Demon Host

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE- Her signature smile.

MY HANDS MOVED fluently on their own accord around the scrawny sketch pad now covered in scrambled up images. I had the picture in my head yet whenever I tried to put it down to paper it always came out so wrong.

'Why?'

I nearly screamed out of frustration at the remedy then I stopped for just a moment to take in my hand work. It was a rough sketch indeed. The darkened lines bind with the edges of her skin put me at an edge, it wasn't even real... Yet I was jolting. This is my doing, my work, my drawing, of a creature that had hunted my dreams for so long up till now.

The hollowness in the depths of it's eyes made my stomach clench. Knowing fully well that it was inside of me and it could probably see exactly what I was doing right then....or not.

I remember the empty look in it's eyes like I was staring at it live all over again. But I refused to be consumed by the thought, and just like the twenty five other trashed papers littering the floor, I ripped off my current hazard and squeezed it before flinging it over to the ground again, ready to try again the twenty seventh time.

I had isolated myself in the tiny basement with my usual pad, pencils, and every other materials used for drawing. It was what I liked to call stress venting in practical form. It had been my therapy for so many years and just this few months without a pen and it feels like I've almost forgotten how to draw.

A few angry sketches later, I pushed away from my small wooden desk and let my head crash on the surface as I let out a heavy sigh.

Getting myself back together, I pulled up, separated myself from the chair and wondered about in the small space. My head hurt badly and my arms felt week, the side effects to Isabella's dozes that I had been taking.

My eyes felt heavy but I willed myself to keep them wide open with the help of a little caffeine, it always worked all the time.

I stopped in front of the blur sketch I had hung on the wall a few minutes ago. Trailing my fingertips down the peaceful edges of his face, I felt my eyes water just a little bit.

This was a diagram of a man that had risked his life to help me, only for me to shred it with my own hands. George Marius.

I did not think that I would have been able to get the rough edges of his face right considering how blurry the diagram was. But somehow I had managed to capture the image of every ageing line in his face and put them graphically on this piece of paper so well. I had somehow managed to capture the warmth of his smile, the smile that he had spread so lightly when he offered me food at his place.

The small ping on my phone distracted my thoughts and I dipped my hand into my back pocket and pulled it out.

A small smile took over my features as I read the text that had popped up my screen from Bianca. The Italian model I had met on my little Rome trip.

'I don't think Dianna likes pizza so much.'

I chuckled a little at that. We usually text each other back and forth some few times when we are less busy and I don't have a murderous supernatural creature taking over my subconscious mind and body.

I sent her back a shocked emoji which was obviously fake, highlighting my text as I sent back "how could she!" 

She always had something sweet to say about the little princess growing in her womb that she had surprise, surprise! Named after me. I found it adorable and beautiful. Not long after I got a reply from her.

Smiling to myself, I ended up spending a few minutes to myself just texting and giggling at the cute little photos of her small baby bump and her husband kissing and holding it like an egg.