Page 11 of Homecoming: The Devil's Society

My mom would tell me to trust, and I am.

Logically, I should be freaking out. My anxiety should be in overdrive as my brain races trying to sort all these new details out. But my body isn’t reacting that way.

Why?

He is my life. Where he goes, I go.

My soul and his soul. We are forever.

E lets go of my hand and walks over to the table, placing his bat on it. The dust is disturbed and floats around him.

“This place, my shed,” he stops and looks around, “this is where my demons became my friends.”

With each pump from my heart, my chest becomes warm. His words touch me in a way I never anticipated. We all have happy places. Places that remind us of the good times.

This is his.

Then I get an idea of how to help him. How to keep this his happy place, instead of walking back into it feeling tortured and starved.

Walking over to the cabinets, one by one I open them up, looking for the perfect tool. So much of this stuff I had never seen before, but I want to know more. Another time. This is for him—about him. He needs this.

Opening the next cabinet door, there it is. Laying flat on the shelving, the steel is still shiny and the handle is matte black. Gripping it in my hand, it’s cool to the touch. As I rub my thumb along the black grip, I know this is the right thing to do.

As I turn around to face E, the blade is facing him as the knife rests flat in my hand.

Two simple but powerful words leave my mouth.

“Cut me.”

His brow furrows in confusion.

“If it’s going to help. Do it. Please. Cut me. Make me bleed. Let me do this for you.”

E shakes his head, “No. I’ll be okay. It’s only a few more hours.”

His nostrils flare looking at the sharp blade, and his pupils dilate.

“Take it.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple moves in his throat and his teeth play with his lip ring.

His hand reaches out, his thumb twitching as he hovers over my hand.

Moving my hand up to meet his, the knife is now between our palms. Looking up with E, I nod, encouraging him to just take it. You can see the internal struggle on his face, unsure of what to do.

Taking the lead, I reach up with my other hand and begin curling his fingers around the handle. He doesn’t resist. Each finger is wrapping around it now as I let my other hand drop.

Stepping over to the table, I boost myself up as my legs hang over the edge.

Lifting one leg up I rest the heel of my shoe on the edge as I begin pulling my pant leg up. With my pale skin on display, I gently encourage him once more, “Do it.”

His eyes take me in, starting from my head and moving slowly down my body.

“Why aren’t you scared?” His question confuses me.

“Scared of what? You?” I shake my head. “I could never be. You would never hurt me on purpose.”

“You know after tonight, we can’t leave. Vail is home. We can go back to Blackwood, visit your mom, but this is home now, little bat.”

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