Page 22

S akura-fubuki ‘Fallen Cherry Blossom’

The room buzzes with the quiet beeps and whirrs of medical equipment, the soft hiss of an oxygen mask, and the gentle swell and rece down of Cherrie's breathing. She lays still, her once vibrant visage now marked by the violence she has endured. Bruises in varying shades of purple and yellow paint her delicate features–a stark contrast to her chocolate complexion. Bandages wrap around her wrists where the shackles had cut deep, and an IV drip snakes its way into her arm, providing a steady flow of fluids.

Azazel's usually unreadable expression softens when he approaches her bedside. He takes her hand, his large, calloused fingers gently intertwining with her smaller, softer ones. The contrast between them is stark—he, the embodiment of coiled energy, ready to strike at any moment, and she, fragile and injured, her usual vivaciousness dampened but not extinguished. It’s been a week since Azazel rescued her, and Cherrie has been in and out of sleep throughout.

"You're safe now, Baby," Azazel murmurs, his voice thick with a mix of tenderness and restrained fury. "I won't let anyone hurt you again. I'll burn the world down before I let anyone take you from me again."Azazel's thumb brushes gently across her knuckles, his jaw clenching at the sight of the bruises marring her skin. “I’m so sorry; I failed you.”

Cherrie’s hand flinched against his. “Shh baby, I’m healing remember.” Azazel lets out a small laugh, “Oh my god… What do you need? Water? Food? The doctor? A blanket?” Cherrie smirks. “I just need you. Daddy, never leave my side again. I’m just a girl, ya know.”

“You’re my good girl, and I’m never going anywhere.” As they share a moment, the hospital room door bursts open, and a nurse hurries in, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene. "Mr. Yanagra, I thought I heard voices. “Do you want to step outside while I change her bandages?" Azazel's eyes narrow, his protective instincts flaring. He takes a subtle step in front of Cherrie, shielding her from view–guarding her from any potential threat. "I’d like to stay," he says. Azazel stands sentry, watching the nurse's every move as she efficiently tends to Cherrie's wounds.

Cherrie, for her part, endures the examination with gritted teeth, her hand never leaving Azazel's. She hisses when the nurse removes the bandages, exposing the angry red scars that marr her wrists.

"How are you managing the pain, Dear?" the nurse asked gently, her eyes flicking to the various medications on the bedside table. Cherrie snorts softly, her gaze never leaving Azazel's face. "Pain is just an illusion, isn't it, Az? A trick of the mind. I've learned to embrace it, to welcome it even." Azazel softly smiled. “Um, so the babies … are still doing okay? They’re healthy?” “Yes, they’re fighters just like their mom.” Once the nurse finishes up she gives both of them a smile and closes the door behind her. He leans in, his lips brushing against her forehead, offering comfort and solace.

Cherrie closes her eyes, savoring the warmth of his embrace, a stark contrast to the cold and cruel world she had been trapped in.

Cherrie is discharged three days later and they check into an Airbnb. As the days pass, Azazel dedicates himself to Cherrie's recovery. He encourages her to take short walks in the nearby park, knowing that the fresh air and sunshine will help revive her spirits.

He cooks for her, bringing out his surprisingly adept culinary skills, creating sumptuous meals that help Cherrie regain her strength.

He runs baths, scented with essential oils, massaging her tired muscles, and ensuring her comfort.

Azazel understands the depth of Cherrie's emotional scars, inflicted by those who have wronged her. He knows that her resilience is unbreakable, but he also recognizes the importance of nurturing her mental and emotional well-being. So, he creates a sanctuary for her–free from the stresses and dangers. During their outings, Azazel keeps a watchful eye on Cherrie, his protective instincts ever-present.

He notices her flinch at sudden noises; a reminder of the psychological scars she bears. He patiently holds her hand, offering silent support and reassurance, allowing her to take her time in healing.

Two months later

One afternoon, they find themselves in a secluded section of the park, surrounded by lush greenery and the soothing sounds of a nearby fountain. Cherrie sits on a bench, her eyes closed, soaking in the peaceful atmosphere. Azazel stands nearby, his gaze fixed on her–a silent guardian.

“Azazel…” Cherrie quietly requests his attention. “I ... I want to try something.”

“What is it, my love?” Azazel questions.

“I want to face my fears. I want to... to relive some of what happened, but this time, with you by my side.”

“Are you sure, Cherrie? We don't have to rush this.”

“I'm sure. I need to do this, for me, for us. I want to reclaim my power, and I want you to be there with me.”

“Alright, Cher. I'll be with you every step of the way.”

They return to their apartment, and Cherrie leads Azazel to the bedroom. She stands before him, her body trembling slightly, but her gaze is steady and resolute.

“I want you to tie me up … like he did. I want to feel the ropes, the restriction, but this time, with your love and care.”

“Are you certain? I don't want to cause you any more pain.”

“I'm certain. I trust you, Azazel. I want to feel the ropes, but I want to feel your touch, and your love, too. Help me heal. Help me take back my power.”

Azazel nods, his heart pounding in his chest. He understands the weight of this moment and the trust Cherrie has placed in him. He retrieves a length of silk rope from the drawer, his hands steady as he approaches her. Cherrie stands still, her eyes closed, surrendering herself to his care. Azazel places the rope in Cherrie’s hand so she can get a feel of the material first.

“Here Love; just touch it first.”

Cherrie holds the rope in her hands, tightening her grip around it to gain a sense of control. She then nods her head in consent for Azazel to continue. Azazel's fingers deftly wrap the rope around her wrists, securing them gently. He ties the knots with precision, ensuring they are tight enough to provide the sensation she seeks, but not so tight as to cause pain. As he works, Cherrie's breath quickens, her body responding to the familiar sensation of restraint. Azazel's touch is gentle, his fingers brushing against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

He leans in, his lips grazing her ear, whispering words of love and reassurance.“You're safe, Cherrie. I'm here with you.”

“I’m ready.”

Azazel steps back, admiring the sight of Cherrie, bound and vulnerable, yet radiating strength and determination. He reaches out, his hand caressing her cheek, his thumb brushing against her soft lips. Cherrie softly gasps and starts to tremble

“Breathe my love, inhale…exhale.” Azazel moves a strand of hair out of the way. “You're beautiful, Cherrie. So incredibly brave.” Azazel bends down and kisses Cherrie’s stomach. “Our sons are as brave as their mother, and I couldn’t be more proud of all of you for staying strong/ For staying…with me.”

Cherrie lifts Azazel’s chin. “We would never leave you, Daddy … never.”

With that, Azazel begins to untie the ropes, his movements slow and deliberate.

As the restraints fall away, Cherrie's body relaxes, and a sense of relief washes over her.

She steps forward, wrapping her arms around Azazel, burying her face against his chest, her tears dampening his shirt.

“Thank you. Thank you for helping me face my fears, for being my strength.”

Azazel holds her tightly, his heart swelling with love and pride.

“You did this, Cherrie. You're the strongest woman I know. We'll keep fighting together, until we're free of his shadow.”