Archive-name: Fantasy/falang02.txt
Archive-author: T.F.Yank
Archive-title: Fallen Angel -  2


     I spent the next while rendering tribute to the Gods in the form of
half digested food and what must have been gallons of dark, acidic
liquid.  I was amazed by the quantity I vomited.  I never realized my
stomach could hold so much.
     Once I was certain my stomach had no further offerings to give up, I
made my way to the sink.  Only the cold water tap worked, and only a
trickle at that.  I noticed they had several vending machines.  One sold
condoms, another pocket combs.  There was also one that sold tooth paste
complete with a disposable tooth brush.
     Searching my pant pockets, I managed to find enough change to
purchase the tooth paste.  I washed my face in the trickle of cold water.
Cupping my hands, I brought several handfuls to my mouth and tried to
rinse out the horrible after taste.  Squeezing a large gob of tooth paste
onto the small brush, I brushed my teeth.  God, the stuff tasted almost
as bad as what I had just thrown up.
     After rinsing my mouth as best I could, I looked for a towel.  And
of course there wasn't any.  Only one of those damned hot-air dryers.  I
hate those things, always make me feel clammy.  Left with no choice, I
turned the nozzle so the tepid air was directed at my face.
     Before I left the washroom, I checked my appearance in the dirty,
cracked mirror over the sink.  I looked like shit.  Well it was nice to
know I looked better than I felt.
     I made my way back to the bar.  I was happy to see my drink and
cigarettes were still there.  I glanced down the bar.  I felt a pang of
disappointment as I noticed she was no longer there.
     What was the difference anyways, I chided myself.  Like she was just
dying to have anything to do with a sick drunk.  I reached for a ciga-
rette and stuck it in my mouth.  I flicked my lighter but nothing
happened.  I shook it a few times and tried again.  Still nothing.
     "Here, let me," a voice said softly in my ear, as a hand reached out
and took the lighter from me.  A small flick, and a weak yellow flame
sprang to life.  Leaning my cigarette into the flame, I took a deep drag.
      "Thanks, I needed that," I said, slowly exhaling.  I turned to see
who my benefactor was, and was immediately devoured by twin pools of
grey.  The angel!  She was still there.
     "Are you okay?" the soft voice questioned.  I tore my gaze from the
twin beacons, only to find myself staring at that full mouth.  Pearl
white teeth peeked out between slightly parted lips.  "I said, are you
okay?" a soft breeze whispered.
     I shut my eyes and mentally shook myself.  When I opened my eyes,
she was still standing there, a questioning look upon her face.  "I'm
okay, I guess," I replied.  Suddenly feeling uncomfortable with her being
so close, I reached for my glass.
     "Do you really think you should?" she asked.  "You'd probably be
better off with a cup of black coffee."
     I caught a whiff of the amber liquid and my stomach lurched.  "Yeah,
I guess you're right."
     "There's a restaurant across the street," she suggested.  "Why don't
we get you some coffee.  Can't have you going home in this condition."
      "Can't go home in any condition," I muttered as I stood.  The room
swayed around me, and I reached out to steady myself.  When I realized I
had grabbed on to her, I apologised and tried to let go.
     "No," she said, grabbing my arm.  "Let me help you."  Being in no
condition to refuse, I allowed her to steady me and lead me from the bar.
Once outside, I was surprised to find it was dark.  The sun had still
been shining when I had arrived earlier.
     Slowly we made our way across the street and into the restaurant. 
She led us to a booth and helped me into it.  Taking a seat opposite me,
she ordered a couple of coffees when the waitress came.
     I realized I was staring at her.  I felt a blush creep up my face,
and looked away.  We sat there silently until the waitress returned with
two large mugs of coffee.  As I tried to raise mine to my mouth, I
spilled some down my front.  Damn, it was hot
     She got up from her seat and came around to my side.  Reaching for a
napkin, she attempted to wipe the coffee off my jacket.  "Let's try that
again," she said taking the cup from my hand, "only this time, just sip
it".  She lifted the cup to my mouth and I managed a small sip without
spilling it all over.  "Now you try," she said, wrapping both my hands
around the cup.
     My hands shook as they raised the cup upward.  Partly due to the
booze, but also because of her nearness.  Not feeling all that confident,
I lowered my head to meet the cup half way.  I managed another sip. 
Carefully setting the cup down, I faced her and said, "Thanks.  Didn't
mean for you to go to all this trouble."
     "No talking until you get at least one cup of coffee into you," she
said, smiling.  Her fingers wrapped around my hands still holding the
cup, and lifted upward.  Taking the hint, I took another drink.  After
the first couple of sips, it didn't seem as hot.  I managed to take a few
larger swallows.  And all the while, her fingers remained wrapped around
the backs of my hands.
     At first, her touch seemed icy cold.  But it must have been because
the cup was so hot.  Because now her touch seemed to burn.  Not a painful
burning, but rather a warm physical heat.
     Raising the cup, I drained the last of the black liquid.  Placing it
down on the table with more steadiness than I thought I was capable of, I
smiled weakly and said, "Okay.  Now can I thank you?"
     "Sure," she said, pushing the other cup to me.  "But let's see if
you can get a second cup in you while we talk."
     Taking the cup and lifting it into the air in a mock toast, I said,
"Thanks to my rescuing angel."  For a moment, I thought I saw a look of
startlement in her grey eyes.  But if it was there, it quickly passed.
     "I don't even know your name," I added.
     "Anggie," she replied.
     "Anggie?" I said.  "And that's short for Angela?"
      "Well, if you really must know.  My full name is Angelica Maria
Dubourbon.  And yours?"
     "Chris.  Christopher William Whalen at your service, fair lady. 
Funny, when I first saw you tonight, I thought you were an angel.  And
here I find your name is Angelica-- angelic, how fitting."
     "Oh I doubt I'd be confused for an angel.  A fallen angel, maybe. 
But it seems you're feeling better.  She must have really hurt you."
     "She?  How do you know it was a 'she'?"
     I don't.  Just an impression.  You don't strike me as someone who
gets drunk on a steady basis.  I just figured it must have something to
do with a girlfriend or a wife.  You looked like someone trying to drown
an unpleasant memory."
     I don't know why, but suddenly I had this urge to tell her every-
thing.  As the whole, painful story erupted from my lips, Anggie sat
there, listening attentively, her hands clasping mine.  Finally I
finished, tears streaming down my cheeks.  Somehow, sharing this with her
seemed to lessen the pain.

--