Daughter of the Demon (I)

Daughter of the Demon-16-Why Does Dating . . .

****************************************************************************************

Chapter 16: Why Does Dating Have To Be So Important?

~Jemma~

It was creepy having the manager of a major funeral chain around the house. And not just because “funeral chain” made him sound like the boss of something that handled fast-food instead of dead bodies. It was also because I couldn’t quite believe that my Aunt was getting along with somebody---and somebody that just happened to be drop-dead gorgeous and her own age. I hadn’t seen her smile so much the months I’d been living with her.

The only other advantage to having Michael around a lot was that he was quite a pleasure to look at.

When I came home from school he was in the kitchen with Aunt Clara, and he had his arms around her waist while she cooked something on the stove. I myself thought that was quite a safety hazard, but dang, they looked so cute together. I backed up to the door and shut it loudly, seeing as they obviously hadn’t heard me through the world that existed only around them. I dropped my backpack heavily and walked with footsteps to rival a horse’s into the kitchen. Michael was no longer clutching Aunt Clara but he was leaning against the counter beside her.

“Hey Jemma,” Aunt Clara greeted happily. “How was school?”

“Same old same old,” I replied, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the table and taking a big bite out of it.

Michael turned and stared at me. I felt it and became uncomfortable. “What?” I asked through a mouthful of apple.

“It’s just that . . . you always dress so darkly. You would be perfect working at a funeral home!”

I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, Michael. It’s not really my thing.”

He chuckled. “No, I suppose not. Because booking and managing the lives of dead people is so time-consuming. They can be so impatient sometimes.”

Ha-freakin’-ha. Sarcasm noted. “You make it sound like some hot-shot job.”

“It isn’t, I will grant you that. But we do provide closure.” The look he gave me grew into something more meaningful. “Something everybody needs.”

I blinked and shifted from foot to foot. What a mood-killer. I tossed my apple up in the air and caught it, taking another bite and nodded good-bye to both of them. I stepped out of the tangibly awkward air in the kitchen and climbed the steps to the comfort of my bedroom. I flopped down on my bed with my apple and stared at the ceiling. Two thoughts came to mind then. I should really get started on researching a classic about Jacob, and it seemed like everybody---including my Aunt---now had a date but me.

Wow. I was such a loser. And a gothic, creepy, suicidal loser under therapeutic care at that.

I groaned and grabbed the pillow behind my head, smashing it against my face. I felt better these days. I didn’t feel so dark or depressed or desperate or empty. Just . . . lighter. Like I didn’t have so much of a burden on my shoulders anymore. I guessed that was good. And as long as I wasn’t going around anymore slitting my wrists left and right, I wouldn’t have to be put in a white box for crazy people with a mental imbalance.

Well, I thought I was making progress.

Absentmindedly I slipped my hand up my sleeve and felt for the ribbony scars on my flesh. First my fingers trailed over the thin ‘x’, and then a couple of random jagged lines, and then the cut that near-killed me. I shivered and my heart beat sped up. I truly was insane.