Tricking Death

Chapter 22 - Just a Pawn

I was sitting in my room, staring at nothing with one eye, the other blocked off by the massive ice pack I was pressing underneath the other. There was no sound coming from downstairs, which somehow just made me more anxious. My mom had tried spouting the old saying of "no news is good news" at me just a few minutes ago, but I couldn't bring myself to believe her. I simply turned my back as she stood at my door, forcing her to give and leave me alone to deal with my misery and feelings of self-pity. 

"Emily." I whirled around so fast that it made me dizzy. Death was casually leaning up against the doorframe of my bedroom, his arms lazily folded across his chest. Going by his expression, it was impossible to tell what had just happened downstairs after he forced me to leave. 

"What did you do to her?"

"My, my. You seem so concerned." In one quick, fluid movement, he had pushed himself off of the wall and started moving towards where I was on the bed. 

"That's not an answer," I muttered, shifting myself around so that I was as far away as I could possibly be from him. It wasn't much; a twin mattress didn't have much to offer in the way of width. "Stay away from me." 

"Oh, c'mon; don't be like that," he said softly, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards him. I tried to resist, but it turned out to be a futile effort as he wrapped his arm securely around my waist, holding me in place. "After what happened last night, I think we're past all of this foolishness now." 

"Let go of me," I hissed, planting my arms on his chest and throwing all of my weight backwards. I was fully aware that it must have appeared completely ridiculous to anyone watching, but I didn't want him to be touching me. 

"You're acting like a spoiled child, Emily." He stroked my damaged cheek gently, and I winced a little even under the soft pressure of his hand. 

"I don't care! Let. Me. GO!" 

"Don't you want to know about what happened downstairs?" I started cursing him under my breath: the bastard knew that he had the upper hand here, both in terms of physical strength and having exactly what I wanted. "You can also stop saying all of those nasty lies under your breath. I know you don't truly believe any of that." 

"You don't know anything." 

"I do know what happened downstairs, unlike someone else in this room. Not naming any names, though." 

"Stop fucking with me and tell me already!"

He tsked at me, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "Language, Em. You've got quite the potty mouth today, apparently." His lips were now curled up into a lazy smile, making it clear that he was enjoying every second of this, unlike me. 

"Just shut up!"

"Then how am I supposed to tell you what happened?" 

Instead of replying, I started trying to detach myself from his arms again. The mark he had left on my chest that morning had started gently pulsing ever since he entered my room, growing stronger the closer to me he got. It sickened me to admit that it was a pleasant sensation: it made it hard to think about anything else.

"Emily..." 

"What?" I snapped, frustrated tears starting to leak out of my eyes. I was angry at myself for being so weak, at him for messing up everything he touched in one fell swoop, and at life for being so cruel. 

His hand snaked under my chin, forcing me to look up at him. The look on his face quickly changed to one of surprise when he noticed the tears sliding down my cheeks, before quickly changing to one of concern.