BOOK 2 of the Running With Devils Series
It's been three weeks since Coralynn Bennet was dragged down to Hell and it was nothing like how she imagined it. It was a kingdom of skyscrapers but no sky. Demons ran amok, but limited their bloodthirsty te...
AN: I honestly have no idea what's going to happen here. So we are all in this shit show together. Y'all are my ride or dies frrrr 🫡
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The Witch
I didn't sleep that night. I laid in my giant oversized bed, cold and alone. I hated that the same cold empty feeling that surrounded me had infiltrated my very bones.
I had no idea what time it was. There was no sunlight to greet me here. Only endless flames that illuminated the outer edges of the Seventh.
I stupidly reached beneath my pillow grabbing the phone the Reaper had given me, hoping it would have some sort of way to tell time.
Five-thirty.
The tiny numbers at the top left corner of the screen weren't the only things that made me frown up at the phone.
There was only one app on here. I clicked on the phone symbol and watched it engulf the screen with its atrociously bright light.
There was only one number. It wasn't even a contact. It was just a number.
I wondered if it was even his. It would be just my luck that the son of bitch would pass me off to some other horny demon. The thought made my heart hurt.
I was always good enough to fuck but never good enough to love.
I covered my face with my hand, as if it would hide me from the internal shame that pelted me from all sides. I tried laughing off the embarrassment, but it quickly dissolved into rapid breaths and stinging eyes.
From there it only became quiet sobs as I curled my body in on itself. I had become so desperate that I would throw myself on a silver platter and serve me up for anyone to take.
Pathetic. I was so fucking pathetic.
It shouldn't be comforting to hate myself. But maybe it was all I had ever known. It was times like these that I needed Gen the most. She balanced this part of me— the part of me that detested every intrinsic thought I've ever had about myself.
So there was no one to stop me from crying until I was emptied entirely. I was a sinking ship and I had tried filling it with the worst possible choice.
So I tucked the phone beneath my pillow again and forced myself to get up.
I wiped my eyes carelessly, heading for the door. Opening it, I found Sam sitting across the hall twirling a knife lazily through his fingers. He looked up at me, eyes narrowing as he observed the state I was in.
"You look like hell, spitfire," he said plainly.
I nodded. "I don't feel much better either," I croaked, lowering myself to the ground and leaning back against the wall opposite of him.
