A dozen men left bruises and aches all over my body, but not one could bring me to my knees. A woman who slaughters and drains the world of everything good in it, I am what my mother designed me to be.
A killer. A monster.
But neither of those titles could have prepared me for what was inside that closet.
“Oh, Devil.”
Fissures spread from the hollow parts of my chest, cracks splintering a mirror that was more fragile than it appeared.
Light quivers past the damaged exterior, a grainy spotlight that falls on the figure trembling in the corner. Sweat, blood and stomach bile smears the floor space between us, the stench of anxiety and lost dignity singeing the hair from my nostrils.
“You can come out now.” Softening my voice, I try to capture his attention, “The door is wide open, baby.”
He doesn’t move so I do.
Hard concrete bruises the pads of my knees as I lower myself to the ground, slowly crawling towards the man who once returned the favour. Wet pieces of dark hair fan out across Christopher’s arms, tatted muscles that are locked around his knees as he tries to erase himself from the world.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here now.”
Blood drips from my clothes onto the floor as I press my body to his, monster and man melding together as I try to give back some of the light I stole.
“Calista?”
Lost, broken eyes lift to find mine.
“That’s right, baby.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, sweat dripping from his forehead and down the side of his neck. I wipe it away gently, along with the snot trails and blood smears he’s left all over the place.
Red stains the tip of his fingernails, hunks of flesh trapped beneath the blunt surface. I lift his hand carefully and study the marks.
“Did you scratch yourself?”
When he doesn’t respond, I start looking him over, hunting for the exit wound. Dark stains plaster his t-shirt flush to his chest, the soggy material dripping with God knows what substance when I peel the collar back.
Devil, no.
The fissures turn into cracks that threaten to shatter beneath the weight of Christopher’s self-destruction. Vicious gouges rip apart the mural that was once there, the tattoo of a bleeding wolf replaced with a real one. Tissue hangs from each piece of flesh he stole, tears just waiting to turn into scars threatening to send me back over the edge.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I wrap my hands around what’s left of his neck. Claws that have dismembered countless men are now shaking, trembling as I try to put this one back together again.
“Christopher.”
Blood seeps out between my fingers, the harsh beat of his heart draining the very essence of my soul. I can feel his light disappearing, the flickering spark weakening beneath the damaged ink and scars bursting up through his skin.
Ugly and vulnerable for the whole world to see.
“You need to get up so I can take you home.”
“T-This isn’t my home.” His teeth shatter and slam together, “I want to go home.”
“I know, baby.” More blood leaks between my fingers, draining the last bit of warmth from my body, “And we’re going to make sure you get home. But right now, I need you to get up. You’re too heavy for me to carry.”
“No.” Blinking fast, his valiant attempts are fooled by the wet streaks streaming down his cheeks, “They won’t let me go.”
“Oh, they will. Do you know why?”
I wait for his eyes to meet mine. Dark, bottomless eyes that reflect an emptiness I know all too well.
