My Soul Mate Is Death (A Paranormal Romance)

Soul Mate, Schmoul Mate pt. 2

"A crack house? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to woo me." 

I take in my surroundings with apprehension. The three-story abandoned house in which we just walked has a sordid air to it. With its barricaded windows, busted front door and graffiti-decorated walls, I could swear it comes directly from the set of The Walking Dead.

Now that we are inside, I can not take my eyes away from the floor. It is littered with so many different, random things. From cigarette buds, to dirty socks, to sleeping bodies. It feels like I am walking through a mine field. Each step is like a little surprise. Or a little heart attack. Am I going to just keep walking, or am I going to step in human fecal matter?

I have been to one of these before, except that this one is even more disgusting. And I have not the slightest clue why Death dragged me here. It is not like I expected a date or anything when he suggested we go out, but this is just plain gruesome. He snakes an arm around me to bring me closer to him, but I shrug it off and put more distance between us.

We walk by at least half a dozen bodies, laying in their own piss with needles half-up their arms in what must have been the living room. It makes me shudder.

He shoots me a look that says to shut up and keep following him. I chose to ignore it by averting his gaze. I am in a crap mood and all of these tortured souls laying around are starting to get to me.

How could you just let this happen to yourselves? Their sorrow is so palpable, it is like I can just feel it hanging in the air. It is suffocating. I just want to shake and un-bake them.

That or bring a clown in here to cheer the place up.

"Come on," he ushers me to the second floor by resting his hand on the small of my back. This time, however, I do not push him away. In fact, I lean in a little closer to him when I feel something grazing one of my ankles.

The second floor is much like the first. Dark, dirty and sad. I vaguely wonder if Death decided to bring me here to scare me into forgiving him. I would not put it past him.

We walk through a long corridor, sidestepping a few ratty mattresses. I nearly slip, but Death's grip on my waist prevents me from falling head first in a half-eaten racoon carcass. I gulp.

"Hang on, we're almost there," he whispers in my ear. His breath tickles my skin, sending annoying goosebumps all the way down my tailbone.

"Almost where?" I glare at him, "Is there a magical closet that leads to Narnia in here?"

"Can you keep the witty comebacks to a minimum? I need to focus."

Focus on what? All I can focus on is the stench of human debauchery.

He leads me to the last room at the end of the hallway. He pushes the rickety door open and pulls me inside before closing it behind us. The room is small with light-blue paint peeling of its walls. The window shutters are dangling from their hinges, allowing for a small amount of moon light to peak through. It looks eerie, almost peaceful.

Until my eyes settle on the girl sprawled across the floor in one of the corners. I take a hesitant step toward her, noticing her pallid complexion and the way her greasy hair are matted against her head. A green substance foams at her lips, dripping onto the floor in a small pool of vomit.

Her eyelids are shut and her arms lay on each side of her, motionless. Want to know what else is motionless? Her abdomen.

"Oh fuck no."

Realization dawns on me like a bucket of ice cold water.

"You're sick!" I stab a finger at him and start stomping to the door.