Page 145 of Psycho Devils: Aran's Story 2

A devil hunted me.

He was chasing after me like he wanted to hurt me; he was sprinting like a predator that wanted to do horrible things to its prey.

In the empty hall, there was nothing left of the man I’d thought I knew.

The soft, pretty man was gone. Dead.

He was still breathtakingly stunning, but he was cruel. Sharply edged. Dangerous.

Had he ever existed?

A sharp bolt of pain streaked down my spine, and I pointedly ignored the implication.

Heavy footsteps slapped against the chilled black marble floor like gunshots.

A towering being barreled after me, and his expression was pure evil.

Pumping my legs with all my might, I ran faster than I had when I was missing an arm and ungodly chased me in the desert.

I ran faster than I had after I’d eaten my mother’s heart.

Being chased down the halls of Elite Academy was the most frightened I’d ever been.

Like my subconscious knew I was running from something terrifying.

My breath came out in short, painful bursts, and my heart pounded erratically in my chest.

Crystals clinked as chandeliers swayed from the vibrations of his steps.

Just one more hall.

Turning the corner, I lowered my head, pumped my arms, and drove forward with my legs. I didn’t need to hear him to sense how close his presence was.

Goose bumps erupted down my arms as I threw myself through the bedroom door. I screamed for Malum and Scorpius and didn’t stop running until I’d locked myself in a shower stall.

Hyperventilating under icy water, I stared at the floor and sucked on my pipe.

Felt nothing.

The haze was back, but it was soaked with terror. Distorted. It was worse than ever.

The day had passed in seconds, but the hours felt like weeks.

Forehead pressed against the tiled wall; icy spray soaked my clothes. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a casual shower.

After Mother began lighting me on fire, I’d shower in scalding heat to chase away the bizarre chill that seemed to burn me from the inside out. It lingered after each session.

I’d sit under the scalding spray writhing in agony until my skin was red.

Then I’d start scrubbing.

After I’d run away to the shifter realm, my habits had changed. I’d started showering to remove the microscopic dirt, the grime I couldn’t see but knew coated every inch of my body. Running was cowardly. It had left me feeling dirty.

In my twenties, the anger had arrived, and freezing cold water was the only thing that washed away the violent thoughts.

Now I showered to try to clear the haze.

Maybe if the water was frigid enough, it would shock me out of the muddled darkness?

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