His Name Was ------ Part Two

Meeting this man made me realize just how wrong my current life is. How could I have not noticed how many pieces of my self were gone? Utterly missing? Honestly, I should be angry. Furious even. Instead, all I feel is a sense of numbness. Like I'm far away from anything that could make me... have an opinion in particular.

"You really did forget all about me, didn't you?" He notices the torment in my eyes and speaks up, "Are you okay? I can't tell... but it seems like you're disassociating again." I shake my head vigorously. I'm not sure if it's because I'm very much not fine, or if I'm trying to get rid of these thoughts with physical force.

"I think I didn't forget you completely," I begin, "but I can't really say I remember you either." He starts making that expression again and I'm struck with the urge to do anything to make it go away. "You're familiar though, and seeing your face makes me feel strange. Like the emptyness is sharper than it's ever been. What do I do?"

"You forgot my name again, didn't you?" He asks in a soft voice.

"I did. Please tell me again," My eyes start to itch like they do when I stand in the smoke of the forge for hours. Tears? I don't remember the word for what's happening, but I feel like something inside me is close to breaking. My head feels like it's going to split open and reveal nothing but a hollow nook of bone, hiding and protecting nothing within it.

"My name is-" an even more blindingly painful stab goes through my head this time, causing me to double over with a scream. As much as I feel bad for interrupting him, I can't stop myself from groaning. "Shit, okay, no more of that then," he rushes out, catching me right before I fall over.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't remember you. Why can't I remember you? Why can't I remember how I got here?" I manage to choke out. Everything hurts. Trying to reach into the bowels of my own mind feels like sticking my hand directly into a bowl of broken glass. Am I really who I think I am?

Then it hits me. A cohesive memory. A woman, staring me down, radiating ethereal light. "You have crossed us for the last time, mortal." She grabs my head and starts lifting. "I curse you. You will spend the rest of eternity living a pathetic, hollow life. You will serve your betters without fail. I now take the parts of you that cause you to feel free. You will not suffer, because you will not know of a time before you became like this. I will let you keep this memory," her eyes glow with a blinding brightness, searing the inside of my Self. "So you will never forget to stay in your place. Create to your heart's content, and never stop. This is the price of your hubris." Her sneer morphs into a toothy grin, "Mortals should never bargain with the divine." The memory ends.

"Oh. Well fuck." is my intelligent response to this memory.

The man is panicking. I pat him on the face and smile reassuringly. He does not seem terribly reassured. "Your nose is bleeding. Do you at least remember your name?" he asks.

"I do, I'm Jaek. And considering how much my head hurts, a nosebleed isn't unreasonable." I respond simply. "At any rate, I think an imposing goddess stole all my bits that weren't required for physically creating art. Any ideas on how to fix that?" The man gives me a blank look. I really should call him something other than The Man, but currently lack the means to really put effort into such a thing. "Also everything hurts. Could I trouble you to take me inside?" He sighs.

"It's no trouble at all." he responds, picking me up like I weigh nothing. Indeed, with such a muscular, shapely, handsome body, holding my tiny self would no doubt be no trouble.

Have I mentioned how attractive he is?

At the risk of offending the gods a second time, I must say that not even the gods themselves could top his ruggedly good looks. He would be the perfect muse for any artist. Even now, I feel the need to pick up a pencil or something, but being cradled against his warm, firm chest by his big, warm arms makes me distinctly unable to do much of anything. I find that I really don't mind it. I actively feel all the jagged bits in my chest starting to smooth over a bit, like they're being sanded away by proximity to his body heat.

"So... I really can't remember anything except my products. I don't even remember how I make things, I just create what I'm commissioned." I pause and think a moment. "One of my regulars actually came in person recently. He said that my art has been lacking lately, and he's considering not coming back for a new piece," I frown. "Could it be that my art is lacking heart?" I look at this strange man. His smile is full of things besides joy, and there's nothing I can do to help him.

Who am I kidding? I can't even help myself, I didn't even know anything was wrong until just now. Am I really so useless on my own? Am I really so clueless that I didn't notice my soul was missing? What is the point of creation if it's done by some soulless machine?

"Don't worry, Jaek. I will help you get your memories back," he snaps me out of my spiral, "After all, what's another god's blood on my blade?" his rhetorical question is, to say the least, concerning.

"I think I really didn't need to know that, actually." Genuinely. "Seriously, why would you tell me that? Am I supposed to be reassured?" my voice may be rising in pitch as my spiral gains momentum once more, but he seems unaffected.

"It doesn't have to be. Just know that I will not let you out of my sight." His expression is grim, "I will protect you this time. Trust me."

Yippee.....