Running With Devils

Twenty

It seemed his alternative fashion sense was kept only to his skin.

No. This room was immaculate. It was a tasteful sort of modern. The dark gray bed frame was simple and the bed itself had been surgically made with crisp clean white sheets.

The small pops of color came from a corner with a tall easel. On it, sat a painting.

The scene was familiar. It was me. He had painted me while I tended my mothers garden the morning James had arrived. I was portrayed on my knees in the dirt holding a stem of lavender to my face as if I was breathing in the sweet scent of them.

My heart clenched as I noticed the background.

Home.

"Do you like it," he asked curiously.

I shrugged. That shrug was a lie.

"You don't have to spare my feelings if you don't like it," he chuckled. "I'm no stranger to criticism."

"It's nice," I swallowed.

He groaned. "Don't waste your time pretending," he said in annoyance. "I know you're pissed off. I know that you're sad. But let's be honest with each other and not give half assed responses."

I spun around to face him quickly. "Why didn't you at least let me try to salvage my home? It wouldn't have made a difference to you—"

"Wrong," he said, cutting me off. "So very very wrong. If I had let you get near that house, you would have killed yourself for nothing."

He sat on the edge of his bed as he continued.

"Personally, I don't like to see things go to waste. And if you had chosen die in that house, then not only would this whole thing been a huge fucking waste of everybody's time, but it would have wasted your potential."

"It still would've been better than this," I said in exasperation. "I would rather die protecting something I care about than die in some hell hole."

His face remained stoic. "Is your life worth less than a house?"

"That's not— that's not the point."

"Then what is the point? I'm actually curious where your head is at," he asked, rolling onto his side and propping his head up with his fist.

"What are you? My therapist," I scoffed. "I'm not interested in your psychoanalysis of my mental state."

"Oh, I'm just passing the time, darling," he smirked. "I just want to understand what's going on in that pretty head of yours."

I laughed bitterly. "Nothing good."

"I can tell," he laughed. "Your face says it all."

"I'll tell you what," I said slowly. "If you tell me why I am so important to the Seventh Circle, I'll let you have your therapy session."

His grin only widened. "And ruin the surprise? Mal, would actually kill me."

"What Mal doesn't know won't kill him," I shrugged.

The demon smiled. "As much as keeping a secret thrills me, I don't need to make deals like most demons. I simply—"

Suddenly I didn't feel like I was in control of my own body. My finger slipped a charred strap from my nightgown off my shoulder.

"—take what I want."

I swallowed. "Please, don't," I breathed, shutting my eyes.

Then I felt my own index finger tap my nose lightly. My control returned soon after.

He clicked his tongue. "Don't worry, darling," he sighed. "I wouldn't bother. Not with the condition you're in."

I rolled my eyes. "Should I be thanking you?"

"I wouldn't just yet," he smirked. "We have something else in store for you. Something that will definitely change your tune. I only brought you here to buy the others some time, darling. Plus, I've had such a disappointing amount of time with you."

A sudden chill ran through my body.

"But I'm tired of talking. You're a disaster,  and I need a project to work on."

He waved his hand, opening a closet door to reveal the inside, filled to the edges with clothes.

"Go ahead," he instructed. "Have at it."
I rolled my eyes, peeking into the filled closet.

All of his clothes were void of color. Whites, grays, and blacks were the only pigments I could see.

I just grabbed something and turned around.

"Wow," he sighed. "Are baggy clothes the only things you wear?"

"I like comfy clothes," I grumbled.

"You'll have to get over that quickly," he said, getting up from the bed and striding over. I watched as he pulled out several pieces. "Try these."

He just shoved the clothes into my arms and walked out of the room.