Death Is My BFF (Book 1 Original Series)

Chapter 47: Distorted Reflection

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I shifted on the bed spread for the third time and rubbed at my eyes for fiftieth time.

The story he had just explained to me got sadder and sadder towards the end, to the point that I couldn't stop crying. Instead of getting a happily-ever-after ending that so many expected their life to turn out to be, Death got a happily-never-after story, one that is so dreadful, so horrible that I could almost feel the emotion spilling from his mouth.. There was no rescuing involved in the story.. No passionate kiss. No birds and animals singing to an odd tune that nobody but Disney would every think about, carrying ribbons to dress a really lazy-ass Princess who’s problems are so miniscule compared to all the poverty, distress, murdering, starvation, and abuse that continues to happen every single day on Earth.

Death's story was based on the real world.

His story was all too true, I knew it was.

And it was heartbreaking.

I was hoping he would have some sort of redemption, some way to lift his curse. Some of the details he mentioned sent shivers down my back. The way he described himself killing his father, what he thought about himself physically and mentally as a person, how he was knew he different from the other Angels to the point that he might have predicted he would fall from Heaven.

Death had ended his story by my bedroom window, his head against the glass as he traced pictures on the fogged surface. Rain poured from outside, banging like daggers against the walls of the freezing-cold apartment that seemed to chill more as the silence of the room wrapped around me and threatened to stay.

The truth was, I had no idea what to say. In all nineteen years of my life I was always outgoing, loud, invasive, and talkative. I always had something to say. I was the one my friends

With a lump in my throat and an ache in my heart, I spoke first.

“Are you ok?” I asked in a soft voice. I could tell how upset he had gotten after telling the story. His shoulders were hunched slightly, his head was down against the window and the air was frigid.

He didn’t respond right away to my question and just turned, shifted his body to the side, leaned his head against the glass again. A small tremble started in my arms when I was unsure if he was staring at me or not. I realized I was afraid of him more than I ever was, just because I knew exactlywhat he was.

A fallen angel.

“Peachy,” he muttered and made an ‘OK’ symbol with his dark hands. “Why are you crying so much? Do you have something in your eye?”

I wiped the tears from my eyes. “It’s a sad story. And I have tear duct issues,” I defended weakly and wiped at my eyes again. What I said was more lame than the original, ‘I’m not crying, I just have severe allergies,’ line.

Death snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “No, you just feel bad for me,” he said with almost a bitter tone. “You don’t really care.”

“What are you talking about?” I snapped and stood up. “I do feel bad for you. I…”

Care about you. Just say it!

“Am a dumbass?” he interrupted with a soft laugh.

I shook my head. Was he already over the emotional story he had just told me? “That’s not what I—“