A/N: Hi lovelies! Thank you so much for 150 reads, I'm so glad you're liking the book so far! As always, let me know what you think and I can't wait to hear from you!! I'm hoping to have this book finished for the watty's so uploads might be becoming more frequent, especially next month, but I'll keep you updated!!!
All my love xx
As far as anyone was aware, the small, twenty-four-hour cafe that sat on the corner of a usually quiet and boring Glasgow street, had been the victim of mindless hooligan vandalism. The people that did it took off with nothing, not even the small amount of money in the till, but they left behind a tornado of mess made by the ingredients found at the front counter. Luckily, the only worker who was there was found unharmed, but unconscious. Therefore, the plagues to society couldn't be identified. Not only that, but because of the lack of staff and miscommunications, the security system wasn't active and therefore no leads were going to be followed.
Or at least that's what every single person believed, except for Bonnie.
She obviously knew that there had been no hooligans, no spontaneous decision to mess up an otherwise unknown cafe and reap no benefits. It had genuinely surprised her when she woke to a figure standing over her asking if she was alright—she half expected to be dead. But as her vision came around and her mind stumbled to realisation, it only took a moment to understand that the early morning construction workers had come in and found her, and that the men from before had been honest about keeping her alive.
If they were real, that is.
It had been on Bonnie's mind since the moment she looked around the place. It would be right to think that all that had happened here was exactly what she'd told everyone, but in small speckles of evidence, she could still see the truth. A few charred marks on the wall, a dark substance that looked like ash, but thicker, splayed over floorboards. She'd noticed them when the sunlight had risen, overlooked by the people around, but so obvious to her.
A part of her almost wanted to tell the truth, to at least see if what she knew could even be the tiniest bit logical or someone could offer a hand of explanation. This idea quickly died when the shouts of her boss had chimed from along the street upon seeing the front smashed window, and she knew the anger that would grow at seeing his business in such a state inside. He would only redirect it to her if she started talking nonsense or trying to blame the dent in his income on mythical beings and men who appeared out of nowhere. Plus, if she admitted she'd been awake, then she might not have received such a caring hug from him or been told to take the next couple of days off. She was especially grateful for the cover story when he'd realised that his daughter had forgotten to check the cameras earlier in the day and he had zero claims available with the lack of evidence. She'd hate to think about how he'd react to knowing she'd skipped out on work, too.
But that wasn't her problem—Bonnie felt bad that Isabel was probably going to get the lecture of a lifetime and a fair amount of blame, but she wasn't the one who had almost died and was still trying to figure out if they were going insane or not. The mess on the outside of Bonnie was no match for the unravelling crisis beginning in her head. Maybe it was the shock that kept her legs working and mouth shut.
After getting questioned by the construction workers, then her boss, and then the police, Bonnie was finally told to go home and get some rest—something that her body screamed for, but her mind laughed at.
She was in a daze the entire walk—she couldn't say if she'd gone down one street or another, let alone if she'd even waited at any of the traffic lights. She seemed to function on autopilot, with her only destination being home.
Her thoughts didn't have space for the right now, she could only think about what had been—the creature that almost killed her and the men who saved her. Perhaps if she thought about it hard enough, the illusion she'd created would dissolve and she'd realise her mind had crumbled, revealing nothing more than the story she'd fabricated in her mind. But the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to settle into her bones and root itself in her core.
It had really happened.
By the time she'd made the ten-minute journey and stepped back into her small flat, her hands were shaking and her legs were giving way. If it hadn't been for the old, worn down handrail that followed up the stairs, she may have got stuck on the flight below.
As she shut the door behind her, her bag fell from her hands with a thud, and she kicked off her shoes to accompany it. Her first thought was to lie down, but as she took her jacket off, it became staggeringly clear that a shower would be the best option.
With her mind still in a fog, Bonnie went and turned on the water, the sound breaking the silence that she'd stayed in. She peeled off her work clothes, leaving them littered on the white tile below her feet, uncaring of the mess. As she turned to pull her polka dotted shower curtain back, she caught sight of herself in the mirror that was steaming up. With a slide of her arm, she cleared it.
The flakes of crusted red sauce speckled her skin like the freckles that she was born with, but they were so much jarring than she'd remembered. Seeing her naked body dotted with the memory of what had happened pulled her out of the numbness she'd let herself slip into.
"I should have died today."
Saying the words while staring into her own eyes made the impact far greater. Perhaps it was because in their green hue, so commonly referred to as the colour of life, she could see how true the words were. They should be lifeless and dull, glassed over with finality. But here she was. Still breathing.
Unaware of whether it was her own eyes misting or the steam in the room, she stepped back from her reflection and carefully into the shower. Almost immediately she slid down the cold edge of the bathtub and let her feet touch the other end, the spray of water washing away the tears that poured.
What exactly was she meant to do with the knowledge that the world around her wasn't what it seemed, and yet even it thought she was insignificant enough to die? Was she supposed to just continue living her life the way she had been, knowing that at any moment something could kill her simply for being alone?
Would she prefer to be dead than alive while knowing how sad she truly was?
She watched as the water slipped down the drain, now barely tinted red.
Was her life slipping away from her in the same way? Years had passed with no change and no motivation. How had she found herself here: a social life confined to these walls and a voice that barely anyone heard but her?
The thought that she could have disappeared off this earth with no one to remember or care about her was not only sad, but scary, too. Because that was always her biggest fear—to be forgotten. Again.
When the water turned cold, she wiped her face and pulled herself up out of her stupor, finding comfort in the soft towel that consumed her body. With shuffling feet, she made her way through to her bedroom, unaware of her surroundings. Once she'd pulled on her stay-at-home clothes, she grabbed her towel and made her way back to the bathroom, determined to at least tidy up and have some normalcy in her life.
But as she'd turned to pick up her discarded uniform from the trail on the floor, it shocked her to discover that it wasn't there. After a moment's pause, in which she retraced her steps and stood dumbfounded for a good half a minute, she shrugged her shoulders and went to the front door to pick up her coat. Maybe she'd been in such a daze that she didn't remember already doing it.
However, when she noticed her jacket already hanging on the peg and her bag perched perfectly under it, she realised she might not be as alone as she thought.
When she heard the beep of her washing machine and the kettle boiling, the relaxation she'd experienced vanished. With feet that moved at a snail's pace, she rounded the corner cautiously, eyes unblinking as she prepared herself.
Would it be another creature? Had something else come to kill her? Would she soon be splattered on the grey walls of her home, like ketchup from an exploding bottle?
"I figured you'd feel better with a clean house and a cup of tea."
An expletive flew out of her mouth as she spun around, the mug on her counter crashing to the floor as she tried to steady herself.
Her heart had jumped into her throat with the mere sound of someone behind her, but when she recognised the blue eyes of the man who had spoken, it debated on whether it should calm.
"You?" she whispered, still not fully understanding what was happening. "How did you...?"
The slightly embarrassed grin he gave was almost identical to the one she'd seen right before they had knocked her out.
"I may have been spying on you a little," he confessed, bending down to pick up the now shattered mug. "And I may have followed you home and then climbed up onto the roof to get in your window."
Bonnie looked across at the large open window placed beside her sofa, the view of the flat rooftop outside that she so often sat on, now glaringly obvious as a safety concern. Had she left it open when she went to work? She couldn't remember.
"It's a nice flat here. It's cosy," his voice continued from behind the counter, a lightness to it that felt as though they should be friends. "It's just you that lives here?"
Bonnie looked around the room, trying to spot something she could use as a weapon, almost rejoicing when she remembered the knife block behind her. If she moved carefully, she might reach it in time.
"I have a flatmate," she lied, glancing at where he'd disappeared to before reaching her arm back. "They're on their way home."
For a split second, her eyes left the spot they were watching to guide her hand to the handle, but by the time she'd looked again, the blonde was standing in front of her, the smashed cup in his palms and a knowing look on his face.
"Really?"
Bonnie froze, her panic stopping her from making a quick decision. The man held her eyes, one eyebrow rising as he looked between her and the block.
"Because I think you live alone. Also, just to be clear: if I was going to kill you, I would have done it while you were in the bath—far less mess to clean up."
For a third time that day, Bonnie felt herself relax because of the man's words and she couldn't help but believe his reasoning. If he truly had been in her flat for a while, then he'd have had multiple chances to kill her. Not forgetting when she was unconscious. Also, her food splattered clothes were now happily rotating in her washing machine, and it seemed odd that someone who was going to kill her would do her laundry.
He seemed to see the resolve in her as her shoulders dipped and her arm retreated, now hanging loosely at her side. His face broke out into an almost blinding grin as he turned and dumped the broken pottery into the bin, and then returned to her, a new mug in hand.
"Milk and sugar?"
"Just milk."
"Ah," he smirked with a wink, "You're sweet enough?"
Before she could register it, Bonnie felt her lips join his in a curve and as he turned to pour their tea, she half scolded herself.
Why was she so calm around him? Had they met before the last twenty-four hours? Or was it just that he had saved her life and she felt indebted to him?
She watched as he went to the fridge, surveying whether he could have been someone she knew but didn't recognise. Maybe he had different hair? She'd surely have remembered seeing a blonde mullet like his before, but perhaps if it was shorter...
"Who are you?" She heard herself ask, pleased that her words weren't quite shaking. "Not to be rude, it's just I don't even know your name."
"Oh god, you're right!" The man exclaimed, quickly jumping over to Bonnie with his hand outstretched, "My apologies! My name is Gremory—no surname."
Gremory.
What an unusual name.
"Bonnie," she replied, taking his hand cautiously, "Lawrence... My second name is Lawrence."
The smile on his face only got wider with her words and she found it hard not to think of him as an excitable puppy, his face eager to reassure her in his presence.
"Bonnie! What a beautiful name," he mused, turning back to the counter behind him and grabbing their mugs of tea. He carefully placed them down before sliding one to her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, although I can't say the same about the circumstances. Something other than tomato-geddon would probably have been preferable."
Bonnie snorted at the joke, which quickly made her look down at her mug and keep her eyes away from Gremory.
How embarrassing.
"So, Bonnie," he began, leaning on one arm as if he was peering closer, "Tell me about yourself."
Her most hated question.
"Oh, um..." She took a sip of her tea. "There's not that much to know."
Maybe he'd move on from it if she remained unengaged.
"I find that hard to believe," Gremory pushed, looking around the flat as he walked past her. "How long have you lived in this lovely place?"
"About two years."
"And before that?"
She hesitated for a moment. "Just a couple of streets over. But this was closer to work."
Gremory nodded, looking out of the window he'd come through and over at the other buildings surrounding the area. "I suppose you'll get some time off, considering what happened. How often do you work there?"
Bonnie continued to watch the back of his head, enthralled by the way he seemed at home in a place that definitely wasn't his. He was leaning against the wall so casually that it was as if he'd done it a hundred times.
"Most nights. There's only three of us there, so I take all the hours I can."
He nodded again, turning slowly to look at the girl, who appeared too uncomfortable to sit in her own flat.
"That wouldn't leave much time for going out or anything though," he pointed out, sipping his drink with his watchful eyes trained on Bonnie. "Don't you want to socialise? Go for drinks or a dance with your friends? It's such a vibrant city. Don't you want to explore it?"
Bonnie winced a little at the words, a shameful expression etched into her features.
"I don't really do that," she confessed, her eyes casting downwards. "I wasn't lying when I said I'd have no one to tell about last night."
She didn't know why she had been so truthful with him. Maybe it was because he was the first person to step into her apartment in around a year and it caught her off guard. It was easy to think he was a friend.
But her mind had caught up to her situation, and after another sip of tea she cleared her throat and set the cup down on the side table, her arms crossing over themselves.
"While we're on the subject," she began, her chin jutted out with determination, "Are you going to explain what that thing was last night, or am I meant to figure that out for myself?"
She wasn't sure where her confidence had come from, but she was holding on to it until she got some answers.
Gremory stilled before copying her actions, placing his cup down much slower than he needed to. He then took a breath before sitting down on her cream sofa and motioning to the spot beside him.
Bonnie debated for a moment before silently sitting down, her blood already pumping at the thought of knowing the truth.
"Bonnie," he began, and by the tone of his voice, more worry creeped in. "What do you know about demons?"
"I don't know," she stuttered, sinking further into her couch. "I'm not religious, but I guess if you went with your pop culture, then an evil being? A resident of hell?"
Gremory raised his brows, mulling over her words and giving her a moment to come to her own conclusions.
"Is that what that was?" Bonnie asked, slack-jawed after a minute, "Was that a demon?"
It wasn't what she had expected—although what else could something that seemed to be moulded from darkness be but a creature of evil?
Gremory's silence and stoic expression gave her all the answers she needed.
It was a demon. A demon had attacked her. A demon tried to kill her because she was a loner.
"Oh my god," she gasped, clamouring to her feet. "Is it going to come back for me? Are there more of them?"
Her anxiety shot up with every question that piled into her mind. Gremory followed her frantic footsteps as they made their way to the window and she peered out from it. The day looked beautiful right now, but was death waiting for her in the shadows that she couldn't see?
"Will I have to move? Am I safe?"
There was nothing keeping her here—if she had to run, she could do it.
"Listen, Bonnie, just take a second—"
"I will not take a second!" she snapped back, brushing off his hand, which had reached out to steady her through her spiralling despair. "You've just told me there are demons and that they almost killed me last night. I was targeted. What am I meant to do with that? How exactly would you like me to function upon knowing that I can be murdered at any minute—"
"Hey!" Gremory's voice raised a decibel, cutting off Bonnie's woes with one firm word as he grabbed her arms. "You will not get murdered. I promise you."
Bonnie scoffed, but she didn't push him away, instead she let all the air out of her lungs and peered up at him, incredulity lining her words.
"And why should I trust you?"
It had been a question that she expected an answer to. After all, this was the same man who, along with a partner, had knocked her out and left her behind. A man who she'd barely known for twelve hours. It seemed impossible for him to stand and say that she should trust him.
But as she watched him with fading confusion, and as the sun from behind glossed over his shining hair and lit up the surrounding air, she knew her answer. She should have seen it in the way his smile stilled her fears and how he had just appeared when she needed him. Not only that, but the sharp curve of his cheek and flawless skin should have been a dead giveaway. Especially when he had the power to fight a demon, no less. Didn't all the stories have the other side of evil?
She stared at the particles reflecting the sun around his head and felt the breath in her body warm as her lips parted.
"You're an angel."
.
.
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Just to say—things aren't always what they seem, and I hope (like I always do) that you stick with it for twists, turns and shaking out cliche's xx