Chapter 14: 5.2 – Dynasties and Dystopia ~ Just getting chaotic, y’all made me a product. For causing the chaos right here where they raised me.

“Sit,” Michael ordered his daughter, patting his hand on his desk.

Sara slid up on the desk, blood coating her.

Michael said, “I’m going to get a new t-shirt and some medical supplies. Wait.” He was guided out of his office and closed the door softly.

Sara stayed sat on the desk, swinging her legs. She could her feelings mixing in her stomach and her mind geared for the worst. Michael did tell her she did well, but why did she feel bad? That stunt she pulled off her friend wasn’t nice and she knew it. She gripped the desk. She wasn’t being a good friend, but she couldn’t let Kate win.

I should let her win sometimes. But would that make her madder at me?

The lonely teenager glanced up to see Sal grinning back at her, “I love when I see you fighting like that. It is something to behold.”

Sara glanced down at the flooring, “Leave me alone.” She didn’t see him at all when she was fighting, but she could sense him there and she had been shaking the feeling, ignoring it.

Sal walked closer to her, examining her body, “Hmm, your father will clean you up nicely, like he always does.” He smiled, “You should let me help you next time.”

Sara spat, “I said, leave me alone!”

Sal shook his head, pacing around the office now, “Why should I? When it’s so fun to tease you like this. Look at you, a bloody mess, and someone how, you still look hot as shit.”

Sara blushed. His voice didn’t matter. She saw his casual sneakers appear in her view and before she could look at him, she felt a fingertip at her chin, pulling it up. Sal’s black eyes stared at her. “Maybe you should try fighting me next time.”

The teenager glared at him and bit down on her lips, “I said leave me alone.”

Sal trickled his finger down her face, “But you’re so lovely.”

Sara gripped her head. He was fake. He wasn’t real. Even though she could feel him, he wasn’t real. She squeezed her eyes shut, “Leave me alone!” She felt a bad headache coming.

The door opened and Michael stared at her, “Sara, you’re okay?” He was holding her shirt and a pair of tweezers inside a glass bowl.

Sara frowned, but nodded slowly, “Yeah.” Sal had vanished from where he was. Nowhere in sight. Sara sighed a relief in her head.

Michael closed the door behind him. Sara yanked off her shirt, sitting there in her bra and leggings. She put her arms on the table, steadying herself for bullets to be picked out of her. Michael put her shirt down and started to do the job.

Silence overtook them for a few long minutes, Sara not even flinching once.

On the last pull of the bullet, Michael asked, as casually as he could, “Sara, the glowing of the eyes. Why were you mad?”

Sara cast her eyes away, “I wanted to impress you.”

Michael put the last bullet in the bowl with a clang and cast the tweezers aside. He kissed her forehead, healing her body. That wasn’t the answer he wanted.

Sara stated, “I knew you were still mad at me,” she crossed her arms tightly across her chest, “And I wanted to make you happy,” She was still looking at the glossy glass wall, awaiting his response.

Michael leaned back on his desk, looking at her, “You don’t ever need to impress me.”

Sara’s eyes stung, “I failed when you asked me to not say you were my father and I was a fool at your brother’s house.”

Michael agreed, “You were.”

Sara turned at him, surprised that he answered with a straightforward truth, “I’m sorry.”

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The Archangel handed her the shirt, “Lesson learned, you won’t do it again.”

“You sound cold to me,” muttered Sara, slipping the shirt on her, looking down at the icon, which said: I’m His Favorite. Sara frowned, did this mean that she was his favorite, or was he talking about God?

Sara’s father jumped up and sat down on the desk next to her, “I’m not cold of what happened recently...well, you could say it has happened recently, but not what you are thinking.” He sighed and grabbed her head and made her turn to him, “Sara, are you hallucinating him again?”

Sara gripped harder on the desk, her nails dug onto the surface, “Dad,” she started and she saw him narrow his eyes waiting for her question, waiting for the excuse she was about to outright say. The excuse she always gave him. “I don’t want to worry you. It’s nothing.”

Michael sighed out his frustration and then stood up. He stared at her and started to walk around the room. Sara groaned and tilted her up in such a dramatic tone, “Not another speech. I know you are going to say… ‘Sara, you’re my daughter. You’re my responsibility, I love you. I’m supposed to worry over you, blah blah blah.” She rolled her eyes, “Please, spare both of us.”

Michael stood in front of her, his arms folded across his chest, his golden eyes dull from his worried eyes, “Then give me a different speech that will make you listen to my concerns.” He tapped his foot on the wooden white planks, waiting for her answer.

Sara pressed her lips and jumped down from the desk. “Don’t worry about me. I am the one who doesn’t need the saving, the world does.” She stopped in her tracks, gazing up at her father’s worried, concerned eyes.

Michael knew this would happen. They always go on this loop over and over again. It was getting tiring. And they both knew she was lying, dodging the questions he asked over and over again. He didn’t want to go this route, but she gave him no choice.

Sara started to head to the door but Michael stepped in front of her, relaxing his arms to his side, not trying to appear mad at her, “Sara, look at me.”

Sara stared at her father’s eyes.

“Did he hit me last night?”

Sara gave a confused look and then understood. Did Sal hit him? Sara went flushed, “Dad."

“So, that’s a yes,” said Michael, studying her broken face.

Sara’s voice cracked, “He told me to hurt Lucifer. And I didn’t do what he wanted and he got mad at me! He wanted to punish me.” Wet tears came down her pale face and Michael cupped her delicate features. He pulled her cold body to him, feeling her head bury into his chest, sobbing, “I’m sorry.”

“Sara, I’m here for you,” hushed Michael, “It wasn’t your fault.” He brushed his hand down her silk hair. He knew something was wrong but didn’t know how to prevent what was happening. He and his angels, plus licensed warlocks had examined every aspect of her brain and body and found nothing wrong. Some warlocks went into her mind and tried to see what she did, but not once, not the angels, warlocks, and  

Michael himself could find anything wrong.

But Michael knew in his heart, that Sara wouldn’t deceive him like this. She wouldn’t do this for attention. However, it made him question her insanity. Like countless years and times, he ran through his head to find if somehow anything traumatic happened to her. He had asked her, but she shook her head.

Michael had gone through so many possibilities: Traumatic events, a curse cast on her, depression...but he knew how the brain worked. It was mysterious. He understand most of what the brain could do, but again God was omnipotent.

Sara’s voice rang in his head, God can do whatever the fuck He wants.

You’re right, darling. He can do whatever He pleases. Michael answered back. But why, are you struggling so much? Why are you seeing this man that I can’t even find? Why does it have to be you, daughter?

The Archangel could feel her heart pound against him. Sara whispered back to him, “Then why do I feel like it’s my fault?” His daughter's voice was tight, straining from trying not to cry once again.

Michael closed his eyes, feeling his warmth against her fragile, but agile body, “Don’t listen to those negative voices.”

“But it’s not voiced, it’s just a voice,” debated Sara.

Michael looked down at her with a smirk, here she was yet playing this game, trying to correct him like a typical teenager, “Everyone, even me, has a voice that says negative shit. I meant that. And you mean of him.” The Archangel wished so much he could see what Sara saw. He hugged her tighter, protectively. Michael hated that a man was beating his daughter up. Anyone who does that was an immediate enemy to him. Sara's father hated, even more, the fact that this enemy was invisible to him...and there was nothing he could do about it.

Michael wanted to push more on why she hadn’t been telling him this, but he knew she was on the verge of tears again. So, Michael stood there, comforting his sweet fragile daughter.

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