WITCH ~TWITCH Sequel~ {{FINISHED}}

Chapter Eight: Deva. Red, Red, Deva

Chapter Eight: Deva. Red, Red, Deva

Deva was immediately locked away in her room after that, and no one spoke to her. No one dared to open the door and even utter a word to her. Julian felt guilt for what he'd done, but he had a good reason; Deva was being unreasonable. She'd seen that Adrianna had reigned in her virus, so why had she reacted that way? Jealousy, maybe? Either way, it hadn't ended well and Isaac, her "apprentice" ended up with a black eye. She'd put up a good fight, injured as she was.

Then when she was locked away and Adrianna had been "calmed down" and gone to bed, the bodies downstairs were all disposed of, all the while the remaining twenty-one housemates stayed in either of the two smaller foyers. But there was no getting away from the blood. All of the foyers were covered in blood in some way and by then people had given up cleaning it. Even Julian refused to use his master cleaning skill for that sort of thing.

Now, there was silence. People refused to look at one another. Couples had split. And all the while, tensions had soared. They knew it by now. Tonight, seven more would be kicking the can and saying goodbye to this world. Tonight, there'd be only fourteen people really alive.

Sighing, Julian walked to the kitchen. Even it had been stained bloody red. Julian ignored the color as best as possible, putting some old stir fry on a plate and taking a coke for Deva. She had to eat something. Slowly, he walked up the stairs and to her room, unlocking it slowly from the outside. Then he set down her plate of food as swiftly as he could, shutting the door and locking it before she could do anything. A second later and her body crashed into the door, a cry of rage erupting from within. Julian made a fist, but stayed silent, leaning against the door. Two minutes later, Deva punched the door right where his head was, and Julian cried in outrage of his own.

"Damn it, he hissed."

An hour had passed. And hour in complete silence, and Julian couldn't help but to open the door and look inside. Deva lay in bed, her breathing calm. The stir-fry had been long eaten, and Deva herself looked as if she were sleeping. Everything looked good; safe. Though he couldn't know, as she was sleeping on her side away from Julian and it could be some sort of trap... Still, he doubted it. Slowly, he edged closer to the bed, and then he loomed over her, running a hand through her red locks of hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

He hadn't even seen it coming.

Deva's hand latched onto his without warning, and suddenly he was thrown onto the bed, the blanket thrown onto him for good measure. Julian pulled it off, racing for the door just as Deva slammed it shut. He didn't give her a chance to lock it though, pushing on the door with enough force to keep it away from closing tight completely. From the other side, Deva screamed in frustration. From within the room, Julian roared with rage.

Finally, he pushed through and Deva stumbled forward but not too far. By then, Julian had gone too far into his virus, and the next few things he did were the most regrettable things he'd ever done. He pulled Deva back against his chest by the hair, and before she could fight or struggle, punched into her stomach. The punch wasn't enough to damage any internal organs, but it was enough to had Deva on the floor, crying and retching in pain, and only a few specs of blood dropped to the floor.

A gasping cry left her lips, and she began to cough violently. Julian held back on a growl and picked Deva up, throwing her onto her bed and slamming the door closed before locking it. A cry of pain and devastation came from within, followed by a sob. "I hate you..." came the soft, hoarse whimper from within. Julian sank to his butt on the ground, his back against the door.

It took only ten minutes for Deva to start throwing her body against the door, swearing so bad a sailor would've blushed. The door threatened to buckle under the pressure of Deva's body, but Julian held the door, making sure it did not break off it's hinges. "BASTARD!" she yelled. At that point, he was glad she didn't have her sword, because if she did, she would've sliced right through the wood of the door and killed him a loooong time ago.