Needing is One Thing

Chapter 9. I'm bleeding out for you

The morning came and Mika was surprised to find Damien still with her, still holding her. It felt more than a little awkward with the sunlight streaming through the windows, her body having finally finished running the course of its grief. For now.

Damien rose before she could ask him to leave, pausing at the door to look back to her.

"I've been hurt, too. You don't deserve it; none of us do. And we won't let your father hurt you, ever again. Don't keep hurting yourself because of what he's done to you." It was the only thing he said to her the entire time he was in her room.

Damien's right. She had spent the night mentally beating herself as if she were her dad. As if her mind had taken on the role, now that he was gone. The realization left her drained. Numb. Empty.

She didn't go to school today, calling in sick. Naomi and Suzu were surprised. Mika flushed as she remembered Suzu's comment: "He was that good last night, eh?" But her heart cracked a little. She wanted to say "yes", thinking of James and her against the wall but instead realized Suzu was talking about Andrew.

Afterward, Mika wandered the house, stopping in her grandfather's study. She'd found a book to read there but couldn't remember anything about it. It doesn't matter. She just resumed her wandering, finally building up the courage to make her way back to the sitting room.

Mika hesitated at the threshold, her mind's eye still seeing James leaning against the couch, his long legs crossed in front of him, seeing the accusation in his eyes. But the room was empty.

She curled up on the couch, sitting sideways on it with her knees pulled up, resting her cheek on the back near where James' hand had been last night. She could almost smell him in the room. It was a combination of wood, wool, and musk that made her think of his amber eyes, his grip on her wrist, his mouth on hers.

It was only an echo of the past.

He didn't come back last night. She had heard Erik, Sam, and Matthew whispering to each other in the kitchen when she'd finally come downstairs. Somehow, she already knew James hadn't returned, that he was far away from her.

Mika's heart couldn't take it anymore and her mind pushed her to accept that it, whatever it was, was over. She pulled her hooded sweatshirt closer around her and closed her eyes, dozing in the dusty sunlight.

*

James walked the streets of Chicago. He walked for hours, trying to let the cold night air cool him down. He ignored the looks of the people he passed, used his glamour spell to have their eyes slide away from him, leaving him unremembered.

Sam's words haunted him. Dear old dad.

It was James' greatest fear: that he was like his father, that he would become his father. His tutors, his trainers, his father himself, had all worked diligently to mold him into what his father wanted him to be. The Demon Lord had wanted his Heir to be so much more than he himself was: smart, charismatic, as well as strong.

When James let himself fall into it, he found dominance to be an easy mantle for him. He was fearful of how comfortable it felt. Command came naturally and the expectation that everyone bend to his will was fast on its heels.

There had been times James had even started towards cruelty. Sharp words had left his mouth to cut those around him, trapped as he was in his frustration. James found himself enjoying the physical violence he had resorted to when there were intruders in the castle. He had enjoyed the hunt and found it stimulating to play with his prey, exhilarating to let his anger and frustration out.