𝐿𝒾𝑒𝓈 「𝒜𝒹𝒶𝓂 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇」

𝐑𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐳

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ -None (I hate writing boring chapters) '-'-

Your fingers traced the familiar texture of the sheets as you began to sit up in bed, a small groan escaping your lips as you stretched. You had slept through the entire exorcism yesterday, a routine you adapted to well over the years. Stepping out from beneath the covers, you crossed the room to the bathroom, flicking on the light switch. The soft glow illuminated the space, revealing the results of your recent renovations alongside Charlie. The room you had fallen in love with was now yours to enjoy.

Gazing at your reflection in the mirror, you took a moment to adjust some unruly strands of hair before slowly beginning to undress. As you turned around towards the shower, your eyes fell upon the scars etched into your back, one on each shoulder blade.

As the warm water cascaded over your body, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to thoughts of Adam. Despite the pain he had caused, a part of you still missed him, missed the warmth of his embrace and the sound of his voice.

You remembered the way he used to look at you with adoration, his eyes filled with love and longing. But those days were long gone now, replaced by a cold emptiness that seemed to consume you from within.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to sink deeper into the memories, reliving moments from your past life together. You remembered the laughter and the joy, the shared dreams and aspirations that had once bound you together as soulmates.

But alongside the memories of happiness, there were also memories of heartache and betrayal. You remembered the pain of Adam's abandonment, the feeling of being cast aside like a forgotten relic of the past.

And yet, despite everything, a part of you still longed for him, still yearned for the love that had once been yours. You ran your fingers through your hair roughly, a ritual to rid both your shampoo and the troubling thoughts.

Once satisfied with your shower, you turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, enveloping yourself in the warmth of a soft towel. Once dry, you slip into a comfortable outfit, choosing a simple yet stylish ensemble that reflects your mood. You smooth down the fabric and with a final glance in the mirror to ensure everything is in place, you leave the bathroom, ready to face the day head-on.

You left your room and made your way down the stairs, scanning the area in search of Charlie or Vaggie. However, you quickly recalled that Charlie was scheduled for a news interview with that dreaded Katie Killjoy. Hurrying over to the TV, you switched it on and tuned in to the news channel, anticipating Charlie's appearance.

While waiting for Charlie's segment to begin, you busied yourself with tidying up and organizing some scattered boxes. As you worked, your attention was drawn to yet another hole in the wall. Without a second thought, you approached it and lightly pressed your hand against the damaged surface, murmuring a quiet command. "Fix."

The hole quickly began to mend itself before your eyes, the broken pieces shifting back into place and an even coat of paint spread over it all. Once the repair was complete, the wall looked as good as new, seamlessly blending in with the rest of the room's decor.

Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice when Katie Killjoy introduced Charlie for her interview. It was only when you heard Charlie's voice singing that you snapped out of your reverie. Rushing over to the TV, you dropped to your knees, watching as Charlie performed in front of the entire Hell. A sense of unease washed over you as you observed the hostile audience, your nerves on edge.

As Charlie continued to sing, you couldn't help but feel a pang of concern for her safety. "Wrong crowd, Charlie," you muttered under your breath "Wrong crowd..." your fingers instinctively toying with the ring on your finger. As the song came to an end, you watched with growing frustration as the audience erupted into laughter and mockery. Katie's cruel taunts only fueled your anger, and you couldn't help but mutter a string of expletives under your breath. "Fucking bitch," you spat, your disdain for the news anchor growing with each passing moment.