“The demons are coming for her. They are taking her unpure soul.”
I didn't say anything, watching the blood leak from her head and more blood leak from between her legs. Her body was crying out red tears, mourning her loss. Clear ones dropped from my eyes, falling to the ground as I took another step.
“You have to kill the demon so she can rest.”
“She's not going anywhere.”
I walked down the rest of the steps, and my father's voice grew distant as he continued to talk.
“They own her now, Hell.” He used my name.
“She's fucking mine,” I struggled, scraping my throat to talk.
My knees hit the ground hard, placing me at her side.
“Be careful, Son. They are getting stronger.” My father's voice was now a whisper. One that wormed its way into my head with all the other bullshit he'd spoken in these last few minutes. . . during the most painful moment of my life, when my broken heart ruptured enough to let him in. To let him ruin me all over again, by having me believe something that wasn't fucking real.
I scooped Jolie’s head into my palm, and her blood made my skin sticky.
Her hand moved, the demon's power growing enough to move Jolie's limbs. Her fingers drew high, reaching for my neck.
“Be careful, Son!” my father screamed. “It's going to hurt you.”
The demon used Jolie's thin and broken nails to scratch at my bruises. My father was right, it was trying to hurt me.
I stared up at him, holding back the demon's hand. Not one part of Jolie’s body belonged to me now. It wasalready possessed by something else. I bent the demon’s wrist back as it tried to reach me again.
My stare didn't leave the demon, seeing its fear of failing all over Jolie's pretty face.
“Hell,” it whispered, sounding so much like the girl I craved to hear. “Stop.”
I'd never listen to its command.
“I’ll help you, kid,” my father shouted down.
The creaking of the floorboards above my head alerted me to my father's retreating steps. To the sound of him rustling through his bedside drawers for something he kept hidden.
I could hear too much, my senses exploding into overdrive.
“Stop.” Another command blared, this one coming from somewhere inside me. I recognized the voice—similar to mine, but even with emotion riding the tone, it was less aggressive. It was Woodrow.
Jolie's wrist popped, her bone slipping out of place, making it harder for the demon to hurt me.
She roared out her pain. Her other hand came up quickly, her bony knuckles creating a small fracture along the bridge of my nose. My blood rained down on her, and as she opened her mouth to call his name–“Woodrow!”—she choked on it.
Her gargled word made no sense to my ears, but somehow, he fucking heard it, and he was fighting with me to get to the surface, using energy I needed to fight off this demon. Wasting it.
And it gave the entity possessing Jolie’s frail body time to tumble away from me. Her hands and one knee patted the floor, creating a space between us. This thing already knew the weaknesses of her body, careful not to put her damaged leg to the ground, and that meant it was stretched out long enough for me to grab.
Her scream was loud as I yanked her back, my eyes blinking in her image as my muscles twitched, loosening my grip.
A small foot kicked me away, more sharp nails catching my skin.
I staggered to her front, unsteady on my feet. I edged backwards, blocking the escape through the front door. Blocking the bright moonbeam through the cracked glass.
I twitched again, and gripped onto anything that was near, and apparently that was flimsy cardigans hanging from a nearby coat rail. They gave no support, and I blanked, falling to the floor.
Woodrow
