Page 8 of Demon Rejected

I did my best to convince myself there was nothing, that it would all be good while watching the level of water rise in the tub. After stripping out of my undies, I slipped inside it. It was the lovely hot bath that melted me and dropped my guard. I closed my eyes and slipped under the surface of the warm water. Maybe I should just stay there and drown.

The scars on the inside of my wrists reminded me that it was not my first try.

I was fourteen when I did it. I believed myself in love with this boy. He was smart and funny, and damn, he was nice to me. He would put a new book every day inside my locker, and I would read it. I devoured the books. And then, one day, he wanted us to hang out. I jumped on the opportunity to be with him. Mika, so cute, blonde, short curly hair and dimples, the most beautiful boy I ever saw in my life. He picked me up after school and we went for a ride. We talked and laughed. He took me to a spot where I knew couples went to make out. I should have said no, but I couldn’t. I wanted to make out with him, kiss him, feel his hands on me. When we arrived there, he was not sweet anymore. He groped me hard, pushed me down, and he tried to rape me. I bit a piece of his lip. He bled and screamed and called me names. His blood was all over my pretty floral sundress. I panicked and swallowed the piece of lip I held in my mouth.

I ran. My feet pounded against the ground, and my eyes got blurry because of the tears that streaked down.

That evening the police were at my foster parents’ door. They saw me, saw how hard I had been hit in the face. The police asked me if I wanted to press charges. I didn’t care.

The next day the entire school called me a cannibal. The asshole Mika told his parents and friends I wanted more than kissing, and he said no. That made me bite him. No one should have believed it, but they all started calling me the cannibal. At some point, someone filled my locker with raw meat.

That night I went home, sat on the bathroom floor, and took a pair of scissors. I started to cut myself and watch the blood build-u slow. The blood was so beautiful, deep red. It bubbled to the surface, like tiny red rubies decorating my pale skin. And then the wounds closed again. Dizziness took over me and I was so furious. I stuck the scissors again and again into my flesh, deeper and more savage this time. The weird zig-zag criss-cross scars on my wrist are proof that I will never allow me to forget what happened. People are trash. This was a lesson to teach me not to trust, my first rule ever. Don’t trust anyone. Ever. They are all out there to get you.

Why did I ignore my own rules? The water in the tub felt so good, and I even had music humming from the speakers. As I closed my eyes, I fell asleep.

The next thing I remember, I was strapped to a bed, a large number of tubes and hoses attached to me. All I could think of was I looked like damn Alice in Resident Evil. Beeping machines had been hooked to me. A strap stretched across my mouth. I tried to fight the restraints, I did my best to escape, and there was nothing to do. Absolutely nothing.

Sleep would sneak up on me and pull me down in a world of pain and nightmare.

I found myself in different situations. The most common was that I would be running. My feet hit the ground hard and fast, a group of creatures following me.

In my soul, I knew the creatures were not human. If I allowed them to catch me, I'd be lost. They were after my flesh, my essence.

A voice talked to me from the other side of the sea of nightmares. “Scarlett, shift. Show us what you are."

What was that nonsense? What did they want from me? I was in mental clinics before, and yes, they would give me light sleeping pills that would make me drowsy but nothing like this.

Was I dead?

I would open my eyes and find myself inside the trailer, only this time my mother caught me. She’s strapped me to a table and cut me with the empty, broken whisky bottle. As I watch her do it, she smiles and cuts me again. My eyes flipped open and I saw them. They’re cutting me. Only it’s not my mom. It’s a team of people dressed like on the set of an alien movie. As I tried to ask what they do to me, my mouth doesn’t move. I can’t speak and drift away, still knowing they’re taking samples of my skin, blood, and organs. I can feel their hands on my lungs, it hurts, and I can’t breathe.

Is that it?

I never expected anything from life, but I admit I’m sad and disappointed. With my last resources, I try to call Sparky. She is real. I know it. She has to be. If I die, they’re going to go with me. We’re all going to float away on a sea of fire.

Each time I call for Sparky, my world is becoming blurry. I think I am lost. I can feel her. She’s winning for me, and still I can’t reach her. She’s everything that I have in the world. I can’t lose her. As much as I try to push through the haze, invisible tentacles are pulling me down deeper, making it hard to breathe.

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