Demon at My Door (15 page)

Frustrated, I flop down on my bed. Where do I even start? 

      ****

The rest of the week drags by, the soul-sucking depression returning to drain the last bit of life from me. Rick—the ever-attentive guy—constantly asks me if I’m okay. Lying to him is kind of hard. The way he looks at me, like he truly cares, works on my conscious. I want to trust him, tell him things, but I don’t think I can be that real with anyone. Things tend to work better for me when I shut people out. Eventually, they leave me alone, but I don’t want to lose Rick.  He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and I know he wants more. I want to give him more, but this whole demon situation won’t let me lead a normal life. 

Sitting under our tree, I stare at Rick’s profile while he reads one of his evil books. Do I even have time to have a real relationship with this guy? Is it even fair to him? And it seems crazy that I am even worrying about this to begin with considering. 

I sigh, my heart heavy. 

“Natalie? What’s wrong?” Rick looks up from his book. His eyes trained on me.

I shake my head and avert my eyes from him.

He exhales noisily. “Please, talk to me. Something has been up with you all week.”

He doesn’t need this dumped on him, too. 

“Nothing’s wrong. Just bummed about Monkey Man’s class. I’m not ready for the exam he’s giving today,” I lie coolly. 

He tilts his head and draws his brow deep over his eyes. “Are you sure, that’s it? You can talk to me, you know. You can tell me anything.”

Not this. “I know. Seriously, it’s just school stuff. No big deal.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t sound so convinced. “We’re still going to Taylor’s party tomorrow, right? Would that cheer you up?”

Crap. I forgot about that. Taylor is the last person I want to hang out with. The thought of going to her house doesn’t thrill me, but Rick’s expression tells me he wants to make me happy. For him, I’ll go. 

I smile. “Sure. Are we riding together?”

He laughs. “Of course we are. You’re my unofficial girlfriend, remember?”

“Right. I forgot.”

He throws his hand over his heart. “You don’t know how deeply that wounds me.”

“Oh, my God. You’re such a drama queen!” 

He puts his best falsetto on, and says, “Shhhhh. That’s a secret!”

We laugh together. It feels good to be happy in the moment. If only I wasn’t about to become a demonic killing machine, there might have been a chance of having a real future with Rick. But the luxury of time is something I don’t have. 

He wraps an arm around me and pulls me tight. I don’t try to fight him on the closeness. It actually feels pretty nice. He has one arm around the small of my back and brushes my hair away from my face with his free hand. “You are so beautiful. Do you know that?”

Blood rushes to my cheeks, and they burn. I drop my chin down, embarrassed by his compliment. Two fingers slide under my chin and angle my face to look at his. Lips light as feathers brush against mine. I thought it would feel wrong to kiss Rick, like I was being slutty for jumping from one guy to another so quickly, but it doesn’t. It feels right, like I belong here—with him. My face tingles, and the taste of his lips sends a rush of heat through my core. When he pulls back, I smile. 

“I’ve been thinking about doing that for a while, now,” he whispers, his lips inches from mine.

I bite my bottom lip. “Have you, now?”

“Oh, yeah.” He smiles before leaning in again.

He kisses me—once, twice, and then the third time he stays—crushing his lips into mine. His warm tongue parts my lips and enters my mouth. He tastes like mint while his spicy scent swirls around me. He cups my face and rubs my cheeks with his thumbs. After he’s satisfied he pulls back and gives me one last peck.

“Wow.” He grins and closes his eyes, clearly delighted. “Just like I remembered.”

I laugh. “We’ve never kissed before.”

“In my dreams we have.” He sighs. “That was pretty amazing.”

Rick leaves me at Art class at the doorway. I watch him walk down the hallway. He’s pretty wonderful—absolutely perfect. A giddy feeling consumes me as the butterflies whirl around in my stomach. My recently kissed lips spread into a wide smile and I sigh happily. Rick is a nice distraction. 

“Ugh. Can I get by now since Mr. Wonderful is gone?” Stew sneers.

Unmoving, I stare him down.  How dare he say something like that to me? Anger rolls through me, and my body shakes. I square my shoulders and huff. The middle finger of my right hand shoots up in his face. His jaw drops, and he grunts. Instead of giving him time to say something, I leave him stunned and whip around. Stewart Masterson no longer has any power to make me keep my anger quiet. He’s an asshole—one that doesn’t deserve my time. Feeling empowered, I throw my satchel down on the table and saunter over to get my supplies. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Stew slip a piece of paper into my bag. What the hell is that? Probably some evil hate letter to get back at me for flipping him off. He’s not going to see me get upset. I refuse to read it in front of him.

Stew already has our painting laid out on the table. It’s funny that the title we settled on for this project is
Trust
, which is the furthest feeling I have for him. It was the only issue we both had on our individual idea list, so we went with it. 

He’s not very artistic, but he tries. Most of the work falls on me because I don’t want a pathetic grade just because he can’t draw. 

I load my large, round brush, and slap some midnight color onto the canvas. Painting calms me. It’s the only place I can let my emotions fly without judgment. Art doesn’t need an explanation. Everyone interprets it differently. I really don’t have a plan when I work. The flow of the piece usually guides me, but working with Stew puts me in an artistic funk. The vibe he omits isn’t exactly conducive for creating a grand masterpiece.  

Stew sits with one hand tucked under his chin as he doodles on his canvas. He couldn’t look more bored if he tried. How could I have ever fallen for him? I shouldn’t have been so stupid. He never even apologized to me for standing me up. 

Ugh. He makes my skin crawl.

My pent up rage comes out on my work. I press the brush harder than necessary into the canvas. 

“Damn, Nat. Easy,” Stew says.

Anger floods my brain. Easy? How dare he even speak to me, let alone try to tell me what to do. My nostrils flare and I take a calming breath, but it doesn’t help. Out of spite I dig at it harder, practically obliterating the brush.

His eyes narrow. “What the hell is your problem?”

Through clenched teeth, I growl, “You! You’re my problem.”

“Me? I didn’t do anything to you.”

I set my eyes on him. Is he really that stupid? “Oh, no?”

“No,” he answers, his eyes hard. “I should be the one pissed. You keep flaunting Steele in front of my face like you have no heart.”    

Me have no heart? Before I realize what I’m doing, I fling my brush at his chest. Black paint splatters across the front of his white Polo shirt. He throws his hands out in a ‘Stop’ motion and stares at me, surprise written all over his face.

“Fuck you, Stew! What do you know about heart?” I yell as I stand and grab my bag.

His face turns white.

“Miss Sugarman!” Dr. Woods yells. 

The Art doors swing open. I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath. My pulse races as the adrenaline flows through my veins. The satisfaction of finally screaming at Stew fills every inch of me.  Dr. Woods probably thinks I’m a raging bitch now, but whatever. It was worth it.

I detour into the girl’s restroom. The dampness here chills me to the bone and the smell of a recently snuffed cigarette still lingers in the confined space. Sometimes I like to study in here. This is a place I can breathe, far from prying eyes because no one ever comes in here. 

I toss my bag to the water-speckled floor and grip the gleaming white sink with shaky fingers. The warm water in my haven doesn’t work, so I twist the cold knob. My cupped hands fill with water and I splash it on my face. The person in the mirror peering back at me looks weak, not powerful like I’d felt a few minutes ago when I told Stew off.

Thoughts buzz in my brain. Would Rick eventually treat me the same way?

My heart aches with the loneliness I’d feel if Rick walked out of my life right now too. He’s all I have. Alicia is gone. Stew makes my skin crawl, and Mom and Dad don’t want to hear about my problems. In such a short time Rick, and I have grown so close. The pull between us was instant, way back to the first day in the parking lot. He accepted me, no questions asked. Stewart and Rick are polar opposites, but I’m drawn to both. One pushes my commitment away, while the other can’t wait to be together.  

The water drips off my chin, and I notice my make-up is smeared. I crank out a large piece of scratchy paper towel and methodically dry my face.  

My stomach bubbles with dread as I throw my paper towel in the trash can. I snatch my bag off the floor and remember the paper Stew slipped in there. Curious, I dig through it until I find a little two by two folded piece of paper. With my bag snuggly on my shoulder, I unfold the note. I smooth out the creases, and read his tiny, very guy-like writing. “We need to talk.” 

Like hell we do. I don’t care what he has to say. The anger I just stomped down returns and the paper instantly gets wadded into a tiny round ball. My fingers squeeze so hard they turn white. Stew and his bullshit can kiss my ass. I’ve got more important things to focus on than him—like a kindergarten demon that’s out to kill me. 

After slamming the note in the trash, I head out. The empty dank hallway echoes with each step I take, filling the atmosphere with dread. What the fuck is happening to me?

Chapter Fourteen

A tap on my bedroom door nearly scares me to death. I was zoned out, worried about all possible scenarios that could happen tonight at Taylor Gee’s party. I’ve tried talking to Taylor a couple times about her grandma, but she always brushes me off and tells me “not at school.” 

I stare at my door through my dresser mirror. “Come in,” I call.

Rick steps into my bedroom with his hand behind his back. His tall frame fills my doorway. He looks good—dressed to kill in a navy blue shirt and dark-blue jeans. The tattoos on his right arm are the only thing about him that screams I am a bad boy. Well, that and the little smirk he does that makes me swoon a little every time. His dark hair hangs loose and frames his handsome face. He wears the bad boy, surfer hair look well.  

I turn to greet him. “Hey.”

He smiles sheepishly. “Your mom said I could come up. Hope you don’t mind.”

Of course she’s fine with it. The idea of me with a guy like Rick is a dream come true for her. “No. It’s fine.”

He closes the door behind him and pulls out a bouquet. “These are for you.”

Wide-eyed, I take the flowers from his grasp. No one has ever given me flowers before and yet the gift feels quite natural. I’m drawn to the purple color of the flowers, like they are my favorites and I never knew it. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“I thought you’d like those.” He grins. “They’re called forget-me-nots.”

Forget-me-nots, how subtle. My lips turn up into a natural smile. “They’re great.”

“Can I at least get a hug in exchange?”

Instinctively, I wrap my arms around him. When I pull back, we are nose to nose. I search his face, and I get lost in his eyes. They’re warm and inviting, and the way they stare into mine sends a tingle all the way to my toes. He leans in and places his lips to mine. He threads his fingers in my hair. The sensation of him so close stirs a hunger I have never felt before. Our bodies press together tightly and my hand rubs his neck. 

I don’t want him to stop, which is completely wrong. I can’t believe I’m so into him. I can’t explain it. 

With a groan, he pulls away and leaves me breathless. 

“You drive me crazy. Do you know that?” he whispers and gives me a little peck on the lips. 

The desire to be near him gnaws in my gut. It’s crazy that I feel this kind of connection with a guy I barely know. The more time I spend with him, the more I need him. I’ve never been one to depend on people, but Rick makes it so easy. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever known. He accepts me for who I am, never tries to change me.

“So, are you about ready?” he asks.

“Yeah. Let me put these in some water.” I gesture toward the flowers. “I’ll be right back.”

Without thinking, I leave him in my room, alone, while I scamper off to the kitchen. Mom greets me as I step into the kitchen with a huge smile on her face. 

Oh God, please don’t say anything about Rick. 

“Aren’t those beautiful, Natalie? Rick is such a nice young man.”

My face inflames as blood rushes to my cheeks. I turn my head away from her, grab a vase from under the sink, and fill it with water. No way do I want to talk boys
with my mother
.

Thankfully, she doesn’t say another word while I’m in there. I turn on my heel and head back upstairs. I startle Rick when I walk in. He’s sitting on my bed, thumbing through the sketchbook I left on my night stand.

My eyes narrow into little slits as my private images are being pawed through—being judged. “I usually don’t show those to anyone.”

“Sorry. I was a little bored.” He closes the book. “These are really good. You should change your major.”

I roll my eyes. “Please. Have you met my parents? Art is not a real major to them. Besides I don’t think I’ll be around long enough to actually finish a degree.”

“Ah. That’s right. The demon-has-my-soul-and-wants-to-kill-me-thing.” He pushes himself up from my bed. He takes my hand, pulling my knuckles to his lips. “I told you I’m working on that.”

I pull my hand away. “This isn’t a joke, Rick. What I told you about the demon boy is real.”

A strand of hair falls against my cheek and he tucks it behind my ear. “I know.”

The way he looks at me makes my insides knot. Either he believes me or he’s a great actor. There’s so much I want to tell him. Maybe he can help. “He came to see me again, you know.”