I'm In Love With the Devil?
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- Parts 4
"You'd expect him to be the type of person that likes his privacy. You'd think he'd be the quiet, mysterious guy he seems to be, but he's not. He's more than that. He's more than he seems. You'd think you know him, But you don't He's not who you think he is. Not at all. Maybe that's why you think I'm crazy, but I'm not. Don't believe me if you don't want to. That's your decision, not mine." Kimberly told Dr. DeMontrey, her psychologist, her 'shrink', as she looked him in the eyes.
He cleared his throat and straightened up more in his seat. "Tell me one thing, Miss Osborn. Why do you say this about him?" He adjusted his glasses and looked at Kimberly as intently as she looked at him.
"Because he's the devil himself. He's showed me he is. Believe it or not, Lucifer is real."
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My dream continued the one I'd been having for the past couple of nights. I ran, gasping for breath, through the familiar woods from a dark figure behind me. The faster I tried to run, the slower I seemed to go, until it was like I was running in place. I knew I needed to run. I was terrified of what the figure would do when he caught me. "Mara Leigh," a deep, smooth voice called. It was almost hypnotic. That was new. The figure had never spoke before now. I ran as fast as I could go, eyes searching the forest floor for a big stick or something that I could use to defend myself. "Mara Leigh!" the voice came again, this time more insistent. The forest slowly started to fade and I started to awake to someone shaking my shoulders. "Beau?" I mumbled, turning my head to the side. What's Beau doing in my room this time of night? Why is he shaking me? "Do not call me that name." My eyes flew open as I jumped at the voice from my dream. A face was right in front of mine, and just like the voice, it wasn't Beau. Before I could form a scream, a hand covered my mouth. I tried to bite it but I couldn't get my mouth to open. He's too strong. I started to use my whole body to try to get away, but he crawled on top of me, holding me down. I pulled the hidden knife out from under my pillow and slashed as hard as I could at him, but he just grabbed my wrist and squeezed it until the pain made me drop the knife. Then he grabbed both my hands in one of his and held them over my head. He held me down while I struggled. I grunted and moved and tried to kick and scream, but I only wore myself out. Exhausted, I stopped thrashing and let the tears flow freely down my cheeks. I didn't know what to do, so I just tried to prepare myself for whatever was coming.
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