Devils and Angels

xx. his blood stains the ground

l u f t m e n s c h

one with their head in the clouds

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ARCHIE'S HOUSE WAS UNUSUALLY QUIET. Nervousness from the last time I had been here wafted up around me, and I found my hand curling around Ayden's wrist, nails digging in until he yelped in pain, for support.

Even though he jerked off my blood-drawing touch a moment later, the creaking of his footsteps and the heavy fall of his breath was a continual reminder I wasn't facing this alone―whatever this was.

A thousand clocks ticked, an offbeat chorus, each stripped echo dragging a jagged blade through my nerves. This time, when I latched my hand to Ayden's, it was his fingers crushing mine in a desperate handhold; begging, pleading, that everything would be okay.

"Ayden," I whispered, my tongue darting out to touch my lips. They were dry and chapped, worried to shreds by a pummelling sense of fear. "It's not your fault. Whatever happens."

He glanced back at me. The smile on his lips was forced and ingenuine, but the air between us remained still and silent, unmoved by the soft rushes of his breath.

Despite Ayden talking the lead, I was the first to set foot on the landing, and notice the dim strip of light flooding onto the carpet from Archie's bedroom door, left ajar. The realisation swept a flush of red across my cheeks, and I jabbed Ayden's arm.

"His bedroom," I hissed. He frowned down at me, before following the line of my outstretched finger.

"You check it out," He said. Ayden's voice was small and hoarse, weighed down by gravity. Offering an understanding nod and smile, I slipped in front of him and crept down the hallway. "I'll wait here."

"Okay."

Archie's bedroom was empty. I knew it before I'd even poked my head through the door.

The silence permeating our shallowed breaths was unmistakable, after all.

I glanced back to Ayden. His eyes were glued to mine, and the small nod he gave me was encouraging. I nodded back, the grimmest ghost of a smile on my lips, as I turned the handle to confirm what I already knew.

The bedsheets were crumpled, the room havoc, and the ethereal, torching presence of Archie nowhere to be found.

"He's not in there," I whispered, bringing my lips into my mouth. My eyes scanned the dark hallway―in our haste, we did nothing to remedy the pressuring blackness―and realised I was speaking to an audience of one.

Ayden wasn't there―he hadn't waited for me like he'd said, and I felt my pulse begin to race.

"Ayden?" I raised my voice, just scratching the surface of a normal speaking voice, but it felt unnatural, taboo almost, to leave behind the safe recesses of a dull whisper. "Ayden, where are you?"

He didn't respond immediately, and the hairs rose on the back of my neck. Letting out a low whimper and gripping myself tightly, I crept back up the hallway; skin prickling, and breaths suddenly jarring in their volume, without another pair to match them.

An abrupt shatter mutilated my senses.

It was the splintering crash of glass as it fell to tile, and detonated into a million jagged shards, invisible to the eye.

I bolted to the sound, and my socks skidded on laminated wood. Razor pants ripped through my throat, through the air, and I all but crashed into the bathroom door, causing it to fling open under my sudden weight.