A quick trip back to the bathroom to brush my teeth brings me face to face with his shattered phone, smeared with black blood from where the broken pieces cut his hand. I can't imagine what it was that made him react so harshly. He didn't even get to hear how the story ended.
I pick up the discarded pieces, careful not to hurt myself, and carry them back to my room. Why, I'm not sure. Maybe knowing that some of his rage was directed at someone else on my behalf instead of at me was a slight balm over the ache in my chest. Maybe I just get a rush at his destructive nature, how easily he could destroy anything in his path. Either way, the jagged pieces of metal and plastic are a work of art now displayed among the empty bottles of tequila atop the steel dresser.
The proof of his strength, knowing he'll use all of it to protect me, even if we hate each other, helps me sleep without nightmares for the first time in years.
Coward
Eamon
For the past two weeks, I've found myself down here in the training room at least once a day. I've punched a hole clean through one dummy and am rapidly going towards destroying another. The bite marks on the neck prove that I'm becoming closer to the monster every day, madness sinking its fangs into me the longer Isla's here. I spent ten minutes picking fucking foam out of my teeth last night, and I'm well on my way to having to do it again today.
She might be eating, but she's still wasting away. She drags herself into the kitchen, eats whatever I've prepared like she's a robot, then disappears back into her cave, only leaving to use the bathroom or take her nightly shower. Or worse, to keep up the steady flow of tequila she pumps into her body. How can someone be so functional and yet so… not? There's something unsettling about how she moves through each day; perfectly charming and hardworking but without any life behind her eyes, no sparkle of any kind, like she's checked out completely, drifting from one vice to the other. Work and booze. Boozeand work. Over and over again. And I'm the asshole that keeps supplying it because I've no fucking clue what else to do.
But that ends now.
Her things have been trickling in. Thankfully, we got the most important things shipped out to St. Paul before her parents decided to show up at her home. When she spoke about the email, she seemed resigned to the fact that this was just normal. The vague threats that, to the unknowing eye, would seem like a loving mother trying to guide her child.
But she and I know it for what it is. What that kind of language does to someone who's been indoctrinated and scarred by it. Thankfully for everyone else, I've never seen one of these "cleansing" rituals firsthand, but witnessing it full of terror and shame through the peeks in Isla's memory was enough to know exactly what they look like. Her mind is usually a fortress. Impenetrable. But in those brief moments where she's forced to face the reality of her past, the wall fractures, short snippets of the same memories playing on a loop, trapping her in them until she gets lost somewhere between the past and present.
I didn't get the name of Isla's first fiance, but the latest,Silas,is unfortunate enough that he's found himself as my newest target. The second child from a low-level hunter family, with a temper and a nasty coke habit. Through tracking the email back to her parent's house, I managed to maneuver myself into their other outgoing emails, one to a Silas Thurngood containing photos and a brief medical history of Isla. Within hours, I had found his home address thanks to a fortuitous trip to the club where he meets his dealer.
For now, I'll keep watch on him, and in a couple days, after I've set my plan into motion for Isla, I'll deal with him.
Rationally, I know it makes no difference. If this one vanishes, they'll just find another husband for Isla. And if I'm not careful, I'll give myself away. I need him gone for me, for Isla. But I haveto play it properly, or else they'll know I'm on their asses again. I can't afford for them to figure it out and go into hiding again. I'm too close. They've gotten too brazen.
I'll deal with them soon enough, but for today, Isla has my full attention. And I'm about to have hers.
A giant ass speaker is the only thing she was somewhat excited to see arrived the other day, and it hasn't even been used once. Even her fucking box of toys is gathering dust in the corner.
The only time she seems somewhat alive is when I push her to the point of fury, which has given me an idea that I know already is a mistake. But she can't keep going on like this, and I can't let her.
She's awake but doesn't start work for another hour and a half, so I let myself into her room, not bothering to knock. "Morning."
Her suspicious gaze meets mine from her bed, looking up from scrolling on her phone for only a second before she resumes ignoring me. The speaker sits in the corner of her room, and I stalk towards it.
"Can I help you?" she finally asks.
"Nope, " I continue, fake calmness in my voice, "This is all I'm here for."
She blinks, looking at me and then the speaker. "You're not taking that."
"Why not?" I ask. "You haven't even plugged it in. And I could certainly use it to drown out all your wallowing."
Indignation twists her mouth, but she doesn't take the bait. "I just haven't had a chance to use it yet."
I lift the massive black speaker, knowing she won't be able to carry it back in here herself. "Well you can come get it when you need it, but for now, I'm gonna borrow it. There's a game in an hour and I could use the extra sound."
"No," she throws the bedding off of herself, her matching fluorescent pink sweats and sweatshirt assaulting my senses asshe storms over and tries to grab the speaker. I hold it up over my head and her jaw drops, surprise and rage making her face match her outfit. "Are you serious right now?"
"Dead serious," I lean down, taunting her again. "If you can take it from me, you can keep it."
She makes one attempt at jumping to grab it, but we both know it's futile, and she's more likely to injure herself than succeed. "You're being childish," she accuses, jumping again and only managing to slap my arm. "Eamon!"
I should stop now. She's shown something worth fighting me for, gotten out of bed, done exactly what I came in here to make her do. But something about her closeness makes every rational thought leave my body, and I keep pushing. "Come on, little hunter. You can do better than that. Can't you take down one demon?"
The sound of her teeth grinding is my only warning before she really puts her effort into it; all thoughts of safety and even keeping the speaker from being damaged washed away in her anger. She jumps and wraps both hands around one of my arms, dragging it down with all her body weight.
She manages to pull it down a few inches before I adjust, keeping her off the floor, her legs dangling as she uses all her strength to try and drag us both down. Even if she hasn't done any training for it, her body was made to fight, her natural strength being more than a mortal womans should be.
