Witchcraft

Chapter Fourteen

hi did u forget abt this story? i didn't (i did) i genuinely do not remember the route i wanted to take with this story it has left me so im winging a new direction and i think it will either be executed perfectly, or it will be the greatest mistake

Chapter Fourteen

"I'm aware how guns work." He's holding it so naturally that it fits him better than it does me.

"You've shot before?"

"Many times." Is his response, and I choose to believe him.

I lean against the windowsill, and stare at the peculiar cursed man in front of me, "You look good with a gun in your hands." I didn't mean it because a gun suited his masculinity, or in fact, that guns look good at all. I meant it, because it painted such an influential image of a cursed man, fighting against the curse. With a gun, he can defend himself. He looks like power, despite being a man who has none at all.

His eyes slowly drift from the window to me, "Would I still look good if I shot you with it?"

I try to keep up my positive demeanor despite his many attempts to smother it, "Probably."

His eyebrows crease, and I feign a grin, "Do you plan to shoot me with it?"

He takes uncomfortably too long to answer, "No."

I trust him, simply because if he wanted me dead, he would have killed me days ago. He fought hard not only to keep me alive, but to keep me here. He never wanted me dead, he just wants me here.

We say nothing, and we both return our eyes to the window. I know that I should be nervous, but the longer I'm beside Judas, the more I feel not only fine, but indifferent to anything happening. If Judas gets hurt, he won't die. He can't die. That is a comfort to me.

If I get hurt, the boys in question would receive hell from not only my brothers, but my dad and his friends. I may be the unwanted child in the family, but my father has pride, in certain aspects, it's a welcome form of irrational masculinity. 

Still, I can't help but question, did he ever look for me? Is he still looking for me? If he did look for me, was he doing it because he misses me, or because it looks bad to have a missing daughter?

It is sickening to think, Judas fucking Sloan wants me beside him more than my own family. It is even more sick to realize that I may just be taking advantage of his loneliness because I am lonely too.

Hours pass. My ability to be still and quiet has deserted me, and I am bored. It's morning now, the sun slowly rising higher, and I can't stand it. I've resorted to sitting on the filthy, blood stained couch. My attention no longer outside the window, though I never let my guard down. Instead, I keep my focus on Judas, who clearly had never cared about who was outside. This whole time he has been lost in his own mind, like he has gone somewhere else.

But I know he is watching me, his eyes might not be on me, but I know it. Every move I make, I see him slightly shift, like he is so acutely aware of anything I do. He might even be doing it on purpose. A subtle way of communicating to me, telling me that he's watching.

How we have gone from watching for our possible murderers to watching each other, I don't know. Perhaps it never was an act for him to pretend to care about the dangers of outside. Instead, he may just be watching me, keeping me from leaving yet again.

The sun now completely in the sky, and the mansion lit up with daylight, I decide Leon and his friends are too fucking stupid to find us again, or perhaps too drunk to try.

I stand, and Judas's eyes lock on me, waiting for my next move.

"I'd like to go home now."

He doesn't say anything for a long moment. I don't know what else to say, because I could say a million things to try and convince him I'll come back, but I'm not convinced he will believe me.

I expect him to say no, or maybe stand against the door in a menacing type of way. Instead, he surprises me, which is often his answer. He raises his gun and points it to my head. "I'd rather you stay."

I feel my body grow tense, "Judas, what are you doing?"

"Will you stay with me?"

I can't say yes. "And do what? You can't expect me to stay here for the rest of my life, you wouldn't even let me walk around the house, you kept me in a room, it's not fair."

Something in his eyes darken, "Fair. It isn't is it? It never was."

"You said you weren't going to shoot me."

"I lied."

"No, you didn't." I am latching onto feigned hope.

We stare at each other, and then he bends his arm, and instead points the gun at his own head. "Leave then." He says, and despite the cry creeping up my throat he pulls the trigger and blood and brain matter splatter the window behind him as he slumps to the ground.

His corpse is in a sitting position, as his back is against the bloodied wall underneath the window. A gaping hole on the side of his head is horrifying, as not just blood but pieces of bone, tissue, and brain leak out of it.

His eyes stay open, as his corpse slowly slumps down to it's side, falling right into the puddle of more blood beneath him.

Tears run down my face as I rush over to him, his body still warm as I try to pull him out of the mess he was in, but dead weight is always heavier, and I can barely move him at all.

"I'm so sorry, Judas." I say to him, and something odd, and slightly concerning comes over me, and without hesitation, I kiss his cheek, as if somehow, he could feel it and be comforted. "I promise, I'll come back."

I meant it. I will come back, nothing could stop me from doing so.

I gently lay his head down on the floor. His body was still warm, and despite him being momentarily 'dead', he still felt so alive. I even place my hand on his chest, as if I could feel a beating heart, but nothing could be felt.

It takes me longer than it should to leave him. A part of me doesn't want to leave at all, but I knew if I was here when he woke up, it would not go well.

I believe he used the gun on himself, to let me leave. Of course he doesn't want me to leave, and by shooting himself, he accepted the fact that I was going to do it regardless.

I run my hand through his hair which was now damp and bloody. I make slow movements with my fingers, slowly, gently, touching him. I wonder how long it's been since someone has touched him with kindness. I wonder if anyone has ever been kind to him at all.

I shake my sympathetic thoughts away, and stand up. He is a distraction I can't let take over. 

I leave the mansion once again, and as before, I head home.