The Demon's Half

Chapter 20

The streaks of sunlight bled through the small bathroom window, pale and watery, barely cutting through the rising steam. The water on my back was soothing... but not so much.

My mind spun in circles, stuck on the same loop, dragging me back to the museum.

Why did we return?
What was I looking for?

Oz had left the memory fogged over, like a dream that vanished as soon as I woke up—but not entirely.

I remembered the guards.
The possession.

The killing.

And worse—I remembered him.

His voice sounding inside my head, threading through my mind like it belonged there. It was invasive. Disorienting.
But I'd felt him.
Heard him.
Known him in a way I had no right to. I shouldn't have to, and in some weird way that I wasn't ready to unpack... I liked it.

It wasn't right.

But leaving some specific memories and erasing others was obviously a trap.

If I were him, I would've burned the whole memory down to nothing. Wiped it clean.

But he let me keep it.

The guard.
The way his body sounded as it hit the floor.
The water scalded as it poured over me, but I barely felt it. It wasn't enough. No amount of heat could burn away the grime crawling under my skin. No amount of soap could scrub off how dirty I felt.

My stomach twisted violently.

I stepped out of the shower as fast as I could, barely made it to the toilet before I was retching, my body convulsing so hard my ribs ached. Acid clawed its way up my throat, leaving a bitter sting. Apparently now I was a vomiting and crying machine. No mames.

My fingers gripped the porcelain, white-knuckled, desperate—like holding onto something solid might stop the rest of me from falling apart. But it didn't. Nothing did.

All my righteous anger, all the times I'd spat cursed words at the demon like it meant something—none of it changed the truth.

We were the same.
We shared a soul.
And it showed.

When he killed, I watched.
When he destroyed, I stood still.

I was his accomplice.

I could've stopped him.
And I didn't.

A drop of water slid from my hair, splashing onto the porcelain. The walls felt like they were crumbling around me.

I had to go.

I yanked on my jeans, shoved my feet into my sneakers, and pulled Mia's pink hoodie over my head.

Grabbing the first thing within reach—a bag of cookies—I stuffed it into my bag and bolted for the door.

___________________

A bunch of unfamiliar cars crowded the driveway. Odd. Elena never had visitors.

I ate the last cookie, filling my empty stomach. My grip tightened on my bag strap, fingers pressing deep enough to fight my rising anxiety. Was her husband back? Her daughter? Logan's sister? This was not the day to meet new people. Not after I had had my first fight with Logan.

Not after... everything.

I glanced down at myself. The stupid pink hoodie made me look like the circus had fired me. Chingados.

I tugged at the sleeves anyway, like that would somehow fix things. My damp hair stuck to my neck, so I twisted it into a bun, trying to look at least somewhat put together. And I knocked.