The Contract

XX - Puppa

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Within seconds, Lure was comforting me, whispering words that flew past my ears. One gloved hand gripped my shoulder while the other cupped my cheek. His face was so close to mine, his gaze was burning into my own. I didn't even remember getting up, retrieving the trinket box full of Matt's ashes, and leaving the church. I didn't remember driving my car out to a lake and tossing the box into its watery depths, and then driving home.

One minute I was crying in a church; the next, I was sitting on my bed, wrapped up in sheets and being held by Lure.

I allowed my eyes to slip closed as Lure rocked me back and forth in his protective hold. The sheets were once again wrapped around me as we sat on my bed, neither of us uttering a single word, whether we could or couldn't. I took in a trembling breath and cuddled closer to Lure, his presence so comforting, yet at the same time, vile.

"Everything," I croaked out in a loud whisper, "is so screwed up."

Lure didn't reply.

"Matt's dead," I mumbled against his chest, then pressed my face against him. "Matt's dead," I repeated, my words barely recognizable against the sheets, "because of me."

Lure heaved a sigh, sounding almost as if he was about to scold a young child for the fifth time in a day. "We went over this."

"Shut up," I snapped. Lure stiffened. I felt a little bad for snapping at him, but not bad enough to apologize to him. I pushed myself away from him and began rubbing my arms under the sheets. I tilted my head back, my mouth uncomfortably dry. "He. . . he tried to. . ."

"I know," Lure responded, his voice frosty. "You don't need to worry about Matt anymore. He's gone."

"Thanks to me."

"My little Kitten—"

"Thanks to me," I insisted firmly. Lure sighed, but said nothing. I sat on my pillow, pulling my knees up to my chest and allowing the sheets to fall down around me. Lure stayed silent and just watched me, stormy eyes appearing almost fatigued. He looked drained from using so much magic, but it would seem that he was holding up pretty well.

Lure cocked his head at me. "You're acting odd," he stated. "I know Matt's dead, and yeah, you're mourning; you're in shock, but come on. There's something else."

"Yes, Lure, there is something else," I said coldly. I waited a moment before hissing, "It's you."

An innocently arched eyebrow seemed to mock me while Lure calmly asked, "What about me?"

"You're a demon."

"Yes, and?"

"You're evil, and sadistic, and murderous."

Softly, he whispered, "Am I?"

"Yes."

Lure raised both of his eyebrows. "You didn't seem to have much of a problem with that earlier." He looked down at his trench coat as he fiddled with the sleeve, his fingers hardly touching the fabric of his wear.

"People don't just meet a demon, get five wishes, then go on their merry way."

"No, they don't, but you're an exception." Lure slid off the bed and straightened, peering down at me almost carefully, as if every word he spoke could soon trigger me to explode. "My little Kitten, what is it? What are you saying? You regret meeting me?" I caught the lofty note in his voice; the loftiness that he was trying to hide. He was fighting to stay composed.

"Well, not quite," I replied uncertainly, biting my lip unconsciously, "but Matt would still be alive."

"So?" Lure snapped defensively. "Wouldn't you rather have me here than Matt?"