At The Kiss Of Midnight

Original | Chapter Twelve

What wakes me so abruptly is not the intense pounding from deep within my skull, nor is it how every muscle in my body seems to scream in protest with every slight movement that I make. Nope, neither of these pain in the ass cancer symptoms could awaken me from my weak, pathetic state of fatigue that has me sleeping my last few days away and wondering if my body has decided to finally just quit on me.

What does wake me up, however, is Kelsie beating her closed fists on my bedroom door.

"Demi is at the front door, and she's a mess!" Her words are so rushed, so panicked, and the knocking on my door ceases so quickly that I almost allow the reassurance that I dreamnt the entire thing to lull me back into a restless, painful sleep.

The one thing forcing me to keep my heavy-lidded eyes open? Demi inviting herself into my room.

She hovers in the doorway, as if trying to be obscured by the shadows and dim lighting.

"Are you sick?" I think I would laugh at her question if the burdening fatigue and pain wasn't a constant answer. Even though she seems to be trying to hide, I can clearly see the sheepish expression on her face - a red glow in the darkness. "Sorry. Stupid question. You just -"

"Look like shit," I finish before she can ramble. "I know. I probably look as bad as I feel." Gritting my teeth, I force my weighed-down body into a sitting position, my back pressed against the wall. From this angle, the light illuminates her face in a way that reveals her puffy eyes tinged with red and her cheeks that still tell what path her tears had fallen.

"Why were you crying?" I blurt.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, almost as if she didn't hear me, but I know that she did.

"I pretty much told you that I feel like shit. Why are you avoiding my question?" I sigh when she doesn't respond, doesn't show the slightest hint of remorse or guilt or anything. "Look, don't you think it's at least a little bit fucked up that you avoid every single one of my texts and phone calls for over two weeks, then show up at my door as if nothing ever happened, as if you belong here, and proceed to interrogate me?"

I hear her swallow harshly, as if trying to rid herself of the guilt and remorse that I know she is now feeling. But then she sniffles and I mentally replay all of my spoken words. I suddenly feel like such an asshole. I mean, I made her cry for fucks sake! And after weeks of not seeing her at that!

"Demi, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"I'm not crying because of you, idiot." I can't help but to feel a slight sense of relief at her words, but I'm still left wondering what made, and is still making, her cry.

"Demi, what happened?" With another sniffle, she wipes away her tears and steps further into my room.

"I hate her, Banner. I want out. I can't do it anymore."

"What happened?" I repeat. "I can't help you if I don't understand -"

"She's a fucking psycho bitch," she snaps, barely keeping a restrain on her voice so that she's not yelling. "That's what happened." With a huff, she sits beside me on my bed, pressing the heel of her palms into her eyes. "Adaliah sent me those," she mumbles, passing me her unlocked phone, the screen lit up to reveal a thread of text messages and two hours worth of disturbing images flooding Demi's inbox.

The first of many disturbing photos, sent just over two hours ago, features a razor shattered against off-white bathroom tiles. The plastic, purple remains of the razor are in a separate pile, on a separate tile, from the sharp razor blades.

My stomach clenches as I slowly scroll through the next few photos. A single blade resting in Adaliah's open palm. That blade hovering over a blue vein on a perfectly good, clean wrist. That blade being pressed down, dragged across, blood gushing from a single cut.