Undead

39; gun in my hand x dorothy

A/n: so here's what I'll do. I'll post this today, chapter 40 on Wednesday, and the epilogue on Friday; and please don't worry, it might not make sense now but it will when all three chapters are up. 😘

For years I had been begging for my death, asking God why he didn't kill me right along with my parents or why he never let my own plans work. I'd tried to take matters into my own hands countless times and was never successful. I'd swallowed pills, carved into my wrists, burned my own flesh until it melted, and yet here I was.

But now I was actually going to die and I was afraid. I was beginning to accept that she was going to kill me, but that didn't make me any less afraid. Now I understood my paranoia after all these years, constantly looking over my shoulder for my monster who lived in the shadows. I had been right all along. She was a monster, but a monster I loved nonetheless.

My fear paralyzed me in these thick woods; I chose this place because the vegetation was thriving and I hoped they would shield the cries of agony coming from me. I was crouched to my knees in front of an oak tree, blubbering like a baby. I wasn't ashamed. My victim lay in front of me, the tree supporting her back as her bloodied wrists hung loosely at her sides. Her eyelids fluttered lazily and she grew pale quickly. I figured I needed blood to get my powers back but I still felt useless.

She was mumbling things under her breath, and I crawled closer to get a better listen. What she was expressing made my blood run cold. "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit."

It was a prayer. I grew up reciting this prayer. My foster mom taught it to me when I was a little boy. During every attempt to kill myself, I whispered that prayer to make sure my spirit would be reunited with my family. I knew suicide was the unforgivable sin but I didn't care. If he heard my prayer, maybe he would let it slide.

Hearing her say this brought me back many years when I was younger - ironically to the time I first met Akila. Before I knew she was my monster.

I stood to my feet and collected her into my arms. "You hold on," I whispered to her and started off in the direction of a hospital. My shoulder was still dislocated but I barely felt it. I couldn't let this girl die. "God's not finished with you yet, girl."

Her arms wrapped loosely around my neck as I picked up speed into a slow jog. She groaned out, her body going cold. I knew I would look suspect as hell if I waltzed up into a hospital with a bloody girl in my arms, especially if her blood was also on me. I would be questioned, possibly detained, maybe even arrested. I was a black man and this was a white woman. I knew exactly how this shit worked. My solution was simple: I wiped her skin clean of my fingerprints, slipped my tongue over her wounds so they couldn't tell they were created by fangs, and left her outside the doors for someone to find. There was no use in wiping her memory. For one, I had no power to do so at the moment. And two, she never saw my face - I made sure of that.

My knees barely had the energy to carry me down the street, and I glanced over my shoulder when I heard footsteps but there was no one around. I smelled something different, something sweet and luring, but I couldn't tell what it was. It smelled of death and something else I couldn't place.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as a chill rippled down my spine. She was close, I just didn't know where.

I had no form of communication with Kane. I didn't know where my puppy was. My ex-girlfriend was out to kill me. And my powers weren't working. My luck was amazing.

It was early in the morning and the sun wasn't ready to rise yet. I needed daylight on my side. I just needed to survive until then when her powers were weakened. Maybe then and only then could I stand a chance. A nigga could dream, right?