cheek, a tear drop. Lifting my face from his neck I give my dad a questioning look.

"How can you cry and I feel it?"

He says nothing but gives my a pained/happy/sad smile.

"That's your future, sweetheart. Open your eyes..."

Daddy disappears as my eyes flutter open.

I'm greeted by a pair of watering black eyes.

His tears leak, and drop on my cheeks, his face looming above me.

"Are you okay?" I feel compelled to ask.

He grins sadly, awe tinting his smile.

"You were dead for five minutes, yet you ask me if I am okay?"

Something possesses me to lift my hand to his cheek and wipe the tears away.

So I do.

M A R C O

M A R C O

Her unique violet orbs pierce mine in a concerned way, as she inquires on my general health.

This woman...

"You were dead for almost five minutes, yet you ask me if I am okay?"

I try to contain my awe, not wanting her to know how much I admire her.

Her hand rests on my face, soft finger tips brush away my tears, ones I didn't notice, effectively sending all masks back to their respective manufacturers.

My eyes close on their own regard, feeling the softness and warmth; the comfort that is her.

I lean into her touch, swallowing her little hand with mine, keeping it there.

She doesn't protest.

I don't think I would've let her go if she did anyway.

"Come ti chiami, belle mia?" I murmur softly so as not to ruin this moment.

"What?"

I translate.

"What is your name, beautiful?"

Her caramel cheeks slightly pink. "Angel." Her sweet angelic voice quips.

"Angel..."

"What about you?"

"Marco." I feel Angel smile.

"Look! That's a car! A car is up that tree!"

Then, all hell broke loose.

We get stampeded by onlookers, EMS' and fire trucks. Amidst the chaos, Angel is ripped from my arms, reporters and bystanders swarming her.

"Angel!"

Nothing from the honey haired woman. I push past the commotion, trying to get to her.

"She's not breathing! Get her on the gurney!"

I stop breathing too.

"ANGEL!"

More shouting ensues, and by the time I have caught up with the paramedics, they are loading her into the back of the ambulance.

"Stop!"

I bogart my way past the police, and grab hold of a first responder.

"Where are they taking her?"

"Are you family?"

"Yes." The irritation in my voice is so palpable I can taste it on me tongue.

"Name?"

The ambulance erupts in a wail. "Where are they taking her!"

"Name?"

I give up asking this man questions, knowing blood shed will be the next resort. Still, I file his face in my memory.

He'll be fired.

Shoving the useless man aside, I ask someone else. They tell me they are taking her to Samaritans Hospital.

I get in my BMW and race to the hospital as if I belong there.

Chapter 2: Bribes, and an Interesting Hospital Visit

M A R C O

THE HOSPITAL DOORS swing open, the momentum from the force with which I pushed it keeping the doors swinging even after I scurry into the bustling building.

The morbid scent of death mingling with sickening smell of antiseptic made me inwardly gag; but I am on a mission.

"A patient from a car accident just arrived by ambulance, her name is Angel. What room is she in?"

I demand swift answers. The stocky woman behind the counter disregards my urgency and leisurely types at sloth pace.

"Name?" I roll my eyes, trying not to show my internal unrest.

"Angel. I don't know her last name." Hooded brown eyes slowly lift to reach mine in slow suspicion.

After 3 grand and a Burlington gift card, I found Angel. I ordered her room be upgraded; demanded the best doctors, threatened the worst receptionists. In the end, all I could do is...wait.

"Mr. Romano, you may see her now,"

I nod briskly, following the nurse. He leads me down a na

Heroes

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