Sympathy for the Devil

18

In the morning Killian was snoring lightly as his arms wrapped around me tighter. He stirred uncomfortably. Something in his sleep was bothering him. We both have our fair share of plaguing nightmares. Sleep can't be masked by sarcastic wit. He's completely defenseless at the hands of his own warring mind.

Golden light peered behind the sheer curtains, illuminating the room. His very naked torso was brushed up against me. I was still wearing my funeral attire. Killian kept tossing and turning, clearly anxious by the oblivion of sleep. When he turned over again, I managed to untangle myself from his burly arms. I caught glimpses of a tat on his back.  Large black angel wings spanned across his back and moved as he stretched and continued to roll, nearly cascading off of the bed.

He had other tattoos too, I observed silently. One is a tattoo that said DEAD in large bold capital letters taut against his right bicep. It's a bit on the nose. His left bicep had spiked vines that coiled around his arm. And his chest which was currently inhaling and exhaling and slowly moving up and down contained various names. I knew these were the names of souls he collected. The names moved all the way down his chest to his stomach. Hundreds of names squished together.

I lightly touched his name that was tattooed right by his heart. As I touched the tattoo of his name, the room began to blur and fade away. I felt a strange sensation, like I was being pulled into a different time and place. Suddenly, I was standing in a dark and abandoned alleyway, the only sound was the distant hum of a city that never slept. The air was thick with the smell of trash and decay.

I saw Killian, but he wasn't alone. He was with a woman and a man, his parents. Killian's mother had a worried expression masking her face while his father kept his distance from Killian.

They used to be so close when Killian was younger.

Killian's mother had long, curly brown hair and bright green eyes that sparkled with warmth. His father had light brown hair sprinkled with gray and a strong jawline and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through me probably because they did.

"What are you doing?" Killian spoke begrudgingly as he tore my hand away from his chest. "Those are private." He tossed my hand back.

"How did you die, Killian?" I spoke softly. Sleep still gnawed on my voice. "I mean you must have died to become a Banhee."

"Drop it, Ellie." I tucked the thought away for later, but did ultimately drop it like he requested as he turned on his side to go back to sleep.

I touched Josh's name on my chest as I pulled up my shirt, but his name incinerated beneath my fingertips. The marking of an unsuccessful hunt was represented in my chest as his name burned in me like a scar and not a tattoo, but an ugly eyesore.

Right next to Josh's name was mine in cursive script. Elizabeth Lucas. In that moment, I understood Killian. I wouldn't want anyone having a private viewing to how I died, either. It's embarrassing.

Killian spent the night with me in Josh's bedroom. Amid all of the horrors that last night brought, I felt at ease knowing he was here with me during the night. I felt at ease even if Killian is mad at me. He's one of the last connections I have to my past other than Bennett.

I caught a sudden whiff of the odor that comes from neglecting deodorant and breaking a sweat. I smell foul. I'd like to blame it on Bennett's letterman jacket, but that would be a fabrication. This stench was coming from me directly. I am in desperate need of a shower.

Slightly adjusting Killian's arms, I made a motion to go and shower and change into fresh clothes. I walked around the carpeted floor and ran to the white dresser in the corner. I grabbed random clothes to toss on including a pair of boxers. I need to get new clothes now since mine have probably all been donated or boxed up in my bedroom.