Devils and Angels

xiv. the love of a family

h a b r o m a n i a

delusions of happiness

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THE COLLAPSE OF A BODY against my bedroom floor ruptured what semblance I had of a night's sleep, rousing me instantly and alerting me to the heap on my bedroom floor. Alarmed, I shot to an upright position, crawling my fingers across my bedside to loop with my phone while I scrambled to get a good view of the perpetrator.

My heart pounded in my chest, guttering in the depths of my throat; I fell back, scrambling away from the edge in fear.

The thick sheet of shadow steeping the room did nothing to alleviate my fear as I slid back on the rumpled mess of covers, struggling to gain purchase of vision with the lamp's dim lighting, burning through the darkness with a three inch radius and leaving everything else as dark as the sky blanketing the world outside in godless comas.

Blood seemed to pound through my body in blazing cymbal crashes; wrists searing along scars swallowed by the lack of light.

The person clambered to all fours and I stuffed a fist in my mouth to stifle my shriek―my other hand slamming the light switch, and engulfing my room in strong white light, colouring a halo onto the dark locks of the scowling form of my now-recognisable best friend, whose limbs were extending to my covers; his fingers lazily trying to gain purchase on the slippery sheeting.

Leaning over him, I tapped the side of his head, knocking his forehead back with the flat of my palm. Disoriented, he fell back, causing a low groan to leave his sleepy, parted lips.

"What are you doing here you creep, I was asleep," I hissed, throwing my hands up and yanking at his, dragging him to his feet and onto the bed. His weight was a strain for my useless limbs, and I yanked him with too much force, uncaring whether I hurt him or not.

Archie grumbled something unintelligible as he flopped back onto the fitful mess of sheets, snatching an idle cushion and raising it above his face, pushing his face into its surface.

"That's not an answer," I deadpanned, shoving at his arm, causing the pillow to crash to the floor. "What's up, sucker?"

His arm fell over his lips, muffling his words. I strained to hear, dragging his hand away from his mouth so he could give me a coherent response. He was half-dazed, eyes glazed and fixated on the ceiling when he said,

"Ayden asked me out," He whispered. "Fuck, Kat, he's cheating on Liz, and it's so wrong, but...it's so fucking right."

"What?" I fell back so I was down beside him, struggling to process―not out of hurt, but the sheer, blindsiding shock of it all; the idea of Ayden and Archie being together, completely out of left-field. "I mean, I knew, so I don't know why I'm excited, but I am seriously happy for you guys."

"You don't have to be." Arch's eyes slipped to the side, half in grim sympathy. "But thanks, sucker. For being supportive. And...secretive."

"I am," I insisted, more than haughty, with a pout pulling at my lips. But it dropped, thinking in grimness of the reality of the world, and everything that the survival of diversity faced today. "And, always. This is your secret, yours and Ayden's, homewrecker."

"I believe you," He said, a smirk cutting into his lips that twisted into a half-smile. It was guilt, guilt that seemed to weigh on him and push on his shoulders and indent into his forehead; he was in the wrong, but didn't he deserve happiness? "Can I sleep here tonight? I can't be bothered to go back home."