Daughter of Blood and Nightmares

29.0: Reassurance?

My annoyed, foul mood gets the best of me. I just want out of this place and I would think that she would want the same too. But things are never easy...simple with her.

She yells at me putting a stop to our retreat. I don't know why the words come out, but they do. I play right into her hands. I don't choose my words wisely and I say too much, give too much away. My bickering only leads to questions and receiving stupid answers that ache my muscles. An ache only a punch will cure.

The 'riding a bike' bullshit is what really pushes me over the edge. She has no idea how furious she makes me. I have to get away from her before I say something I shouldn't. I can't get far enough away before it comes out. I don't mean to say it, bring attention to it, but I do. "You've fucked with older."

She instantly turns it into a joke. Shouting about some temper tantrum I'm on the verge of having. My feet come to halt and she starts her confession. A confession that I really don't want to hear. I thought I did, but I don't.

She talks about all the horrid things her mother made her do. The lack of empathy and basic level of nurture a parent should have for their child.

"I get it." It's supposed to come out understanding, but it comes out emotionless and callous.

But Oliver sees it as it is. He weaves around her, eyes wide. He tries to diffuse the tension and I know he's on the verge of a confession that he shouldn't spill when the slam of a door cuts off his words.

A glance down the hall shows her gone. Missing. Where the hell-a scream breaks apart my thoughts. Both of us charge down the hall. It doesn't take much to figure out what door she's behind. Oliver jiggles the knob, but it's locked. Back and forth, taking turns, we slam into the door. It proves to be harder to knock down than we thought. Bad things happen in these rooms to call for reinforced doors.

I become frantic when I hear her yelp my name. Repeatedly, we slam into the door, sometimes both our bodies hitting it at the same time. It creaks, cracks, but doesn't swing open. More screams. More hits. Finally the wood gives way, opening the door to showcase her on the ground, a stranger on top of her.

Tears streak her face and I lose myself to a rage that I only get when it comes to her. He speaks through my punches calling me guardian. I slide out a hidden knife because filth such as himself doesn't deserve to taunt the streets any longer. He proves it by speaking to her with his last breath.

His body slumps to the ground where it burns up before disappearing all together. That was his true face. There's always been a sense of satisfaction killing an upper level demon. All the work they've gone through to get summoned. It takes more skill to pull them from the depths of hell unlike the ones that slither into humans using them like walking, talking body bags.

I don't look at Ashton as I walk out, I can't. It'll break me.

The silence between us is suffocating. When we exit the club and enter into a run down laundry mat, I couldn't be more thankful until I see a lump of a body in the corner. The person is bundled with blankets and softly snores. It's either a great act or it's truly just a homeless person.

My feet lead to the door, Oliver and Ashton behind me. We make it outside. Possible second, third, fourth crisis of the day averted. Little do I realize that another crisis, one I can't save us from is coming. It comes with her silence and her need for separation.

This attack is different than others. It wasn't random, it was personal. I give her the space she wants, but only for so long. The following day, I walk into her room and see her sprawled out on her bed still in the damned dress.

"Zayne has our next mission planned out. It should be an easy one." My words startle her awake.

She immediately replies with words of feeling ill. It isn't hard to believe her. Her hair is a mess, dark circles start to darken her once bright eyes that are now lifeless and dull. This is his fault. I stupidly tell her to get better and leave her to fend against her nightmares herself.

After reporting to Zayne, I get our assigned mission postponed. It was just another debt to be collected, a mission that the nightmare girl's presence would be beneficial to. But necessary? No. Does Zayne love parading her around? Yes. He's her weapon and the more she's seen with us the more our victory is recognized.

I try again the next day, but instead of the excuse of not feeling well, she reverts back to old self, a colder, crueler old self. She shouts across the room at me. Her harsh words are the icy truth, but the tone of her voice. It's hateful. She hasn't been that vicious. There's always been a sarcastic twinge to it.

So I leave and don't go back in, but that doesn't mean I go far. It takes everything I have not to put my foot down with her, but she's going through something I can't help her with unless she lets me. And by her narrowed glare, she doesn't want me near her.

"What the hell are you doing?" Oliver says as he comes up behind me.

"Nothing," I snap back in a misplaced accusatory tone.

His eyes widen, "Sure." He chimes. "Just pacing in front of her door is definitely nothing." He leans against the wall across from her room. "Zayne be damned. I think she needs to be told." I don't verbally reply, instead I give a stiff shake of my head. "Are you a complete idiot?" He shouts at me. "She was attacked yesterday, she needs...reassurance."

"Reassurance?" I laugh at his stupidity. Oliver is smart, but not when it comes to this. "And what? She's just gonna be understanding? Not speculate anything? She might not even believe us let alone want to stay here."

He contemplates my words. He doesn't agree with them, it's clear on his face. But the decision is out of our control. The soldier in me says I would rather have her mad at me rather than Zayne, but another part of me, a growing maddening part of me, would rather have Zayne mad at me than her.

"We can take turns if you want?"

My head shakes back and forth, "it's fine. I got it." I watch his features fall in disappointment. "I'll let you if I need you, okay?"

He gives a firm nod, "maybe she just needs to get out," he says before leaving me in the hall. I quickly become tormented after his departure. Alone in the silent hall, I can hear her cries, screams of terror. It's with a blood curdling scream that doesn't stop, I barge back into her room.

I enter the bedroom to see her thrashing about the bed, sweat slicks her forehead. Deep in sleep she says a name, his name. Greyson. I would wonder what he did to her, but I have an idea. Killing him was worth it, but not satisfying enough. He needed to suffer more.

Against better judgment, I place my hands on her once again. Squeezing her arms, I shake her so hard her head flops from the force. I call out her name, but she doesn't wake. "Damn it, Ashton. Wake up."

She scrambles in bed underneath my retreating hands. I quickly give reason for grabbing her. But she doesn't care. She replies with, "And? Can't the nightmare girl have nightmares of her own." Her eyes bore into mine as if daring me to disagree with her.

Breaching the subject of him goes exactly how I thought it would. It quickly gets shut down. Oliver's words play in my head. Maybe she does need to get out and seeing a familiar face can only help improve her mood.