Your naked bodies were pressed up close to each other, his exposed chest against your back, rising and falling as he breathed calmly. His arms were wrapped protectively around your waist and his leg was over yours, his warm breath occasionally tickling your neck as he kissed the delicate skin. You were tired from the events that had taken place just moments before, a sense of wrongness lingering like fog in your mind. You had enjoyed it though, there was no denying that.
Alastor had offered you the chance to relax for the night after a couple of weeks of stressing about the whole "he's a crazy murderer and he's going to eat me" situation. At first you had been against it, saying that you would be fine, but you kept thinking it over. He hadn't persisted and he didn't force you into it, which was one thing you hadn't expected from him. He's not like my clients, you had to remind yourself, listening as Alastor sighed contently and nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. Your heart rate had begun to calm down by then, gaze fixated on the window as flecks of snow blew past the glass.
Christmas had come and gone like nothing. You felt no joy when it happened, remaining in your room almost the whole day. Alastor had tried knocking on your door to give you some food, but you had simply ignored him and sobbed into your pillow. Damien was gone, yes, but it seemed like the man you loved was gone as well. That seemed to hurt more than anything. His bloodthirsty eyes gazing at you from behind that retched mask. A creature of ill intent. One touch from it and you'll salivate at the mere thought of the flesh of your own kind, Alastor's words seemed to hum in your mind like a swarm of angry bees.
He started killing before that though. He told me he did.
Alastor's hand trailed up your side and pulled you from your sour thoughts, leisurely running along your arm so he could hold your hand in his.
"Feeling alright, my love?" he whispered against your neck. What were you meant to say? You were physically fine, but mentally? Your mind was just about as organized as a child's room. You could feel him give your hand a small squeeze of comfort. "I'll be fine," you lied through your teeth, knowing damn well that it would be a very long time before you'd recover from the shock — if you ever recovered at all, that is.
Alastor hummed gently in your ear. "We should get married."
What?
"Alastor-" you began but were quickly silenced by a soft "hush". The man brought your hand up to his face and kissed it. "Not now, but I want to know that you'll always stay by me. A vow of trust," he whispered, lightly nipping at your bruised and marked neck, littered with hickeys and love bites. You remained silent and closed your heavy eyes, simply wishing to fall asleep and stay away from this horrible reality you were trapped in. "I'll leave you to rest now. Goodnight, doll," he drawled and began shifting himself away from you, but you kept a tight hold on his hand.
"Please don't leave me." Somehow, the thought of being cold and lonely seemed more frightening than being warm and in the arms of a murderer. He laughed. His warmth returned to your back and he snuggled close to you, resting his chin on your shoulder while you basked in his affection. I can't keep doing this. That thought was something that plagued your heart and mind every single day since you had found out. I just can't. "I still can't get over what you did for me," you whispered, feeling a warm chuckle shake his chest.
"And, somehow, we both live on."
Somehow, we do.
-
You silently listened to Alastor's broadcast as you sat in his recording room and fed the flytraps. Monarch growled and hissed viciously, snapping at Caterpillar. The smallest of the batch cowered and drooped its petals down, looking ashamed. The fact that the situation reminded you of Damien caused your heart to wrench in your chest, a spider being fed to Caterpillar to cheer it up. Tsetse scolded the gluttonous trapper with a snarl. "Shh, it's alright," you hushed the plants, gazing upon Foxglove. The poor thing had been looking rather dim as of recent, often refusing to eat or simply hanging low.
The purple on its stem had also begun to quell to a more subtle gray, only making the situation seem worse. Alastor hadn't said anything about it, so you assumed that maybe it was just a little under the weather or something of the sort. Alastor switched his setup off and wheeled his chair over to you, watching as you tried to persuade the sad little creature into a small meal. Just a small fly was all you had.
"A shame," Alastor purred, pulling the tweezers away from you, your eyes moving up to him before they shot back down to the trap. It was swaying horribly, as if it were struggling to keep its own weight up. Monarch had already turned its jaws in the direction of its neighbor along with Drosera. A thick ooze was beginning to drip from their strange teeth, just waiting. Odonata, Amenbo, and Oleander all joined in, seeming to eye the failing creature in spite of their lack of vision.
Foxglove's stem gave out and it dropped forwards and over the edge of the pot, Monarch not wasting a moment to launch itself at its fallen kin and ensnaring it in its jaws. Aphid knocked the massive flytrap away and went in for its own share, Odonata and Drosera jumping in. Caterpillar just watched blindly as its neighboring plants feasted away at the one next to it. Tsetse moved to block the tiny flytrap's "view", only the loud sound of chewing, gnashing, and hissing audible from behind the spread petals of the black and green plant.
"Oh god..." you whispered, a hand moving to cover your mouth as you watched the creatures tear at the now deceased Foxglove.
"It's not fun to watch, but it happened last year too. Started looking pale and a little woozy for a few days before it just...collapsed. That one," he pointed at the black striped one, "Tsetse, I believe, protected the little one then as well. I don't know why. It seems out of their nature. It always fends off the larger plants that try to pick on it, and I'm not saying I'm opposed to it, but I simply find it odd."
The head of Foxglove fell away from the pot, landing on the windowsill. You swallowed thickly and looked to Alastor who had a simple smirk on his face. He lifted you from the floor and set you on his lap, nuzzling your cheek with his nose. "I'll have you know that I would never do such a thing to you," Alastor said and adjusted his glasses with a grin. He planted a soft kiss on your cheek, a horribly unwanted heat rising to your face from the small action.
"Now, I have to step out. Our fridge is running low on veggies and whatnot, so I'm going to head down to the market. You're always free to join me if you wish?" he offered, standing from the chair and lifting you with him. You shook your head. "I think I'm going to stay here," you looked down. He nodded in understanding. It was rare you ever left the house with him, too frightened that you might give something away and that he'd kill you.
But it really wasn't the fact that he would slaughter you which scared you. It was the fact that he would do it out of anger, not by choice. That fact seemed to sting a little too much.
The man gazed upon you with those hypnotic amber eyes of his before leaning down and planting a quick peck upon your lips. "I'll return soon. Don't get into too much mischief while I'm out," he tapped your nose before leaving the study and heading down to the front door. A heavy sigh left your lungs and you, too, left the recording room, making haste for your shared room with him. A single hand ran through your hair as you began mindlessly looking around the room, checking the drawers for some unknown item that would hopefully catch your interest.
That was when you opened the drawer in the nightstand on his side of the bed, a shiny M1917 revolver sitting neatly at the bottom of the small cabinet, freshly cleaned. With shaking hands, you reached in and took the gun out, inspecting it closely. A dark shadow manifested by your side.
"That wouldn't be wise." He had his arms crossed, eyelids lowered. You took the revolver and closed the drawer, listening as it gave a soft "click" when the wood bounced against wood.
"I...I know. Yet...I still feel like he's unsafe around me. Not that I'll kill him, but that I'll end up running my mouth, and then he'll be very angry with me." Hot tears could already be felt burning your eyes as you began walking down to the kitchen.
"You really do care for him, don't you?" Zandor cooed, watching you sit down at one end of the table. You nodded. "Yes, of course I do," you whispered, feeling your body begin to tremble. "But caring can be terrifying. Really, really terrifying."
The Loa said nothing else, a thick silence weighing the room down while you stared at the revolver you held. It was blurry. You were crying, sobs racking your chest and causing your throat to tighten. "Y-you wouldn't get it, but see-seeing him do that... It hurt me so much. I love him," you cried, watching as droplets fell onto the metal object. "A-and now? After I've seen wh-wh-what he's done? I s-still love him."
You sat there weeping for what could have been hours, holding the gun and just thinking of all the possible outcomes. The sun was beginning to set by the time Alastor had stepped back in through the front door, calling for you. His words fell upon silent ears however, a frown knitting itself onto his face as he heard your gentle sniffling and whimpers.
"(Y/n), my darling," he spoke as he walked into the kitchen, almost immediately dropping everything he was carrying when his eyes landed on you. "Sweetheart, what are you-?"
"Alastor," you interrupted him, clenching your fists while trying to fight back whatever tears wanted to leave your eyes. "I... I'm going to ask you something and I want you to agree." He seemed confused, eyes wide and brows furrowed together worriedly. "What is it?"
"I want you to kill me."
His jaw clenched, muscles tightening. "Are you out of your mind?" he breathed, taking a step in your direction. He stopped when Zandor set a hand over his chest, shaking his head with a neutral look on his usually smiling face. "You don't seem to understand, Al. I love you far too much for my own good. For your own good. This isn't healthy for either of us," you explained, still holding the gun in your hand.
"I'm not sure what you mean, I think this is perfectly fine," he laughed nervously, swallowing the stone in his throat like a large pill without water. You frowned, wiping your cheeks. "You don't deserve me." That was all you could muster to say, already sensing the harsh air lingering after your words. Alastor was silent, staring at you with shock. "You don't mean that," he tried to reason, pushing past the Loa and reaching a hand in your direction. Sniffling, you clicked the hammer back. "(Y/n)... Put the gun down," his tone was stern, but somewhat calm.
"I hope it hurts like hell when you die," you spat at him, feeling your vision blur once again. The last thing you heard was a loud yell.
BANG.
-
A white, almost blinding light hazed your eyes, a sensation of featherlight weight settling over your limbs. It was comforting, relaxing. You looked around; a vast plateau of white filled your surroundings. Like a fresh piece of paper waiting for a toddler to doodle on. A strong gust of wind in front of you caused you to lift an arm to shield your eyes. A soft hum, almost growl-like sound came from whatever had just landed in front of you, your arm moving so you could gaze upon the newcomer.
A tall, thin creature stood in front of you, eyes dotting its entire body. His face was adorned with six eyes. Two in their regular spaces, one on his left cheek and left side of his forehead, and two on his right cheek. Each golden orb stared at you, the white pupils constricting and dilating at the sight of you. Three sets of massive wings suited its back, two halos coiled above its head of wavy blonde hair.
You stumbled over your words, unsure of what to say. "W-what are you?" was the first thing that stepped off your tongue and into the empty space around you. A white void. The creature before you held a spear, each of its eyes blinking slowly as it answered in a raspy, distorted, somewhat melodic voice, resembling Zandor's but not as deep, "An angel..." You froze. This wasn't Heaven, was it? It was all so boring. Bleak.
"Where am I?" you tried your luck, gazing at the aureoles above its head as they glowed brighter. "Purgatory. A decision to be made," it said in a voice that seemed to echo. It wasn't that surprising, after a vast space like this. "You, (Y/n) (L/n)," the angel began, "have done sinful things. Things that would be punishable by an eternity in Hell." So there really was something that came after, wasn't there?
"However, you never did those things on your own accord, often forced into situations where there was no way out. You foolishly signed a contract, but he was an awful, manipulative man, now scorching in the depths below."
You stared bug-eyed at the thing in front of you, its eyes blinking owlishly before it began speaking again. "You have been granted a second chance. Not at life, I'm afraid. That is out of my power, but Heaven's gates are opened to you if you wish to change," it stated and stepped to the side, a large, golden portal whirling to life with a hum and a gurgle. The pale creature was holding a hand to you, an overwhelming happiness swallowing you as you set your hand in its. Two feathered wings shot from your back, a single golden wisp traveling over the white plain and coiling up your body before settling above your head as a shining halo.
"Then I welcome you to our Kingdom," it drawled, leading you through the gateway and onto a surface of white, cottony clouds. Buildings of white marble towered everywhere, carriages moving about with feathered horses at the front, wings folded to their backs neatly. Angels that looked more human than the one that held your hand flew joyously above your heads, giggling and passing a ball. They looked no older than fifteen. Such a young age to pass at...
"The Lord has instructed me to guide you to a new home," the angel beside you said calmly, keeping your hand held as it began to walk. "Do you have a name?" you asked while walking towards a nice-looking neighborhood. Far nicer than anywhere you've ever lived (minus Al's home). "Gabriel," Gabriel looked down at you as you stared up at him. "You're an Archangel?"
"Yes. There are few of us, but we make do." He paused in front of a marble house built with pillars out front, tilting his head slightly. "I believe I must leave you here, but if you wish I can try to visit you. I must make sure you're settling in alright." You nodded to him, his large wings unfurling and allowing him to shoot into the sky like an arrow leaving its arc.
You entered your new home and slid down against the door, a feeling of guilt mingling in your stomach. I'm still not free. Alastor is still alive. And I still feel like a piece of shit. A gentle whisper of a sigh left you. It didn't matter now. You could tell everyone what he did. There would be no consequences now. And that somehow made you feel better.
-
Alastor ran to your limp body, pulling it from the chair and letting himself fall to the floor with you in his arms. "No! No no no no no NO!" he screamed. He shook your body, still hoping that there was a chance that you may be alive. It was possible to survive being shot in the head with a pistol. The bullet could hit the skull-plate and travel right around, shooting out the other side without marking the brain at all. He knew because he had seen it happen before and almost ended up being reported when the man stood up and left his house. He didn't get far though. But this wasn't the case. You were growing cold with each passing minute, blood trickling from the wound and drying against your skin.
Your eyes were dull, and your pulse was gone, Alastor's teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stop himself from crying, but his attempts were in vain. Hot, salty tears rolled from his eyes and down his cheeks, dripping off his jaw. He held your body close to his, beginning to sob uncontrollably.
"Wake up! Wake up! Say something! Please! Just don't leave me!" A wail of pain reverberated off the walls of the house, his forehead pressing itself against your cold one as he continued to shake you lightly, his breath hitching and choking him.
"Wake up, please wake up," he whimpered through his sobs, one of his hands gripping the back of your head tightly. He didn't want to lose you. It was too early. You were too young. Why her? That was always the question he asked himself; yet he never seemed to get an answer. The last of your warmth had left you, the only thing keeping your flesh anywhere near heated was Alastor's body pressed to yours. His shoulders shook as his breath hitched and hiccupped, eyes red and puffy.
"Let us bury her, no?" Zandor suggested, one of his clawed hands settling on his shoulder. Alastor harshly shook him off, his eyes screwed shut and glasses fogged. "Alastor-"
"The burial ground," he stopped his friend, a smile growing on his face. He could take you to the old Vodun ritual grounds in the bayou, give you a proper place to rest. "Are you insane!?" the Loa snarled as he stood with your body in his arms. "Course I am," he chuckled and blinked away his tears, immediately heading for the door. Zandor tried to stop him, but Alastor pushed him away. You deserved to be put in a special place.
{3209 words}