Red Flags

Chapter 1

Her black claws curled over the sinewy neck, uninterested eyes dragged over the bulging veins. Weak, mortal fingers dug at her wrists and forearms as purpling lips parted in gasping pleas.

"I'm so sorry." She leaned forward, wings flapping barely. "I can't hear you. Can you speak up?"

The child behind them on the bed whimpered as eyes rolled and lids fluttered shut. The unconscious body thumped as her fingers loosened, eyes following the form, trailing over the wooden floor to the stock still child on the bed. Slowly she moved over to him, towered over him. His hair was matted from sweat and nightmares he didn't need to sleep to experience.

"Hello my pet." She crooned, claw gently tracing over his chin.

He didn't waver. She liked that; she hated that she admired it. His eyes were flat and lifeless as they watched her, unseeing. Letting her finger dig at him harder until his skin broke with a muted pop. Blood bubbled, burst, trickled down her hand. Still he didn't look away, didn't move.

"I see." And she did.

The shadows creeping out from the corners, the bruises and stains leaching into his skin, soaking through to the sinew and muscle beneath, the blood pooling and bones shattering. The intricate way his body had stitched itself back together around crude caresses and vile words. Still he watched her; still he didn't look away. This small, tiny, insignificant human - this fragile little toy...

"Would you like me to hurt her back?"

That made his perk up. His head jolted, looking something like a bobble head on a rough bump. That light within him glared violently, nearly blinding her. He nodded once; solidly.

She couldn't help her smile, the way her claws smacked together and sparked, the venom and glee in her voice.

"Okay."

~*~*~

He tightened his belt too much. But it didn't bother him anymore. The air around him was thick and wet. He liked that. It felt clean. He liked feeling clean. It was better than- his eyes flicked to the closed door as his thoughts abruptly cut off.

"You know it won't happen anymore."

Her voice was nowhere and everywhere. It was too big for him. It made his head hurt. He felt his jaw clench as he crouched to the ground, collapsing in over himself, clasping his hands to sensitive ears hidden under damp, tight curls. Her dark laugh whispered through him at his actions. He winced.

"That won't help, human." Hesitantly he fell apart. "Finish getting ready."

He obeyed. He didn't like that he listened. That's what had gotten him in trouble to start with; listening. He frowned as he pulled his socks on over too wet feet, the drip of the faucet leaking down into the tub drain a steady tempo. He pulled at the wrinkles over the pads of his soles. He yanked on his shoes. He tied his laces and double knotted them. Then triple knotted them. Repeating the action five times over.

"That's absurd." The voice whipped through, searing hot like the time he had slipped and cracked his chin off the cement steps out back. "Surely you aren't so clumsy your shoes will fall off that easily...?"

He bristled as he stood, ignoring her best he could as she wormed around under his skin, inside of his body. Standing on tiptoe he stretched for the leave-in conditioner; clumsy fingers pumping too much, leaving globs in spots, none in others, wiping his hands off on his clean jeans cinched so tight it was a miracle he could breathe. He moved for the oil mixture when she appeared again. He couldn't help the tremor in his young heart.

The red and pink was missing now. She didn't look so scary when it wasn't dripping from her fingers and her face wasn't pulled back in that scary frown. She glowed. Her skin looked so pure, her tiny wings fluttered as she snatched the bottle from him. Forcefully she snagged his shoulder. Despite the aggression of the movement her touch was gentle and he wasn't scared. Her fingers from her nails up were a stark contrast to his hair as they worked the conditioner in.

"Stupid child." She scorned in her everywhere-nowhere voice. "How do you not know how to do your own hair? How old are you anyway?"

Concentration crossed over baby fat cheeks as he screwed up six fingers, his mouth widened in a proud answer- when the door slammed open.

"There they are." His father, the knees of his pants stained that same pink and red, pointed - accusing, "That's them."

"Wh-what?" A man in a uniform pushed through, lowering his gun. "It's just a child-?"

"No." His father's voice was frazzled, crazed. "No you don't understand. They did this. He and his demon." He fell back as the cop picked up his walkie talkie, eyes no longer seeing, "They're monsters."

ROUGH DRAFT of chapter 1