Page 27 of Virgil's Demons

No one would believe me. Hell, I barely believed myself.

Now, as I stood there, staring into the mirror, all I could feel was the emptiness. Virgil had disappeared without a trace, and I had no idea if he would ever come back into my life. That uncertainty was crushing. Part of me felt hopeless, like maybe I didn't deserve his help or his presence after all. And yet, there was another part of me that clung to the memory of him—of the way he had looked at me in the shop, the way he had touched my skin, the silent intensity between us.

I couldn't shake the feeling that he was still out there, watching. Maybe he was waiting, just like I was. But for what?

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, unsure of what to feel anymore when my phone buzzed in my hand. The notification flashed across the screen and Virgil's name appeared. My heart stopped for a moment, then kicked into overdrive. I wasn't sure how to react. Should I be angry, should I ignore him as he'd ignored me?

The silence from him had been deafening, and now, out of nowhere, a text. My fingers hovered over the screen, not daring to open it yet. This surge of elation coursed through me, but I wasn't about to look desperate. I had already felt pathetic enough, waiting like some broken doll in that psych ward, hoping for a sign from him.

I exhaled slowly, tapping the message open with shaky fingers.

"You free this weekend? The club's doing a Halloween thing for charity. Thought you might want to check it out."

I stared at the words, blinking. He wanted to see me. He actually wanted me there. The weight I'd been carrying, weeks of loneliness, of endless doubt, lightened just enough for me to breathe. But I forced myself to wait before replying, the seconds ticking by as I tried to process the whirlwind of emotions.

Happy? Absolutely. My stomach was doing somersaults. But I couldn't let him see that. I couldn't let him think I was sitting by my phone, waiting for him to throw me a bone. Even though, in some ways, I had been. I didn't want to come across as desperate, not after everything.

I waited… ten seconds? Maybe more. My mind raced, thinking of what to say, how to make it so I appeared calm and collected.

Finally, I texted him back. "I'd love to come."

Short, simple. Like this hadn't been what I'd been longing for since the last time I saw him.

I sent the message and set my phone down, staring at the screen like it might explode. The rush of excitement and nervous energy washed over me, but there was still that underlying fear.

What if it wasn't enough? What if he didn't want the same?

I had so many doubts, so many questions I wanted to ask him but couldn't. He didn't text back so I just left it alone. I know he'd gotten my response, and in just a few days, I may actually get the answers I needed.

I spentthe rest of the week drowning in my work, trying to focus on anything that wasn't Virgil. But no matter how hard I tried, it was futile. He was always there, always in the front of my mind, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't stop thinking of him or the excitement of seeing him again.

Every night, I dreamed of him—his hands on me, the feel of his hot breath against my skin, the way his deep voice sounded so rough when he whispered my name.

But the dreams were never just that. They were more vivid, more consuming. And they weren't just about him touching me, loving me. They were something darker, something twisted. In my dreams, I saw him burning—his body consumed by flames, his skin crackling and turning to ash. The fire wasn't just around him; it was inside him, eating him alive. His eyes… God, his eyes. They were always the same, burning with a desperation that tore through me. It was like he was begging me for help, but no matter how fast I ran or how hard I tried, I couldn't reach him.

I would wake up, gasping for air, drenched in sweat, the image of him burning still fresh in my mind. It felt like awarning, like the universe was trying to tell me something. Or maybe it was just my own mind playing tricks on me. Either way, the dreams left me shaken, rattled to the core. They felt real—too real. As if they weren't just dreams, but premonitions.

I was left wondering if I could save him. I remembered something he had asked me when we first met.

"Don't you sometimes feel like you were meant for something more than this?"

I wondered if that's why these visions haunted me night after night Was there something deeper between us that I hadn't understood yet? A connection that went beyond attraction, beyond desire?

I didn't have the answers, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was supposed to do something. That somehow, I was the only one who could pull him from whatever hell he was trapped in.

Virgil's text, when it came, had felt like a lifeline. A message I'd been waiting for, without even realizing it. It was simple—a few words inviting me to an event. But to me, it had meant so much more. It was proof that he wanted to see me again. And that maybe, just maybe, these dreams were leading me somewhere.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the soft glow of the bedroom light casting shadows on my pale skin. I'd barely slept in days, and it showed—the dark circles under my eyes were deeper than ever, the hollow look in my gaze undeniable. But tonight, I refused to look like death. I didn't want Virgil to see me broken. He didn't now knowt I was going through and I decided that if he wanted to see me, then maybe it was time for me to give him answers too. I didn't know what this was between us or what it could become, all I knew was that I wanted to be near him. And tonight I wanted to feel sexy, desirable, I wanted to feel alive again in his arms, even if it was only for a few hours.

I picked up the concealer, dabbing it under my eyes, blending it carefully. Each stroke was an attempt to erase the exhaustion, to cover up the sleepless nights and the nightmares that had plagued me. Layer by layer, I painted over the evidence of the battles I'd fought in the dead of night—the voices, the doubts, the creeping darkness that whispered in my ear, telling me I wasn't enough.

I moved to the bed, where my costume lay. It was a deep, blood-red devil outfit that clung to my curves, tight in all the right places. The leather shorts were short enough to catch anyone's attention, and the plunging neckline left just enough to the imagination. I wanted to be bold, daring.

Seductive.

The satin fabric slid over my skin as I slipped into the costume, the cold material sending a shiver through me. The red was striking, a stark contrast to my pale skin, and as I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt the transformation begin. This wasn't the broken girl who barely made it through the day. This was someone dangerous. Someone who could command a room with a single glance. Someone who had fought her demons.

I moved to my makeup next, picking up the tube of red lipstick. Slowly, I twisted it, watching as the vibrant color emerged. A devil needed blood-red lips, didn't she? The lipstick glided over my lips smoothly, turning them into a perfect, sinful curve. I applied a second coat, making sure they were a bold red.

---