CHAPTER SEVEN:

This Is One Of Those Things Where...

“Are you looking for anything specific?”

The white-haired woman peered speculatively up at me through Harry Potter glasses. “My granddaughter likes to read,” She explained amicably, her eyes scanning over the rows upon rows of meticulously stacked yet still cluttered books, looking forlorn and weary. “But I’m not sure exactly what she would like to read.”

“Is there a certain genre she likes?” I asked helpfully, inwardly wincing. This question had potential keep us here all night, analyzing summaries and titles and discussing whether or not the book cover was adequate. It had happened far too many times. And, from my experience, old women were not too keen on the fact that there were other things to be done. Judgmental? Yes. But true. Definitely true. “Action, adventure, romance…”

Her white brows knitted together in concentration. “Well, I think…” She did just that for a few tedious moments, then simply sighed and chuckled to herself. “That I’m getting too old for this. Would you mind helping me, or are you too busy? I know there must be a lot to do, with you and that other girl being the only one here and all.” She smiled kindly and sympathetically. If I hadn’t been such a cold bitch, I might have liked her. “I’d hate to be a bother.”

I instantly put on the, ‘I’m-here-to-please’ smile, fleetingly casting a wistful look at my fat cushioned chair behind front counter and the large cardboard box which held the most recent shipment of books. My shift was supposed to end in five minutes, since I’d came in early that morning due to someone calling off, and it was already nearly eight at night. However, I was not supposed to leave until everything had been properly put into place, and Anna, whom I was working with, had not done anything but smack her gum and talk on the phone in a high, whiny voice. I’d have to talk to the manager about that, but either way, I was condemned to working late. The money was, obviously, nice to have, but overtime was something I’d learned to loathe.

“You’re not a bother, don’t worry about it,” I told the old woman. “It’s fine.”

I wasn’t lying. It wasn’t her fault that I was unfortunately stuck working with a lazy, gum-smacking cow. After steering her towards the pre-teen section, selling off all the books I thought were appropriate and finally getting her to buy one, laughingly waving off far too many thank-you’s, I made my way back to front counter.

The idea popped into my mind of how completely odd it was, that to the sweet old woman I was a sweet young girl. Facades. Masks. Everyone wore them, but I’d been given more incentive and time to perfect mine. At school, I was the Ice Bitch. At work, the perfect employee. At the foster home, I was a recluse, a hobit. To Braelyn, I was the best big sister ever. And to the group of loud, unbelievably irritating boys who’d left just before the old woman, I was the freak with pink hair and a loud mouth, who’d set their ego’s down a notch or two.

How easily the truth had learned to hide. At times, I even got tangled in the intricate webs of delusion that I so easily spun. Who am I? That was a question best ignored. I ran my fingers through my hair and stared at the box like it was my worst enemy. At the moment, it was.

“Anna,” I called curtly, as, unfortunately the sound of her complaining somewhere behind the nearest bookshelf floated to my ears. Something about buying the wrong shade of lipstick. What a tragedy. I hoped that the real world would someday squash her. “Get over here.”

“Do you like, mind?” Her voice floated over, snotty and abnormally shrill as always. Someday it was going to make my ears bleed, and it would scare her. “I’m trying to talk to Britney!” I could imagine her overly tanned face looking indignant and dumb, as it usually had a disgusting tendency to do.

“Well, please tell Britney that your supervisor is going to murder you if you don’t get off the phone in ten seconds. “ While I waited impatiently, I grabbed the knife used to rip the tape off the boxes, slicing a nice clean line through the middle, breaking the seal. Ten seconds flew by, and the fast-paced, high-pitched ranting was still going on in full force.

“Anna!”

She came over looking sullen and pouty. “You just ruined a perfectly good conversation,” She complained, flipping her hair over her shoulder, jutting out a hip and studying her manicure. “I hope there was a good reason.”

“It was either that or take it and flush it down the toilet.” Her face contorted angrily and she opened her mouth, then shut it again, knowing firsthand just what happened when she picked a fight with me. “I’m giving you two options. Either you help me, or you leave. I don’t want to hear your whining in the background while I’m stocking.”

“I am not whiny!”

I began unpacking books, setting them in piles on the counter, according to genre. “Point proven.”

“Is there any reason why you can’t just, like, be nice? What did I ever do to you?”

“Between letting yourself get scheduled with me, refusing to do any work whatsoever, and constantly speaking like you’ve just sucked up a massive amount of helium,” I explained, pretending to seem perplexed, “Then I really don’t know!”

“I’m going home,” She snapped, grabbing her oversized purse as she headed for the door. She turned her nose up in the air, casting one last snotty look back at me over her shoulder. “I hope you get raped on the way home.”

I didn’t justify that with a retort, simply laughed snidely to myself at the look which would be on her face once I reported her idiocy. Since the manager basically loved me to death, due to the fact that I never complained, always showed up on time, and bitched out anyone who wasn’t doing what they were supposed to be doing, my opinion was, consequently, very highly valued. Helium Barbie would be fired by the end of next week.

However, I thought boredly, staring down at the seemingly colossal amount of books piled in front of me, If she could work as fast as she could talk, we might have been able to get this done before midnight.

Darkness was something which I, admitted freak that I was, felt comfortable in. It was odd that I should feel so needlessly tense. I had walked the familiar streets of Riverview for years upon end, long after the sun had set, and never before had I really felt this entirely anxious. I had walked this route home from work countless times; I didn’t like to take my car, because walking at night calmed me. There were no murders, no real crimes besides petty shoplifting, and the occasional group of stoners smoking pot in a secluded area where the cops wouldn’t think to look. There were fights, and people beat each other up, but that happened everywhere. Riverview was safe; annoyingly safe, sometimes.

In fact, it had been such a long time since I had felt anxious at all, really, that this reaction to nothing in particular, other than the darkness, was uniquely unprecedented. It didn’t fit right, like I had on someone else’s clothes. It felt as if there were someone lurking behind every corner, keeping track of my every move. Watching me. Waiting for the opportune moment.

Yeah, It was definitely pissing me off. Actually, I was pissing myself off. I was doing something I had not done since I was three and there were monsters with sharp claws, hiding under my bed. I was being childish and letting my imagination get the better of me. How humiliating.

I dug my hands deep into the pockets of my hoodie, turned down a corner, sighed, and remembered something. You know how they, whoever the hell they is, always say that to completely conquer your fears you have to face them head-on? Well, they were going to be my inspiration, on this chilly, dark night. Usually I took the long way, just to take in the night air, just to walk, to simply breathe, but now…now I would cut through the dark, scary, most likely abandoned alley. Just to prove to myself what an idiot I was being.

However, the instant that I stepped foot into that alley I knew something was wrong. I had always been an intuitive person; my instincts had told me something, however indistinct that something had been, was wrong before my mother had had a relapse. They’d woken me up with a strange feeling clawing at the inside of my stomach, the day after dad had killed himself. And right now, they were grasping desperately at the flight instinct, rather than the fight, telling me to get the hell away. My imagination had gotten quite creative, I’d give it that.

“Don’t move.”

My heart literally stopped bearing for a fraction of a second before it began pumping out blood at an inconsistent, irregular pattern. “The hell I won’t,” I disregarded the command, blindly ignoring my fear. I turned on heel and came face to face with the most petrifying sight I had ever had the displeasure to experience. I stumbled clumsily backwards, held captive in my place by the blood red eyes that stared me down. They were so dark, so angry…I felt adrenaline course through my body so quickly that I could barely see, barely breathe.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded; his voice was a terrifying, double sound; like the voice of a demon. There was no way for me to answer, which seemed to aggravate him beyond comprehension. “Answer me!”

I said nothing still. I couldn’t force my frozen vocal chords to work; couldn’t force them to make a sound. The man—no, he was not a man, that I was absolutely and suddenly sure of, more than anything else. He was more of a…creature? It terrified me too far to even consider that he might be a demon. He was… something abnormal, something that should not exist. I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Before even a second had passed, I found myself slammed up against the brick wall of the alleyway, breathless. Stars danced before my vision and a sharp, blinding flash of pain erupted behind my eyes. Only the painful pressure of his hands on my shoulders preventing me from collapsing. I literally couldn’t move. Terror immobilized me, and my entire body was shaking wildly, though the night was relatively warm. I gasped for air, furious and afraid.

This was death, I guessed, staring me down with such intense, violent fury that any movement whatsoever was physically impossible. I was no longer afraid, for some reason, once this realization hit. My fear evaporated instantly, and relief was the sensation that suddenly flooded through my body. I sagged against the wall, letting out an audible sigh. I didn’t care if I died. There was nothing left for me; however, there was one prerequisite to this whole death idea. I wanted to do it with dignity. I brought courage to the forefront of my mind, blinked, and found that movement was once again granted to me.

I raised my chin insolently, squared my shoulders. “Kill me,” I dared it. I knew my eyes had to be flashing with some sort of emotion, but I willed them to show nothing but defiance. “Go ahead.”

He was staring at me penetratingly, and it was all I could do to keep his eyes locked with mine. I was just attempting to not appear weak, but he—he seemed to be doing something else. Looking deeper than my eyes. I shivered. I broke the stare, cursing myself.

“Why can’t I read you?” He muttered seethingly to himself. Then, his voice abruptly became authorative and demanding as he asked, “Why are you here, Braelyn?” His voice seemed unusually refined, yet authorative and elegent at the same time. It gave me a sense of...sophistication, that I hadn't really heard before. It made me feel inadequate through my fear.

“Well,” I began, mouth so dry that the words almost slurred. It was plausible, I guessed, for death to know my name. And for it to speak like that. My voice was shaky, though, instead of the casual nonchalance that I had been aiming for. Irritation at myself, more than anything, made me speak, “I was walking home from work.” I cleared my throat. It was easier this time. “But then, I was sort of ambushed.”

His eyes narrowed, the red flashing. My head was slowly being raised, my bangs sweeping from back my eyes, but not of my own accord. Once my steely gaze met his once again I shot searing daggers at him with my unrestrained anger.

“Whatever the fuck you are, I’d appreciate it if I could decide when to look at you, thanks,” I snapped harshly. “You have me pinned against the wall, so I don’t think you need much more control over my actions than you already have.”

“Who sent you here?” His voice was the demon-voice again, and against my will I shuddered, unable to snap my eyes closed because of the control he exercised over me. “Damien?”

I curled my hands into fists. “You’re getting on my last nerve,” I spat. “I told you! I was walking home, you ambushed me, and who the hell is Damien?” I spat the word like it was filthy, and that seemed to please him.

He looked genuinely stunned. “So he hasn’t gotten to you quite yet,” He muttered. His iron grip on my shoulders loosened, causing the pins-and-needles feeling to spring up in full force. One of his hands entangled itself into his perfect jet-black hair, and I was astounded by such a human gesture. He wasn’t death, then….Death would not be acting like this. But that still left the relentlessly nagging question of what was he? I could see the internal conflict raging in his eyes, and while he fought with himself I slowly backed away, knowing that the attempt was futile and doomed to failure either way. However, I needed to feel as if I had some semblance of control over the situation, had to feel like I was doing something.

“Don’t move, Braelyn, and things are going to be remarkably easier, for the both of us.” He sounded exhausted.

I did exactly that. I didn't move, for a moment, attempting idiotically to lure him into a false sense of security, and then bolted from the alley, feet pounding rythmically and desperately on the pavement. As I had unfourtuantely known but tried to deny despite the knowledge, he was there in a second and had me pinned against the wall so easily I was embarrassed. But, being the hardheaded, stubborn-ass-bitch that I was, I thrashed around like I was possessed, swearing and kicking and biting, again. Again, it made no difference. He simply stood there, looking annoyed but slightly amused at my furious resistance.

"You freak!" I screamed. I was pissed. Not being able to get out of his grip has infuriated me, more than scared me. "Get the fuck off me. CAN SOMEONE PLEASE GET HIM OFF ME, I'M GETTING REALLY SICK OF THIS! HELP! I--" I couldn't speak then. I literally couldn't. He shoved me roughly away but my voice was gone, I couldn't move. It sucked because I hated being controlled, feeling helpless. He still had control over me when he was a few feet away.

"If you don't stop I'm going to have to hurt you," He said, darkly and softly. "I've given you too many chances already. I'm done playing these games." I knew it wasn't an empty threat, though I also knew he was trying to scare me. I hated that it was working. "Though I don't want to do that, I won't hesitate to hurt you. It would be a pity if you caused unwanted attention, Braelyn, for both you and whoever comes to your rescue." His eyes flashed red when I brought my fist suddenly up; before it could so much as halfway make it to it's destination of colliding with his head, my wrist was in his grip. It hurt. "Don't test my patience, you might not find yourself fond of the results." Oh, that lovely demon-voice again. How did he do that.

“Do you mind cutting the whole demon-voice, terrifying monster-like attitude, then?” I queried. “I think our conversation might be a bit more pleasant.”

"There's no time for pleasentries, right now."

"No, of course not. Not when you're about to kill me. Quick and dirty, right?"

“I’m not going to kill you, I simply want to speak with you.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “You seriously cannot think I’m that stupid. You just gave me a--” I winced and rubbed the spot on the back of my skull, which had hit the wall “—very painful bruise. Not to mention you’re rambling on and on about nonsense, and random people, attacking me with your disturbing strength and threatening me. You’re insane. You aren’t normal. Get the fuck away from me before I start screaming bloody murder again.”

“I could stop you before you began, Braelyn.” He grinned at my anger. "I think I've accurately proven who'll win this in the end."

“Want to patronize me like I’m an incompetent little kid?” I laughed bitterly. “Yeah, how about let’s not do that.”

“You’re extremely stubborn,” He noted.

“Only when the situation calls for it.”

He didn't speak. My feet were moving towards him then, and I gritted my teeth against the helpless terror that had begun to stealthily snake it’s way up through my stomach. This was not going to happen, not like this. I willed them to stop moving, using sheer determination and control. When they did, mere seconds later, I’m not sure who was more surprised.

“That’s interesting,” He said; he wasn’t angry, wasn’t too surprised, simply mildly taken back. “Hasn’t happened in a while.” Before I could turn around, I felt him behind me, his obvious presence a burning sensation raising the hairs on the back of my neck. He was blocking me from the nearest exit, and if I tried to get past him or bolt to the other one…yeah, I was pretty much screwed. “But the sooner you accept that you can’t get away, the sooner we can get this over with.”

“And I can go back to living my lovely little life, right?”

His expression held a vague sadness. It was such an exteme contrast that I blinked. Great, he's bipolar, too. “Not exactly.”

“Oh, God,” I let loose a string of curse words so inventive that I was even impressed. “Is this one of those things where now, you explain your elaborate plot to take over the world?” There was the sarcasm again, compensating for the lack of control, the helplessness, the covered up fear.

“No,” He looked at me solemnly, and I realized that his eyes were no longer crimson; they were an unusual, deep shade of green. “This is one of those things where..." He looked up at the midnight sky probingly, as if he were searching for an answer written in the star-dappled patterns... Apparently, he couldn't find one, because he simply sighed and studied me intently, like he was seeing himelf in the reflection of my eyes, and thinking he was crazy. "This is where I attempt to save your ass.”