Fallen

Chapter 15 (Cadi's POV)

I see cold, unforgiving faces, blank and serious on the angels side of the room. The demons look amused, mildly interested, but not as if I'm worth much. The only face that looks at all concerned is Bella's, and I doubt that any of that concern is for me.

Andres sees me watching and tauntingly places his arm around her waist, giving me a look as if daring me to say something. Tears burn behind my eyelids and my heart aches.

Why me?

Then I just remember being handed a drink. "Drink it," Peter demands. It smells horrible, but I - stupidly - comply.

The world starts spinning and then it goes black.

*

When I wake up I'm chained to a wall, my head pounding from whatever they gave me. I groan quietly. Tomorrow morning I'll be Wingless. Then I hear harsh, raggedy, but unmistakable breathing - of something else. Though I feel like I've got the headache equivalent of being slowly dipped an acid, I manage to figure it out.

I'm not the only one who failed this year. Someone else is going to be Wingless too. That's a comfort, in a weird way.

"Who is it?" I ask hoarsely.

Silence is my only reply, and I'm about to tell myself that I'm imagining things when a sharp, cold, oddly familiar voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Who do you think, angel girl?"

"If I knew, would I be asking?" The sarcastic reply surprises even me.

It seems that more of Andres rubbed off on me than I thought.

Whoever it is chuckles. "No wonder you're becoming Wingless. The angels would never allow someone with a spine to become part of their community. Us demons prefer someone with a bit of a backbone." She laughs a bitter laugh. "Or should I say, the demons."

"Y-you're a demon?" I'm slightly surprised. Demons don't tend to fail initiation if they get back alive.

"Was," she replies, coolly. "I'm here with you, aren't I? Waiting to get parts of my body pulled out of my back." Her voice becomes lightly jeering. "Better prepare yourself. Angels don't do well in painful climates."

"Angels go through pain." I snap back. I don't know why I'm defending the angels. I just don't like being laughed at, I guess.

I've had enough of that for a life time.

She laughs again. "I'm sure. So, what happened to you?"

"Happened to me?"

"Well, something must have happened to you for you to become Wingless. What went wrong?"

"Went wrong?"

She's silent for a few moments, then rolls her eyes. "Angel education. What were you taught about angel and demon brains?"

"Uh, angels are good. Demons are bad. Demons want to hurt you, stay away from them. You are an angel and naturally pure," I recite flatly.

"Well, that's not correct," she says bluntly. "Demons have an automatic tendency to be bad. Perhaps it was a curse, perhaps it was the result of a failed experiment, who knows, but angel and demon brains have a pretty similar set up. The frontal lobe of the brain is what allows choices and decision making. Now for the first sixteen years of a supernatural's life, that frontal lobe develops, until by their sixteenth birthday, it's developed fully - to make the cruel choices, or the good ones.

"But they still allow decisions," she continues. My head is spinning. I still have that awful headache, and this is kind of confusing. "So, if a demon is brought up in Hell - cruelty, evil, harshness, weapons, sin, it's all they know. It's all their brain will know. Nothing else will manage to develop. By the time they're sixteen, nothing will have interfered and that demon will be cruel for the rest of their life. But if they see some form of happiness, love, whatever - it'll mess them up. They won't be a demon. They'll be what I am. A warped demon who sees that thing of happiness, again, and again, and again ..." Her voice tails off. "And they'll become Wingless." She laughs, but there is no humour in the sound. "What about you? What did you see?"

I open my mouth to say nothing, then I remember my mother, cruelty etched on her face, spiteful words tumbling out of her mouth, jeering and laughing at my shame. Is that what I am? Something 'warped?' An angel who wasn't allowed to be an angel because my brain had developed in the wrong way?

"I- my mother ... she wasn't the nicest."

The girl laughs. "What, that pretty little thing with the long golden hair and that pouty mouth, the one standing there batting her eyelids next to that Peter guy? She seemed innocent enough. All of your lickle angel fwends do." Her put on lisp as she speaks seems to be making fun of me. I'm not sure if it's in a mean way.

"Angels aren't as innocent as they seem." I say quietly. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Haven't you guessed, angel girl?"

"I don't know you."

She chuckles. "Well, I'm ..."

I feel like it's really obvious who it is, but who knows, maybe that's because I wrote it *-* Don't forget to comment, vote and share :P