Please support this story by voting! :)
Speaking of voting, have you voted for Death Is My Friend with Benefits in the WATTY AWARDS yet? It's under Scifi/Fantasy on the showcase page! Please support my story. :) <3
NO SPOILERS.
* * * * *
"Be honest. How does my butt look?"
I carefully set my paintbrush down, analyzing the canvas in front of me. "Taylor Swift," I replied unvarnished, fixated on the painting.
Marcy loudly threw open the door and came out of my bathroom with a tight pink dress on, and a curling iron in her hair, anxiety practically pooling in her eyes. "Seriously? Taylor Swift? That's just cruel, Faith. Cruel! This is a catastrophe! I could have sworn those squats would give me the Jennifer Lopez butt I've always wanted. I should have known my trainer, Gabriella, was jealous of my boobs! She did this on purpose! Do you think I should stick out my butt more? Faith? Faith, help me! Please!" Frowning, Marcy analyzed my undisturbed position in front of the easel, then slowly brushed her soft brown eyes along the untouched Gothic black lace dress laying on my bed. "I thought you were trying on my dress? Don't think you're getting out of going tonight. Hello? HELLO?" She was louder now, snapping her fingers in front of my face. "Earth to Faith? Heeellloo? FAITH, MY ASS IS FLAT! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!"
"What?" I blinked hard as if suddenly awakening from a dream, suddenly horrified at the vivid painting in front of me.
I had done it again. Blacked out completely. It had been happening a lot lately. I would begin aimlessly, uncontrollably drawing, and the most random moments. Slashing my paintbrush or pencil across a surface, bending my fingers and wrists at almost painful angles, and then staring blankly at the finished product before me. The stare. You know the one. The stare where you look unfocused at a certain spot, disconnected from the world, and then suddenly, you become warped into some sort of invisible vortex that consumes your mentality. Too weak from the overpowering force of its core, you no longer have the ability to focus your eyes again, so you just helplessly stare at that same spot falling deeper into the vortex until you eventually snap out of its trance. The finished product of these instances, these bizarre moments where some imperceptible force would take over my mind, had always ended the same exact way for me for two weeks straight.
Two mismatched, almond-shaped green eyes gazed almost scathingly back at me through the canvas, pupils like slits and tilted wickedly to the side. It was precisely as I had painted them for fourteen days straight.
"Hot," Marcy commented, twisting another strand of hair around her curler. "I wish I could paint like you, always have been jealous. I'm also jealous of your butt. Ok, now back to me." She showed me the back of her dress, jabbing at her butt. "Fix my Taylor swift, please?! You're the smart one in the room!"
Unable to stop myself, I picked the paintbrush up again and added thin black eyeliner beneath both of the exotic, angry eyes. I battled my right hand with the other, trying to stop myself from finishing the painting. I couldn't. I never could. Finally, I gained control over the brush and tossed it back, nearly hitting Marcy in the process, who had just happened to knock down a container of bobby pins and was practically playing fifty-two pickup on the ground.
"AHHH! I'M GOING INSANE!"
Screaming, Marcy jumped up, covering her tush with both hands. "Sheesh, you almost made me pee myself! Is my butt really that bad?"
"No, it's not that. It's not your butt." I rubbed at my temples, sitting back in a black plush chair. Once again, at the most unexpected moment, I had been reminded of that impossible night. The one that had been haunting my every thought and dream. Imagine, to my complete and utter horror, that when taken away from a cute little animal with black fur, those wicked mismatched green eyes, that I clearly had an awful habit of replicating, were unquestionably masculine, and indisputably not human.
Not human.
Those two words terrified me because I knew they were true. My mind raced with even more with questions as I took in the exotic shape of the two mismatched portals staring back of me on the canvas. It's gaze, although simply paint and paper, would leave me with one more light on in my room that night. Deep in thought, my eyes flickered past Marcy, who was watching me carefully, to the top drawer of my vanity dresser. Deep within that drawer, taped behind an assortment of thongs that my mom was anything but happy about, was a handwritten note, folded up neatly and tightly. I had refused to touch since that night, but I was aware of its presence every waking hour, more so than a monster pimple in the middle of someone's forehead.
The night; the night that I had shared cookies and milk with a seemingly amiable kitten, was the night that I met something--something far beyond anything I had ever imagined in my wildest dreams....or nightmares. Something entirely and unmistakably evil.
Sexy sheep pajamas.
Suggestive. Flirtatious. Yet...threatening.
Threatening.
He was threatening me?
I was losing it. I tossed a paint-splattered apron over the canvas and turned the entire easel around. My breaths came out quickly. Sweat bubbled along my forehead. I felt the room spinning. Nausea built up thickly in my gut and up my throat. For a moment, I thought I was going to have a panic attack or throw up.
Marcy touched my shoulder. "Um, are you alright? You just got really pale. If you don't want to help me with my butt, you don't have to..."
"Slap me," I demanded, grabbing Marcy's hand. "Slap me! Don't hold back! Slap me as hard as you can."
Marcy shrunk back. "I'm not going to slap you!"
"Slap me, damnit! I'm going insane."
"No!"
I slapped her first without thinking, then covered my mouth with my hands in alarm. Gasping, she immediately slapped me back. Thus began a childish back and forth slap fight.
Marcy withheld hers first. "Why are you acting so whack? Who's eyes are those anyways? Did someone break your heart? Do I need to rip someone's balls off? Were you... painting him...? This mystery guy who hurt you? Is that why you got so angry?"
Wincing first at the visual, and sighing heavily second, I sat back down in my plush chair. There was no possible way I could explain myself without sounding like a loon. I couldn't tell anyone. "No, no, there's definitely no guy breaking my heart." Not exactly lying there, technically there's a cat, and the only thing he's broken is my garbage can... "I'm just having a bad day. I'm sorry I hit you. That was uncalled for. I've been really stressed out lately."
Marcy poked her cheek, hesitated forgiving me. "I'm sorry too, boo. But if it happens again, we're definitely going to see a shrink for couple's therapy," she joked. "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"
I shook my head once.
What I loved about Marcy was that she knew when not to press. "Well, whoever's eyes you were drawing, he was starting to look pretty sexy." We both turned towards the stacked up, covered canvases in the corner of the room. "Those are some killer eyelashes. Eyes like those could definitely do some damage."
Killer.
"He's going to yank out your entrails."
I whipped my head back around, nearly snapping it in the process. "Excuse me?"
Marcy went wide-eyed, turning over her shoulder as if someone would be behind her. "What? What did I say?"
I looked at Marcy for a long time, questioning my sanity. "Nothing..."
"Maybe you shouldn't go to this party after all, Faith."
Laying the black lace dress vertically against my body, I stood in front of a mirror. "No. I need to get out. I need to have fun. I need to get my mind off of school and college."
Marcy continued to observe me as if I was a science experiment. Ever since that night she had known something was up. "I'm not going to ask what's going on, you said you didn't want to talk about it. I know you'll crack eventually and spill the beans." Marcy applied some finishing touch mascara. "Back to the painting... I'm just wondering, what's that discoloration in his eyes called? One was a light mint color the other was a forest-y green. That's some sort of genetic thing, right? I know we learned about this in that class---oh! The one with the bones! Where you let me copy your answers on everything because I don't get it...?"
"That's every class, Marcy. You copy my work in every class and eat all of the food in my fridge, remember? You've been doing it since we could crawl. You're the reason there's never any Chunky Monkey ice-cream in the freezer, and my mom asks you what you want from the market before she asks me."
"I love you and you're beautiful and intelligent?" she shouted over the sink. "Love me...?"
I rolled my eyes, laughing a bit forcibly. At the corner of my eye, I saw the stack of canvas' in the corner of the room. Knowing most of them were the same, blood started to pound in my ears again.
Was it normal to draw the same subject over and over and and completely forget beginning and ending the piece?
Definitely not.
"It's called Heterochromia of the eye," I finally responded, drifting off again. "Sometimes it's genetic, sometimes it's caused by injury. It's extremely rare." Getting up from the plush chair, I distanced myself from the concealed canvas. I found my reflection in my vanity mirror next to Marcy's, instantly comparing my long dark hair, blue eyes, and comfy attire to my best friend's pixie cut light brown hair, brown eyes, and bright dress. Although we had our physical and behavioral differences, we were both only child's, and we both considered each other sisters.
"Oh!" Marcy fluffed her hair as she came out of the bathroom. "We learned that in Bone Class, I remember now!"
I checked myself out in the mirror, pinning my straight black hair up away from my face in a pony tail. The lace black dress on my bed mocked me. Jeans and a band-shirt seemed fine to wear to a party. "No, we learned that in Anatomy. Not Bone Class--"
Marcy let her head fall to her chest, letting out a loud, theatrical snore, before bringing it back up. "You need a boyfriend and sex ASAP. Seriously. You're getting more nerdy, boring, and Catholic by the minute. That reminds me, let's get you out of here before your mom gets back from volunteering at your church and sees our scraps--I mean, outfits." With a giggle, she plucked the tiny, poor excuse for a proper dress off of the bed and held it out to me. "Put this on, Legs."
"Legs," I echoed dryly. Ever since I had to forcibly borrow a pair of short shorts from Marcy in gym class Freshman year and I had a bunch of horny guys trailing behind me on the track, Marcy had decided to nickname me "Legs". "I looked down at my ripped skinny jeans and band t-shirt. "What's wrong with what I have on?"
"Nothing's wrong with what you have on. You're beautiful. To me. Your best friend. Who's a girl. To a guy, if you don't show enough skin, you're probably going to be invisible." After giving my butt a smack, Marcy's curled short hair bounced as she quickly crossed the room, disappearing into my closet. "They're your best asset and they need to be unleashed. Also, tone it down on the gothic makeup and anti-social behavior tonight, alright? You seriously need to get it in tonight before you're doomed to live your life with eighty fat cats like old Miss Livingston next door."
I punched Marcy on the arm. "Hey! She's a very nice lady!"
"It had to be said."
Seething, I threw the dress in my hands back onto the bed. "I'm not going to be like Miss. Livington, and I'm not changing my style because you're convinced that I'm going to hook up with someone tonight. It's not going to happen. You know I don't drink, which is the only way I'd let some slime ball that I don't even know feel me up. I'm just the designated driver because clearly, after last week's incident, which I'm still pissed that you never personally told me about, you're stupid enough to get behind the wheel while you're drunk to get a burger!"
"That was one time!"
"One time is all it takes to die! That's probably the first time you almost killed yourself after binge drinking over Thomas and sleeping around with his friends to get him jealous." Pain pooled in Marcy's eyes at the mention of her ex boyfriend. I took a deep breath, calming myself. "Listen, I didn't mean to say that--"
"I think you did," Marcy snapped.
She was dead quiet the entire car ride
"Marcy," I began, taking the keys out of the ignition as we pulled up to the Gregory mansion. "I understand that you're still upset about him cheating on you, I would be too, but showing up at one of his bangers again, dressed like a slut, and determined to make him jealous, isn't going to help your situation at all. Thomas is a two-faced jerk, Marcy. He messed with you, probably was sleeping around the entire time you were dating. I'm just saying, I think you should be moving on, not doing something stupid. Maybe we should go get some pizza or something instead and have a movie night. We haven't had one of those in a while, don't you think? Who needs to dance with sweaty guys with beer breath. We're only a few blocks away from a pizza--"
"I am moving on," Marcy said stubbornly. "I'm moving on, by being around him. By showing him that I'm moving on, he has to see it for himself."
I grit my teeth. "That's not what you're doing, Marcy, and you know it. You're trying to win him over again through jealousy," I stated. Now I could tell she was about to flip on me, but it had to be said at some point. Marcy had been heartbroken by Thomas, and I was sick and tired of her trying to win him back when he was absolute scum. Maybe this was the wakeup call that she needed. "Don't think that even for a second I believed that you were actually over him. You still love Thomas, and you're going to break each other's hearts if you keep trying to get his attention by sleeping with his friends--"
"Sleeping with his friends? Who the hell even told you that?"
Her choice of words sort of stung, as if I had nobody else to tell me. "I overheard about you and Todd in the school bathroom." Marcy's face slowly lost its livid appearance until it became absolutely blank. "He's Thomas' best friend, Marcy. It's alright that you didn't tell me, I get it--"
Marcy held up her hand to stop me. "That's the thing Faith, you don't get. I didn't tell you because I thought you would judge me. And you have. That's why I didn't tell you." Reaching for her purse, Marcy quickly exited the car, following a group of giggling girls on the sidewalk towards the brightly lit house and pounding music.
"Marcy!" I shouted after her, slamming the car door behind me. "Marcy, wait! Come on, don't do this!"
Marcy turned sharply towards me, immobilizing me with a terrifying glare. "You were planning on convincing me not to come to this party all along, weren't you? Weren't you?"
I bit down on my lip. "Marcy..."
She shook her head, disappointed in me. "Wow, well this has been a wonderful conversation. Truly. Now I know your actual opinion of me. It's nice to know that my best friend thinks that I'm a hopeless slut seeking my ex's attention. Sorry to burst your bubble, but I didn't come here tonight because of Thomas. I came here for booze and food." She turned her back on me again, starting to climb the numerous stone steps leading up to the front door of the house, as I tried to keep up with her from behind. "There's going to be hundreds of people here, he won't even see me."
I grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop. We moved to the side of the steps, letting a bunch of shirtless, obnoxiously loud jocks get by. "We haven't fought like this since the first grade when you wanted to trade my chocolate chip cookies for your carrot sticks," I whispered to her. "And I never said that you were hopeless. You're aren't. Especially because you have me. You'll always have me, Marcy. I'm your best friend. I want to help you get over him. Just let me help you--"
"Especially because of you. Aren't you my guardian angel?" she said sarcastically, eyes filling with tears. Her voice slightly cracked. " Maybe I don't want your help! Actually, you're the last person who can help me. I want to handle this myself. Besides, you couldn't help me even if you tried, when you've never even been in love and don't know a thing about it!"
"Marcy, wait--!" I started, but she had already ripped her arm out of my grasp and was hurrying up the steps to the front door.
* * *
Searching for Marcy in a mansion full of drunk, obnoxious teens, was about as easy as running through trenches of thick mud. Through a gap in my fingers, I peered into almost every bedroom, calling Marcy's name, wincing at the fact that most of them were filled with naked, detestable groans. One of my intrusions, to my revolt, involved a buck naked beer-belly college guy dancing in between two topless girls, and a mysterious purple goo smothered all on his....
I gagged.
"You want to join?" Purple Goo Boy slurred.
I slammed the door behind me.
"Shit," I muttered, texting Marcy for the fifteenth time. Where are you? Don't do this to me. Angry Marcy meant angry drinking. Angry drinking had never, ever ended up well with Marcy. It always ended badly, like her getting in a car drunk to get a burger. I had planned on staying at her hip the entire night, making sure she got home safely, and now my friend's life was in danger. In a way, Marcy was being selfish. She knew how I was. Protective. Just like my mother. Any chance of my night being fun was ruined if I couldn't find Marcy and know that she was safe.
Luckily for me, Thomas Gregory, Marcy, and I had grown up together. I knew his house inside and out from childhood hide and seek and other sorts of games. The Gregory mansion was practically eight houses in itself, with an endless amount of lush green property and even an indoor Olympian pool. A constant performance for house guests for Thomas, as his father would say. For as long as I could remember, Thomas' father had pressured his only son into practice swimming every single day. Even when there were people over. Every time I came over their house, and his father was around--which he rarely ever was except during Thomas' scheduled swim meets-- he would brag about his earlier days as a competitive swimmer, and had even openly admitted how excited he was for Thomas to live his dream in high school, college, and beyond. The dream that Thomas' father never had due to a shoulder injury was to go professional, and so his son was doomed to that fate.
There was no question in my mind that there was physical abuse in the Gregory household. Years before, if Thomas had so much as talked back to his father's demands in front of me, which he rarely did, his father would get up and leave the room without a single word. Thomas would visibly panic until I left, and then conveniently miss the next couple of days of school. What had proved my suspicions correct was when Marcy and I attended one of Thomas' meets. When everyone was chaotic and preparing to leave the competition, I broke through the crowd in time to see Thomas and his father. After clearly arguing about something, his father slapped him hard on back of his head, and yanked him hard out of the room. We hadn't seen Thomas the rest of the night, nor the rest of the week.
Now, after years of competitively training, Thomas was captain of the swim team with a full ride to Columbia University. With his deep blue eyes, broad shoulders, and neat blonde hair, he absolutely gained the attention of every girl in school, and his charm was irrefutable. Marcy had always had a crush with him, and had always seemed a lot more upset than I when Thomas had branched away from us.
And when he had hooked up with Marcy at a party years after our friendship had ended, I knew things were headed in a bad direction, especially when he insisted on always meeting with her in private. Thomas had joined the popular crowd, the jocks, and Marcy was, according to the typical high school food chain, below him. Rarely, did Thomas even make eye contact with her in school when they were seeing each other. What frustrated me was how loyal Marcy had been to him, never questioning his obvious embarrassment over their relationship. She always spoke so highly of him, like he was the greatest creation of Him.
I made my way down a long hallway towards the grand staircase of the house, hoping to scope out the bottom floor of the mansion.
In the end, Thomas was just rotten scum who threw nice parties, and who Marcy was still incontestably in love with. Was that what love really did to someone? Gave their significant other false, god-like qualities? Made a person blind? If that was love, then I wanted no part of it. Thomas' arrogance, temper, and lack of open affection, made him a awful and unreliable boyfriend. Love was blinding to her if she couldn't see that.
It was Todd Waterfield, Thomas' best friend, who told Marcy about Thomas sleeping around. According to Marcy, Todd had always had a crush her. He was a nice guy, I guess. Kind of dumb. Sat in front of me in Spanish Sophomore year and almost flunked out. Nevertheless, even if Thomas had loved my best friend, which I wasn't so sure that he ever had, he sure as hell was on my shit list now, as well as any of his jock friends.
Pushing aside a bunch of drunk girls, I met the top of the grand staircase, deep in thought, when someone crashed into me from behind, and I lost my footing. But before I could plummet down a hundred or so deadly carpeted steps below, an arm snaked around my waist, pulling me back against a steel-framed chest.
I gasped. Just like that, I had almost died.
"Are you alright?"
I whirled around, mouth falling slightly apart. He was an unfamiliar man, about a head taller than me, with a lean physique. Definitely a couple of years older, not a high school student. Tan skin, blonde hair. Dressed in a white shirt and white jeans. The guy practically glowed.
Wow.
"Now I am," I muttered, slowly dropping my gaze as he took my willing hand and lead me into a guestroom. Dreamy did have a nice butt. A really nice butt. I might have touched it...
Dreamy straightened a little, securing my curious hands in his. I was in a bedroom. Alone. With a sex god? I fought the urge to pinch myself.
"It's perfectly natural for you to find me attractive."
I realized I was full on gawking at Dreamy and dropped my gaze. My face was definitely as pink as a grapefruit. How had I not noticed how smooth and gentle his voice was? It was riveting...
"And I can only imagine how difficult this will be to hear," Dreamy continued, stepping closer to me, lowering his voice. "Your life is in great danger, Faith Williams."
"W-what?" I stuttered, studying his perfect lips. I tried to touch those as well, but he tenderly kept my hands together. "How do you know my name?"
Instead of replying, Dreamy Boy just smiled down at me, small dimples appearing in his cheeks. I was so stunned by his beauty, fixated on his soft, welcoming grey eyes, that I hadn't realized I was slowly leaning towards him until I fell into his arms. Laughter bubbled in his eyes, but it quickly faded into a seriousness. "My name is John," he said, steadying me. "I've known you for years now, although we have never met." Creepy. "I consider us friends..." Grey eyes flickered to the side as he chose his words carefully. "I've been out of reach, you could say, or else I would have enjoyed meeting you a long time ago." Really, really creepy. "I've protected you from harm, watched you grow up. I'm here now, and this does not seem real. Hopefully, I will help you with the brief time that we have together."
A frown. "I don't understand. Is this some sort of prank?"
"I'm here to warn you, Faith." John leaned in close, still gripping my hands in his. His sadness struck me hard. "There is a great evil after you. I've only seen pictures of him, stories of his legacy. He will kill me. I have been in his way, kept him from you as best as I could. Over time, I've been weakened by his influence. We'll be separated, then he will kill me. There is nothing I can do to save you. Your soul will soon belong to him. There is nothing I can do to protect you. He is already here. I'm sorry that I have failed you."
Sobering up, I took a step back. "Excuse me?"
"Heed my warning, Faith Williams. Nothing is as it seems. I will fight for your life with my last breath, but if you do not fight for your own life when I am gone, he will take it from you entirely. Then he will destroy you."
"Who will destroy me?" I demanded, visibly shaking. I was terrified and confused out of my mind. "Who? Who will destroy me?"
To my complete astonishment, John suddenly faded away in a burst of white light, until there was nobody in front of me. Wholly confused, I reached out into the empty air, grasping nothing. This time, I hadn't hesitated to believe what I had seen. Every fiber of my being told me what John was, and as if I had known him like a friend, an overwhelming, crushing feeling of grief overpowered me. I fell against the wall, clutching at my chest. Tears burned my eyes. A protective presence, one that I had never even noticed before that day but had always been deep within me, was gone. I was vulnerable. Defenseless. Prey. My chest had been ripped open, and now I was exposed.
My guardian angel was gone. Terror tightened my throat.
I had to get the hell out of that house.
Descending the grand staircase, I tore through crowds of sweaty bodies, seeking a familiar bob of light brown hair and brown eyes. I spun around, gripping people by the shoulders, seeking their faces. Something was wrong. I could feel it in my gut. Feel it on the back of my neck, where small hairs stood erect.
Poor little girl. Can't find your friend?
I knew that voice. I turned sharply around at the mocking voice, meeting an empty spot across the room. Was that my imagination? No. Someone had been standing there. Watching me. Someone had been in my head. I knew that voice. Defiantly masculine, but distant. John? To move around them, I squeezed through a grinding couple, past a girl throwing up, and into the Gregory's kitchen. I stumbled into a counter, knocking over a line of colorful alcohol drinks onto a girls dress.
"Watch it!" she screeched, her red, drunk gaze sliding up and down my dress. I knew this girl from school. Nicole. The girl that Thomas cheated on Marcy with. "This isn't a Halloween party, Gothic freak!"
"Halloween called, they want their costume back, Gothic freak," a distant memory said, making me grip my skull. Too many things were happening at once. Between the partying screams, the music, the voice....
Suddenly, Nicole's eyes rolled back in her head, and she started to foam at the mouth. I started to yell for help, when her eyes flipped back down, looking right at me. "The pool," she wheezed out, reaching towards me. She gripped me by the arms, eyes wide and crazy. "Come to the pool... He is waiting for you..."
"GO TO HIM... GO TO HIM.... GO TO HIM..." Voices were shouting at me from all directions. I shut my eyes, squeezing my hands over my ears. I screamed for Marcy, begging her to come help me, crashing blindly into bodies. Marcy. I couldn't leave without her. I couldn't. What if, whoever John had insinuated was after me, was after her as well?
Gothic eye makeup. Short black lace dress. God damn, I think I've lost my underwear. Can I see yours?
I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around. It was only Nicole. Her eyes were rolled back again, she was shaking me so hard I felt my brain rattle. Escaping her grip was close to impossible. "It's time, Faith Williams. It's time..." she slurred out.
"What's wrong with you?" I questioned.
What's wrong with me?
The music shut off.
A sharp crack sounded. I locked eyes with a boy in a blue polo shirt holding a girl in his arms. He had snapped the girl's neck with ease, spun it completely around so that her head was backwards. He was laughing manically. Somehow, it was still attached. "What is wrong with you, Faith Williams?" the boy said, a cynical smirk lining his mouth. His pupils were so dilated that they consumed his entire eye. Suddenly, he let out a terrifying hiss, dropped the dead girl, and came towards me, fangs consuming his mouth. The girl he had been holding with the crooked, broken neck, started to get up off of the floor. It was impossible. She was alive.
Laughing, sputtering blood all over the place, she spun around, showing me her back, where her head was twisted around. She smiled. "He wants to play with you."
Nobody was dancing. Nobody was talking. The music was shut off. Lights flickered. My head pounded. I couldn't grasp my sanity as I tore my gaze in each and every direction of the house. Everyone was just...standing. Staring at me.
"He wants to play," they said in unison.
This has to stop, I thought to myself.
Never, he replied.
Now I was running. I was angry. I wanted to find out who this voice was. I didn't know if I was being chased or if I was the chaser. I slipped many times, crashed into a wall and bit down on my lip. I was sure that I had hurt my ankle. Reaching my destination. I shoved through heavy doors, the smell of chlorine filling my nostrils. I faced the still, crystal blue water of the Gregory Olympian pool.
I stepped forward. The doors slammed loudly behind me. I rushed towards them, horrified when they swiftly locked. It was then that I shut my eyes and said a prayer. I needed strength, bravery. I turned and faced the pool boldly.
"Where are you." It wasn't a question. It wasn't loud. I took a step further into the room, tilting my head up towards the massive skylight above. The night sky was unfeasibly dark and endless with a splatter of far away stars. "What did you do with John? With--with Marcy? How did you do all of that back there, with the fangs...and the neck? What's going on here?!"
I was alone.
Hell's horns, are you really that dense? Baby, they're demons. My demons. Slaves, I guess. That's such a dirty word. Slave. Actually, I can think of many much dirtier words which I will of course disclose to you in due time. Let's call them...minions.
"Minions?"
Ooh, now that's an exciting word. Your little human friends out there, who were partying it up, they all work for me. They're my minions. Demons disguised as humans. Who would have thought? It's only been in every movie. Spoiler alert: the directors were probably demons. Demons are everywhere. Now that we both understand what nobody cares about, especially me, I think we should definitely have some hot sex. Don't you think? Breathe for yes, lick your elbow for no.
"What?" I felt a cry lodge in my throat. "But Marcy--?"
Your bimbo friend? She's alive. For now... Now answer my question. Breathe, or a lick?
Feeling as though a hand had flicked up the ends of my dress, I inhaled sharply and grabbed at the air behind me. Suddenly, I was Marilyn Monroe, trying to keep my underwear covered as the bottom of my dress lifted at all sides.
"Hey! Stop that! Stop--playing...with...me, idiot!" With one final tug on the dress, it finally stayed down. "I asked you a question and I want an answer!"
Masculine laughter boomed, ricocheting off the walls at all directions. Idiot? Pookie-bear, that one hurt me so. You've struck me right in the heart, he said quite sarcastically. I spun around at the sensation of eyes at the back of my neck. You see, I don't have to answer anything that you say. I normally don't even respond to people unless I get something in return. Perhaps I have trust issues, perhaps I just get bored easily and enjoy exchanges.... Wait, you chose breathe, right?
"What are you?" I demanded sharply, ignoring his teasing. "Why can't I see you?"
I am everything. You can't see me, because I don't want you to see me. Poor little brainless human, you're missing the most important question.
"What do you want with me?"
After a long pause, the voice sighed heavily. I suppose that's actually more important than the one I'm thinking of. You have outsmarted me. Maybe you aren't as dense as I thought you were. That doesn't say much because I think you're entirely dense. Honestly, walking in here alone? I could be a murderer. The voice cleared his throat loudly, clearly smothering a laugh. Excuse me, I have a minor cold. Where was I? Oh, yes, murderer. Questions. There's a particular question that I'm thinking of. One you still haven't asked me...
I thought for a long moment before finally asking again, "What are you?"
A massive shadow shifted to my left, then some sort of curved weapon sliced through the air towards me. "Holy--!" I reeled backwards as quick as I could, landing hard on my hip and elbow in the process. I definitely had broken something.
Bingo.
The lights flickered. If they went off, I could have fallen in the pool. "Let's not do that."
Aw, poor baby. Are you afraid of the dark? I do like human fears. You're getting me so excited! At that, he started snickering. I find myself thrilled at the thought of you screaming. Scream for me, Faith Williams. Won't you give me the pleasure I ask, cupcake? You did breathe instead of lick...
I stood up from the ground, dusting off my hands, and smoothing out my dress. “That's it. You're a pervert, and an absolute psycho. You know what, come and get me, you creep! I'm not afraid of you! If you're going to murder me, then murder me! I'm not going anywhere! So show yourself, you bastard! I feel you staring at me. I might be in a dress, but I'm determined! Ask my math teacher! I have a solid C in that class!"
Silence.
Silence.
More silence.
"Boo."
I didn't dare scream as the heat of another body radiated behind me. Lips brushed against my ear, and a tongue tasted the skin of my neck. That voice had been accented, deep, and as velvety smooth as a baby's blanket.
Fighting against every instinct in my body, I found myself turning around. An impossibly large cloaked man stood in front of me. He was at least four heads taller, and four times the size, all muscle. "Oh..." My gaze traveled from his feet up for what seemed like miles. "Sweet...." I locked eyes on blade of his scythe, swallowing hard. "Jesus--"
"Wrong," the cloaked man interrupted proudly, a slight accent thickening his voice. His voice out loud, unlike the one I had heard internally, was a deep baritone and rough. "So very, very wrong. My name is Death. As in the Angel of Death who eats souls. Yes, I have skin. No, I don't moan in the middle of the night. Yes, I'm a sociopath. No, I rarely take a stroll through the graveyard--wait, I was just there yesterday to piss on someone's tombstone , but that's beside the point.... Yes, I can bench you with my pinky. No, you can't see my identity to matter how hard you try or how many flashlights you put up to my face. Yes, I'm ancient. Don't talk about it, I'm very sensitive about my age. Don't even bother with candles on my birthday cake anymore. Yes, angels and demons exist, as well as good and evil. No, I am not good. I'm not good at all. I'm well." He snickered at his grammatical fix. "Yes, I will snap your neck and floss my teeth with your bones if I find you irritating. Have I made myself clear so far, or do I need to speak slower and closer to your ear because of your lower level of human intelligence?"
The lights flickered again. I couldn't stop staring at the man--creature, thing before me. Was he even a man at all?
Noticing that he was, oddly enough, patiently waiting for my reply, I shook my head like a bobble head.
"I'm going to put this part quite simply, cupcake." Death then leaned inwards, an endless shadow blanketed over his identity like the empty night sky above the pool. He removed his hand from my stomach, which I hadn't realized was there, and snickered to himself. There was a sharp pain over my scar, which stunned me entirely. I let out a moan of pain. "Through a deal to save your life, you are mine for an eternity. Say goodbye to your life, and say hello to your fate. He's staring you right in the face."
I could sense him grinning.
When I didn't say anything in return and started to laugh instead, I felt that grin vanish.
"Not even a scream?" Death slapped his hand against his leg. "Nothing? A laugh? You have nothing to say to me after all of that? Aren't you the least bit curious about anything I just said?" Now he was starting to sound offended. "Do you find this funny, Faith Williams?"
"To be quite honest...Death," I began, briefly eyeing his scythe, before daringly stepping closer to him. "I...I don't find you too threatening. I find you kind of ridiculous, actually. At first, I believed that "John" character, but now I don't believe anything anymore after what you just told me. I don't believe anything you're saying, I think you're a compulsive liar or a really bad actor. I'm going to walk out of this room, and you and your friends are not going to follow me. I don't know who hired you to prank me this bad, but I could care less about your fictional story and your," I plucked at his cloak, "cheap Halloween costume. Where'd you get those black combat boots, the dollar store? The Grim Reaper? Seriously? I bought that BS for maybe five seconds, and then I blocked you out and thought about my powdered donut this morning. Barnie would have been much scarier than this costume...or even a banana."
Silence.
Death made a low sound at the back of his throat that was halfway between a dinosaur and a ticked off wolf.
As if coming to an internal decision, Death calmly walked away from me, set his scythe against the wall, turned back around, and, well...charged.
* * *
Like it? :)
Join the Death Is My BFF Facebook group in the external link!
Twitter and Instagram: @katrocks247