Black Roses {Skephalo}

Day Twenty-one

————— 3 days remaining —————
Sunday, January 21st, 0:00 am

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-Darryl's POV-

Even when I'm prepared for it, there's nothing more scary than seeing Zak jolt awake perfectly at the coming of a new day.

The clock chimes midnight, as if awaking him. He jolts to a sitting position, clutching his chest. Despite not actually being awake, he acts like he is. There's pain present on his face, features contorted with eyes knitted together tightly.

He brings a hand up to his mouth, covering it and coughing. Streams of blood burst through the gaps between his fingers, running down his hand.

Droplets of the red substance splatter the floor, staining everything in sight. A horror scene, to little blood to be a murder but enough to depict something awful happened here.

The raven-haired boy chokes out a sob, clutching his t-shirt with both hands. Blood runs down his chin, sleeping through the covers below us.

It's intoxicating, twinge of a metallic scent bleeding heavily through the air, as if able to stain even that.

There's nothing I can do for him, but I still feel guilty. Truth is, the flower petals aren't big enough to choke him. This is only the fourth night of eight, the flowers only half sized.

Night eight is the lethal one, as long as six or seven don't choke him first. I'd like to think the demon would stop him from dying before the eighth night, but I know that's just me being desperate.

Wishful thinking...

I pick up the shaking boy, carrying him in near complete darkness to the bathroom. It's probably best he doesn't destroy his room. I kick open the door, laying Zak down against the wall and closing it.

Sitting on the floor seems like the best option, the blood will be easiest to clean out of tiles. He's far too scared to control where he spits the blood and petals.

Five minutes have never seemed so long. Each moment I think it's been that long, only to realise it's not even been half of it. Zak won't stop shivering, both from the cold and fear.

I never thought we'd be hoping for those dreamscapes, but now we're begging. We need a sign.

Zak suddenly sobs louder, almost wailing. He clutches my sleeves, pulling my arms around him subconsciously. "Awh you want a hug?" I ask quietly, not expecting an answer. He just tugs more at my sleeves, reminding me of those times he whines like a child just to be a nuisance.

This time he has an excuse. He's begging for something, desperate pleas drowned by the river of tears. I hug him tighter, caressing his hair with one hand. He leans into me, sobbing into my chest.

It's exactly like he's conscious, but Zak insists he can't see a thing. He never has any recollection of throwing up the flowers. But it seems different today. He's more clingy, more desperate.

Maybe he can see something this time...

Uncontrollable wailing suddenly pours from the broken boy, echoing down the halls. The neighbours are going to hate us.

Fuck them, this is important.

He moves away, hands returning to his chest. I grab the extremities of his shirt, slowly pulling it over his head. He claws at his chest, nails sinking in and creating a little row of cuts. I pull one hand away and he screams, shaking my grasp away.

The scars. I need to see the scars.

You leave me no choice...

An animalistic screech echoes from the boy, completely unlike the ones he does whenever I beat him in woolwars. The noise is inhumane, no human having lungs to scream like that.