The Demon's Half

Chapter 17

No.
Gods, please no.

No. No.
No.

The word pounded through my skull, relentless, like the toll of a funeral bell.

My legs wobbled beneath me, muscles quivering as if they might give out entirely. I needed to move, needed to breathe—but the air felt thick, too sharp in my lungs. I shoved past people, their laughter and chatter a distant hum, blurred and meaningless.

One side to the other.
One side to the other.

A little boy passed, gripping his father's hand, his other clutching a blue balloon. His wide, innocent eyes met mine, and he smiled, pure and weightless.

Gods, how I envied him.

I couldn't smile back.

How could I?

I was damned.

The truth coiled around my throat like a steel chain, heavy, suffocating, dragging me into an abyss I hadn't even known was beneath my feet.

He was my other half.

A demon.

A creature of nightmares, a murderer, a thing that had shattered my life in ways I couldn't even begin to name.

And we shared a fucking soul.

Bile clawed up my throat, sour and burning, but I swallowed it down. Had that been his plan all along? Not to steal my soul, but to reclaim what was already his?

The sickness inside me twisted, sharp and unbearable. I had always known something was wrong with me. I had blamed bad choices, bad luck, bad circumstances.

Not this. Never this.

Nearby, the demon stood still as stone, watching me. Waiting.

I turned to face him, my vision blurring as I followed his gaze.

His cold turquoise eyes were locked onto the little boy.

The demon smiled—a real, genuine smile—as the child walked away with his father. But the boy didn't smile back. He only clutched his balloon tighter and hurried along.

The demon's throat bobbed. His expression went cold as he turned back to me.

Then, as if he hadn't just condemned me to eternal damnation, as if he hadn't shattered the ground beneath my feet, he took a step closer and extended a hand.

Almost... gently.

"Are you done?" His voice was flat, his expression carved from stone.

"Am I done?" A tremor rattled through my words, barely containing the fury rising inside me. "We share a damned soul."

"Half-damned, at least."

"Half-damned." I spat the words like poison. "You and me. My soul. Which, by the way, isn't even fully mine. We. Share. It."

"True." He nodded. Nodded. As if this was some minor inconvenience. As if my entire existence hadn't just been rewritten in blood and fire.

I didn't let him finish whatever smug thought was forming behind his lips. I shoved him—hard—palms slamming into his chest with all the force I had.

He didn't even budge. Not an inch. But that wasn't the point.

It was for me.

"I would rather die than have anything to do with you," I seethed, my voice cracking under the weight of unshed tears.

He barely reacted. Not anger, not amusement—just distant, indifferent boredom, as if I were nothing more than a mosquito buzzing too close to his ear.