encounters with a demon | darkiplier

Chapter 7. Picking Up The Glass

A/N

This chapter could be triggering for some people because it involves self harm. Please read with caution.

"I would lure them in with stuff you people enjoy these days. Technology, to be exact. Or money. Either one worked," Dark started off as he bent down to pick up a supposing my unharmed end table and set it back in its place by Mark's couch. "But, as I was saying, I would lure them in and say something like, "Oh yeah, sure. I'll give you two times the amount of money you paid for that phone if you sell it to me." and they would agree to come back to Mark's apartment. I would bring them in and immediately have Mark knock them out with a baseball bat." he pointed over to the door and you turned your head. Leaning right beside the entrance was an old, wooden baseball bat, just like he had talked about.

"Oh," you let out a huff, many gruesome images of what probably happened when Mark knocked them out running through your head.

"Then, I'd tell him what I wanted him to do with the lucky victim of the day." he finished, picking up shards of glass from the broken picture frames that came off the walls. He would slightly cut his fingers once in a while but it didn't seem to bother him one bit.

"Jesus, Dark- that sounds terrible. I don't know how you can do those kinds of things." you say to him in disbelief while watching him pick up piece after piece of glass.

"I know, but that's exactly why I do it. I'm the total opposite of right. I'm mean, wrong, and I do stupid things." he confesses while breaking some of the glass in his bare hands. You saw his expression change quickly, but didn't expect to see him let the anger take over his actions. Black liquid started dripping from the fresh wounds he just gave himself, and he watched every drop fall from his balled up fists on to the carpet

"Oh, God help me," you mutter under your breath, standing up and walking to the kitchen to grab a washcloth. Mark is in there and almost has everything cleaned up. He just has to clean all the dirty dishes that were laying around. Man, he was fast.

You found a washcloth, went over to the tap, and turned it on, allowing cold water to pour onto the rag. Once it was soaked, you turned off the tap and squeezed the extra water out of the rag. You went back into the living room, but gasped at what you. You almost dropped the cloth because you were so startled.

"Dark, stop!" you yelled at him as you ran over to his side. He had a fairly large chunk of sharp glass in his right hand, and was slitting endless cuts into his left forearm. Over and over again, he swiped the glass against his skin and black blood would pour out of the wounds he gave himself. His face showed no sign of pain, but there was some emotion that was barely shown that you couldn't quite make out.

You smacked the glass out of his hand and took his arm and brought it close to your face to get a better look at the cuts. You looked at him, your eyes filled with worry, and he immediately brought his free hand up to his face. He was shielding his eyes from you, and you heard him sniffle a few times.

He wasn't wiping away tears... was he?

He seemed so tough in your point of view. Everyone has a soft spot, though. Even supposed heartless demons who kill the innocent for fun.

You took the cloth, and set it on the fresh cuts first, leaving the cuts on his hands for last. You watched as he scrunched up his nose and squeezed his pitch black eyes shut. It was like he couldn't feel anything when he punched the wall, but now he was finally showing some signs of pain.

He clenched his jaw and sucked in a sharp breath. You took the cloth off and started dabbing at the cuts. He relaxed a bit, but you could still tell that he was in pain. The muscles in his arm were tensing up at your touch. You would see him looking at you every so often out of the corner of your eye. You felt your face start to get hot, but you pushed away the thought of him gazing at you to dull the red color in your cheeks.

"The weapon was right in my hand. How could I deny using it?" he said at last, his voice shaking with every word he let out. You felt his eyes on you again, watching you clean the rest of his cuts up. The black blood was staining the cloth, and you realized you weren't dealing with some normal human body fluid.

You looked up at him and frowned when you saw that his eyes were puffy and bloodshot. He had been crying after all.

"Dark, how can you inflict pain on yourself if you're a demon?" you asked curiously. He furrowed his eyebrows as he gazed down at his arm. It was already starting to scab, so that must be a good sign.

"I-I think I'm starting to take my own form. Just a day or two, maybe even a few hours the process will be over. I'll be in actual human form. I could kill the people myself, then. I was planning on letting Mark go when that happened." he told you hesitantly, his voice still sounding broken. You nodded, showing him that you understood.

You put the cloth down and turned his arm around in your hands, examining it for unattended wounds. You found nothing. After that, you picked it back up and dabbed away at the already scabbed over wounds on his hands. The seemed okay, so you felt better that he was fully attended to now. The skin on his arm was now all tore up, though. You would have to bandage it for him later.

"Th-thank you. You're v-very kind." Dark stuttered quietly, just loud enough for you to hear him. He didn't sound as weak as he had earlier, but he still didn't sound as tough as he sounded when you first met him.

You looked up into his eyes, full of a color that was known for being plain and not having that much beauty. But to you, black was a gorgeous color, and it suited him well.

"You're welcome." you smiled and looked down at the ground. You noticed you were still holding Dark's arm.

"O-Oh, I'm sorry." you were quick apologize, and let go of his arm gently. You heard him chuckle in the same deep voice Mark had.

"No, it's okay." he cracked a small smile, and your eyes widened.

Wait... what was that?

He did indeed smile back at you, but it was a different kind of smile. It looked real, and truly genuine. There was nothing creepy or eerie about it. You let a blush take over your cheeks this time and stood up.

"I'll bandage your arm later, just incase so you don't injure it anymore than you already have. Your hands don't really need bandaging so I think you're good there. How about I clean up the rest of this glass for you?" you suggest, and he nods, letting you finish the job for him.

But not without letting his beautiful black eyes follow your every move the whole time you clean it all up.