The Demon's Half

Chapter 9

Mia's birthday came and passed and I couldn't move at all that day. Not even to eat.

The filth, the hunger, the constant fear of something watching me—it was all gone. My world had flipped, a break from the nightmare I'd once called reality.
Now, the sheets I slept in smelled of lavender and wood instead of mildew. My clothes were fresh, my skin soft, perfumed with a delicate fragrance I'd found in my dresser.
The walls weren't cracked, the floors didn't creak.
Even the attic was quiet.

It was heaven.
But it felt like hell. 
Because Mia should enjoy it too.
If I could have traded places with her, I would have. Without hesitation.

I ate just enough to keep moving, went to bed as soon as I came back from work. But every night, without fail, I curled into myself and cried.
Loneliness wasn't new.
It had been lurking in the corners long before Mia was gone, whispering to me ever since my mom walked out.
I'd made it easy for people to forget me. For my friends to stop caring about me. Ignoring their calls, their voices. Eventually, they stopped trying.

Every morning, I woke up gasping. Every night, the nightmares got worse, because of the same haunting scenes: Mia's screams. Mia, reaching for something—someone—that never came.
Her blood tainting my hands... I couldn't even help her in my own damned dreams.

Today, I woke up from the same nightmare, drenched in sweat.

A cup of tea sat on my nightstand. Still steaming. I stared at it. It hadn't been there before. The scent of chamomile filled my nose. I sat up, reaching for it.

The Devil.

I knew he was lingering.
I knew he liked to play his little games.
But this wasn't like him.
He didn't do kindness.
It was probably poisoned.

Fuck him.

I hurled the cup at the wall.
It shattered on impact, tea splattering across the ground. And I instantly regretted it.
He would make me pay for it.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then, a bottle of tequila appeared on my nightstand.

I furrowed my eyebrows.
I wasn't sure whether to laugh or scream.
It was an invitation.
A different kind of offering.
Not comfort, but escape.

My fingers curled around the bottle. Maybe he was making fun of me. Maybe he was watching, waiting to see how much further I'd fall.
I didn't care. I tipped the bottle back, letting the burn scorch its way down my throat.

And for the first time in so many nights—
The nightmares stayed quiet.

______________

Saturday crept closer, and I was shitting myself. The landlord was going to come... estaba completamente jodida.

I just couldn't go back to living in a dump and I also wouldn't let him see how horrible the place used to be.
He would probably freak out and kick me out or worse, call the authorities.

The good thing was, Carly had finally let me leave early, though she made sure I knew she wasn't happy about it.

I was in the back of the coffee shop, up to my elbows in soapy water, when Jessica poked her head behind my shoulder.

"Morgan? Someone's here for you." She said.

I stopped scrubbing.

Please, don't be him.

I barely nodded in response, grabbing a dish towel and drying my hands.
And I stepped into the front of the café.
All I could smell was coffee, cinnamon and butter. Conversations hummed in the background. Someone laughed. A spoon clinked against ceramic.