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Another shadow dream memory from when I was eighteen and moved in with my boyfriend. A year had passed since my mother had died and our relationship was only new. He stuck by my side despite the hard beginning and then we decided to move in together. I had hated our first apartment. I told him that there was something about it that unsettled me. One room in particular that I couldn’t stand the feel of and made sure the door was closed at all times. It was a small house, befitting for the two of us who wanted to start afresh together. My two cats were unsettled in that house as well feeling the same unnerving presence linger. I thought that maybe it was the house, until I realized that the entity was following me. I had always seen these dreams and knew their touch that could hurt me within my sleep.
The memory was clear and it was as if I was reliving it all over again. It was a small combined living room and kitchen, very small in size. The old wooden floors had holes in some parts where you could see the ground beneath. When turning to the left, I was greeted by the three doors of my rooms in the house. The left was our room. The small one in front of me was used as storage and the third on the right was always closed. I went into my room to collect my handbag before I left for work. When I came out I stared at the flooring of where blood began to pool from that room which remained always closed.
The dream went fuzzy and lucid like it always did when I was no longer alone in my sleep. My dream was being controlled and leading me to some devastating end. The blood spread quickly towards my feet. I ran into the living room with tears, terrified of whose blood that might’ve been on the other side. I ran for the back door through the kitchen and laundry room but something grabbed me and pulled me to the left and into the bathroom.
I was grabbed from behind and a hand wrapped around my throat and angled my face up. I looked through the mirror to the stranger who held me from behind. I was greeted with the blackness of a figure, who had no definition, no eyes nor lips or anything that I could fixate on. Tears blurred my vision as it forced me to stare back at it in the mirror.
“How do you kill something that isn’t real?” The male voice purred into my ear with laughter. And he was right. It was the question I had been asking myself since I was fifteen and began receiving ‘visits’ from these entities. His laughter swelled my ears as I closed my eyes and so badly prayed to wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
My eyes burst open and I rolled over to touch the small icon on my side table. I would have to record this in the Shadow Mind Journals. Instead, I was greeted with cold stone. I properly opened my eyes and jumped up in one clean movement to search my surroundings.
There was nothing but brick walls enclosing me in darkness. Only the light blue of my tattoos brightened the room. I tried to call forth my cat demon for better sight but she was asleep. All my demons were. I put my hand to my stomach getting flickers of memory and then growled.
“Angel boy?!” I yelled, aggravated now. What on earth was that powder shit he blew on me that forced my demons to recoil and that sleeping kiss?! How had I been beat? Just because I couldn’t call forth my demons didn’t mean I was left for weak. My strength wasn’t anything to be taken lightly either. I searched the walls surrounding me even the one above which was too high for me too reach. I tapped along trying to find a weakness anywhere in the foundation. No variance. Giving up on intellect I went back to my most primitive nature. Force.
I took in a deep breath and punched into the brick of the wall. My hand crushed under the impact and I instantly retracted it. “Mother fucker!” I started cursing as I shook it back and forth realizing that only created more of a throb. I held it close to my mouth grunting into it as if the noise would bring it back to life. “What the fuck?” I said looking down on my hand that was now clearly broken. What happened to my strength? If it weren’t for the deep maroon almost black blood coming out in blotches I would’ve thought I were human again in this sedated state.
I looked around having nothing to wrap it in. Great. I sat back against the wall. I was in some kind of angel prison for a crime I didn’t even commit. Well unless this was all over Mr. Greenhouse. Then I most definitely killed him. I charmed a smile remembering his face as I emasculated him. Worth it.
I heard noises around me but couldn’t identify which side they came from. There was no clear opening to this prison. A light shot down from above and I filthily looked up at the angel boy who looked down on me. Great I was in a pit about twenty meters in the ground and had no way of scaling the walls with a broken hand. Fantastic. I wanted to personally congratulate myself on the idea of using brute force.
I could hear others speaking to him but couldn’t see them. He dismissed them and jumped into the hole. His drop was silent but his landing rocked the ground I sat on. Purposefully, I considered. A display of power. Boring.
“Rather showy wouldn’t you say?” I said wavering my good hand and clutching the other close to me in hopes that he wouldn’t see it. I wasn’t entirely sure what my healing rate would be like in this current state and I didn’t want him to know that I was weakened. Alas, it was the first thing he saw and he cocked a dirty smile.
“Broken hand?” he asked, his emerald eyes finding amusement mixed with his resentment for me. Sweet justice, he might have well said.
“More like broken heart from being so poorly treated. Most would offer to buy me a drink before they locked me in their dungeon,” I said charming a cocky smile.
“I want to kill you,” he said. “But I can’t until you admit to everything that you’ve done.”
“Yea, here’s the thing,” I said as I stood up dusting the few strands of straw on me. The floor had a few strands of hay lying about. Rather primitive. “I didn’t kill your angel lover. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were an item. I suppose that makes this the awkward mistress talk,” I said wavering a hand between him and me.
He wrapped his hand around my throat and raised me off my feet. “Do you think this is funny?” He cussed at me, a few flecks of his spit hitting my face. Disgusting.
“Momentarily, I did,” I said as I wiped away the spit. My words came out strangled but I kept my composure. This wasn’t my first time dealing with such conflict. “If you wanted to kill me, you would have by now,” I said through one gush of breath. “But you haven’t which means you can’t. Funny thing that treaty,” I said through a cracked smile that I knew drew blood. I didn’t close my eyes as I waited for the backhand that would come. Instead he dropped me back onto the ground. I landed on my broken hand cursing under my breath.
“I preferred you in your pajamas,” I spat, enjoying how riled he was becoming. It was too easy.
“Why did Haymen choose you?” he asked me directly. I side glanced him with a coy smile. So, he was trying to get some information on me. Perhaps Haymen and him knew each other. Suddenly, I realized this might not be about me at all. “You were nothing special before. Yet you seemed to have signed some pretty serious contracts with the sizing of your tattoos. Who are you?”
I looked down at my short-sleeved leather shirt which revealed parts of my tattoo. I looked up at him with a suave smile. “Angel Boy, did you take a peek while I was sleeping? First you disempower me, then you steal my first kiss, and now, you’re doing ennoble things to me as I sleep?” I said abashed.
He pulled a photo out of his jacket and threw it at me. I only had a brief glance and looked back at him. Aiden. It was a photo of me and Aiden. And Lassie my Labrador which I adored so much. Suddenly all humor had vanished. Which wasn’t good. For him.
“Where did you get this?” I growled trying to sound reasonable. It came out feral. I looked up at him. The size of his wingspan, even when tucked behind him, they stretched close to the walls.
He smirked at me, actually smirked. All reasoning was gone. I lunged for him. He sidestepped and pinned my good hand behind me. He pressed me against the wall. I could feel the heat radiating from him onto my back because it was so contrast to the coldness of my own. My broken hand was crushed against the brick at my stomach. I breathed out frustration, flicking my hair out of my eyes. Although pinned tightly I raised my feet against the wall and pushed back with all my might. It made him take a few steps back and I swung at him with my broken hand. He had already caught me and now pushed me into the ground my mouth tasting the straw.
“Such a humble life you once lived,” he said on top of me. His breath flushed hot against my ear, which despite my anger for him only made me aroused. I cursed the primal hormones of what I was now. There was no thing as modesty or self-control. But I was so pissed at him.
“Why don’t you eat your own fucking humble pie instead of trying to steal mine,” I said to him. Not even Haymen had dared speak to me about my previous life. That was one thing that would not be toyed as a game.
“Maybe you should’ve better protected it.” A piece of golden hair was placed to my eye level and I knew by keen smell whose it was. My body went rigid. Lassie.
“Here’s the thing, Lovely,” he purred into my ear again. “Today when I take you to the high court you are going to admit to killing Luke. That way I will have the right to publicly execute you, which I will take great pleasure in. If not... The choice is yours,” he said and got off me.
“Do you really think I’m going to trade in my future for a dog?” I said to him with my back still facing him.
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he said. “Human emotion is a funny thing and I wonder if even a mighty demon warrior like you might still be sentimental for it.” The wind swept around me from the strong beat of his wings. The ceiling closed behind him and left me once again in the darkness. I was stuck within the cell staring at a picture which was taken a lifetime ago... literally. Suddenly I realized the weakness in angels all too clearly, or perhaps Mr. Angel Boy in particular. They were sentimental. I was born and trained not to be.
