Demon Kissed (8 page)

My fingers slid across the rough ivory. Breaking the box didn’t seem so bitter now. I found a hidden treasure. And it matched everything. It wasn’t too dressy or too plain. I could wear it all the time. I fumbled the cold disc in my fingers wondering why it was hidden in the bottom of the box.

I wasn’t tired when I went to bed that night. Sleep was something I no longer needed. I flicked at the frayed edge of my blanket, waiting. Mom had to be asleep. So I waited, twitching my foot restlessly until the sounds of silence echoed through the house. Jerking my body upright, I padded across to my dresser. Looking in the mirror, I ran my slim fingers down my cheeks. I still looked like me, and that purple mark was still there, delicately strewn with lots of swirls. The mark was changing, becoming more elaborate. It changed my life faster and harder than anything I’ve ever encountered.

I wondered if I’d survive it.

Quickly, I slapped on sweats and swept my hair into a tight ponytail. I stabbed it with my silver comb to hide my mark. Then I launched myself out the window, into the night air. My sneakers struck the pavement in quick blows. I wasn’t a runner. I didn’t even walk, if I could avoid it. But that night, I ran faster and longer than ever before. I ran until my lungs burned, starved for air.

I stopped. My church sat bathed in blackness in front of me. I walked through the empty parking lot. The trees’ canopy creaked, as I walked under their enormous branches. Placing the key in the lock, I turned it once, and pushed the door open. My feet made a beeline through darkened halls, going straight to the attic. I found the frame covered in a sheet, as I’d left it earlier.

I grabbed it and began to tug the metal staples out of the wooden frame.
I’m destroying fine art.
Great.
But I had to take it. I had to see what I became and how I became it. The painting had to tell more than it seemed. It was my only link to the person I would become. The person I didn’t want to be. The canvas came loose, and I rolled it up silently. Returning the sheet, I placed the empty frame back into the dusty corner. The painting rolled up to the size of a paper towel tube. I shoved it in my jacket, and got out of the building. No one saw me.

Slipping back into the night, my ponytail swished, as I ran. My lungs burned while my feet pounded the pavement not knowing where I was going. I didn’t care. The frigid night wind whipped my face until my flesh burned. But I couldn’t stop. My worry spilled out of my limbs, and the nervous energy took me further and further from home. As I ran the tall buildings shrunk, and the trees thinned out. Soon only the bare land of sod farms surrounded me.

When I couldn’t force my body to run another step, I abruptly came to a stop. I doubled over, and my face turned sideways gasping for air. A massive dark building stood in the distance. I braced my hands on my knees, painting.
 
My sweat-soaked shirt clung to my body. I straightened, recognizing the silhouette of a church spread out in front of me. The dead lawn crunched under my feet, as I walked toward the decrepit building. The magnificent shambles called to me. It spoke to me in the silence, revealing abandoned hopes and promises.

A steeple stretched into the inky sky, and was anchored by a stone building that was falling into ruin. It looked like it was a chapel-sized version of one of the old European cathedrals. The kind with great arches that stretched into space with stones, locked into place, at angles that defied gravity. The doors were made of solid carved wood with decorative ironwork and door pulls. The building sat alone draped in quietness and shadows. Unease gnawed at me. I looked around, not recognizing where I was. And I was alone, unless you count the graveyard.
 

My hands pushed against the wooden door, expecting to be met with resistance, but it gave way to my touch. I stepped into the building, and out of the moonlight. The interior was black, but I could still see with my Martis vision. However, the comforts of sunlight, like the fact that it chases the
creepies
away, were missing. I wrung my hands, and walked forward. I passed through a small entryway, and perfectly aligned pews covered in a thick layer of white dust. My feet pressed softly to stone. The sound of my footfalls broke the silence. The stained glass that was intact glimmered in the moonlight. Shattered panes revealed stars, as the coolness of the night air leaked in through the openings. I don’t know if I loved it because it was abandoned, or because it had once been beautiful—and now it was broken.

When I reached the front of the church, I stopped. The crucifix was gone. The altar stuff was gone. Everything that wasn’t bolted down, like the pews, had walked off. A large rose window hung high above the altar. It had more colors than a kaleidoscope. I sat down, and folded my legs under me, my gaze fixed on the round window. The air was still. I sat alone, in the hallowed space, feeling lost and helpless. Defeat was beckoning me. I slumped forward. The scrolled canvas poked me in the chest.

Reaching into my jacket, I removed the canvas. I unpeeled my jacket from my sweat soaked body, and tossed it to the floor. The chill in the night air made me feel better. Desperately wishing I could control this mess; my fingers unrolled the painting onto the floor. The canvas was small. It was much more manageable stripped from the stretchers. The thought that I’d stolen from a church, well, that hadn’t crossed my mind yet. It felt like I had a right to this painting—I needed it. I lived or died by what was in this thing. It was about me, and I had to know how I got to the point in the painting—the point where everything went wrong.

My fingers slid across the oils, as I studied the faces. The humans looked peaceful and happy. No faces jumped out at me. They were all strangers, wearing clothes not recognizable from any era. My eyes slid to the depiction of me. Anguish was washed over my face. The girl in the painting looked the same way that I felt.
Confused.
Lost.
Alone.

Her fingers were woven tightly together with the boy’s. He would fall, if she let go.
I wouldn’t let go. I wouldn’t just let him die
.

Slapping the painting, I spoke to myself, “How does that make me evil?” I didn’t understand. I held the canvas closer, shaking my head. At the edge of the painting, there were small markings in gold paint. The frame had covered these before, so I couldn’t see them. I looked at them, hoping to make sense of their tiny intricate patterns, but that’s all it was—a pattern.
Something that would look pretty in place of a frame.

Desperation surged through me, filling my veins. It poured out my mouth in a raw scream. I clutched my face with my hands, not knowing what to do. There was nothing there. There were no clues as to how I would become this sinister monster. When I looked at it again, I had hoped that I would have a revelation or something. But I didn’t.
Nothing.
There was nothing else there. My eyes searched the paint for signs of hope, direction, or anything that would help me. But there was nothing. I’d have to figure it out on my own.
Alone.

Brush strokes were painted, cutting into the dark cliffs, forming little paths. All of the paths seemingly led nowhere.
No wonder why all these people were stuck on the cliff. There was no way out.
That summed up my new life. There was no way out. I was the only purple marked freak out there.
Until I messed up, and threw this guy off a cliff
. Maybe that was how I became evil? Maybe it wasn’t that I tried to save him, but that I didn’t save him. Letting him die, if I could prevent it, wasn’t something that I would do.
Ever.
I lowered my head in my hands. I could barely survive my regular life, and now this was hurled at me. My fingers slid over the smooth paint beneath my skin. This was my future, whether I accepted it or not.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. I was slightly shocked at the word, even as it fell out of my mouth.

A voice spoke behind me. “I’ve never heard you say that before.”

CHAPTER NINE

My fingers darted to my face wiping away the tearstains. He didn’t approach me. He stayed where he was, behind me, in the deepest shadows.

“Collin,” I said quietly, not turning to look at him, knowing he heard me. My sweat-soaked shirt clung to my body. I wanted to throw on my jacket, but the painting was hidden underneath, and I didn’t want to admit that I stole it.
From a church.
Oh, God. What was I doing?

Before I gave it much thought the hairs on my neck prickled. My stomach churned in response, feeling like I ate a glass sandwich. Something felt
off
. Turning, my eyes cut through the darkness, looking to see what was unsettling me. It was Collin. The shadows couldn’t hide the anxiety in his body. His stance was rigid, his tension echoing my own. His arms were folded over his chest, as his muscles flexed, pulling his arms tightly into his body. His hair swept across his eyes, and appeared to be damp, like mine
. Did he run here?
I watched his chest rise and fall slowly, as he drew in long breaths. It was only Collin.

I dismissed the feeling, thinking my brain was fried, and too paranoid to distinguish danger from craziness. I wasn’t going to throw all my friends away because of Jake. The betrayal stung, but I wouldn’t let it make me afraid of everyone. And this was typical, mysterious Collin. Showing up when I was a wreck, like he always did.

Breaking our gaze, I turned my face down, and stared at the floor. And just in time, too. The tears welled up in my eyes and overflowed. I hated crying in front of people, but after everything I’d been through, my brain finally caught up with my heart. Betrayal, fear, lust, love, and anger all swirled bitterly together.

I didn’t hear him approach. Collin sat down beside me, not saying a word until the tears slowed. Eventually, he reached into his pocket and held out his hand over my lap. As I looked up at him, he opened his palm. A silver-colored ring with a blood-red stone gleamed at me. He pressed it into my hand.

“What’s this?” I sniffled.

“
Your
present.” Before I could protest he said, “I’m not taking it back. I got it for you. I thought you could use it today. It’s a ruby in white gold. I heard that it’s supposed to purge the sorrow from your soul. Maybe it’s an old wives tale, but all the same, I thought you could use it today.” He smiled weakly at me, knowing he was treading in dangerous territory.

I slid the ring onto my index finger and looked at it wondering if he just made that up. “I don’t feel any different.”

He smiled, “Maybe it takes longer than two seconds.” He scooted closer. Aware of his proximity and my sweat-coated body, I felt awkward. It should have made me feel better that his skin was dewy too, but he smelled good, and I reeked. I stood up, and held out the ring in the moonlight.
Could rubies really absorb sorrow?
My hand touched Apryl’s pendant without thinking. If it could, even a little bit, I’d wear it.

I turned expecting to find Collin on the floor, but he stood behind me. Misjudging the distance between us, I aligned my body too close to his. I sucked in a deep breath, startled. When I looked up, we were nose to nose, almost touching, but neither of us moved. We stayed there, gazes locked. Something stirred inside of me. The sensation made my arms feel light, like they could float up to drape around Collin’s neck on their own. Wrapping my fingers in his soft hair would be so easy, but my arms remained at my sides.

A dull image washed through my mind. It felt like an old memory, dull and hazy with age. It echoed of fingers touching flesh, sliding slowly across a soft cheek. The sensation scraped my stomach softly, causing my heart to beat faster. His warm breath caressed my skin, as we stood surrounded by shattered glass. My pain melted away, flowing out of me, taking my anger and sorrow with it. There was nothing left, except me.
And him.

Warmth shot through me, forcing me to breathe deeply at the unexpected response. Collin’s fingers neared my face. Hope filled me, wishing he would do what I just saw in my mind. I stood still, looking up into his eyes, too afraid to breathe. My lips parted, as I took a shallow breath, closing my eyes and slowly opening them again. The realization that I wanted the premonition to happen consumed me. I’ve never felt like that before.

There was so much emotion connected to a thought, and his presence. His hand slowed, nearing my face. It froze in the air, almost touching me. Butterflies plagued my stomach, as anticipation got the better of me. Yet when he moved again, his fingers touched only a curl, avoiding my flesh. I waited for him to slide his hand across my cheek. I waited for the sensation on my skin. Instead, he placed the stray curl behind my ear, and withdrew his hand. Disappointment surged through me, as our gaze broke. The magic of the moment shattered, and he stepped away.