Page 10 of Black Heart

“Come on out, lad. He’s gone,” came the softly murmured words a few minutes later when the sounds of fighting and shouting suddenly stopped.

“N-No,” Tristan whispered hoarsely, his hands fisting against the carpet as he pressed his forehead against the floor, terrified of what they would do to him if they got their hands on him again.

“That’s fine, lad. I’ll just sit here and make sure that no one else bothers ye tonight. When ye feel comfortable, ye come on out and I’ll tuck ye back into bed.”

Tristan didn’t trust him, so he stayed where he was, quietly sobbing. He didn’t know how he was going to make it through another day knowing that they could hurt him in other ways now.

When his alarm went off the next morning, Tristan closed his eyes and slowly exhaled while he wondered how many ghosts were waiting for him and what they would do to him when they realized that he couldn’t help them. Knowing that he didn’t have a choice, Tristan forced himself to crawl out from beneath the bed only to frown in confusion when he realized that his room wasn’t filled with ghosts waiting for him.

There was just one.

Sometimes it was difficult to tell the living from the dead, but there were little things that gave them away. No one else could see them or hear them, no matter how loud they screamed. They walked through walls and doors, fell through furniture and they couldn’t touch anything.

Except for him.

They could grab him, shove him, hit him, scratch, and bite him and there was nowhere for him to hide. He couldn’t outrun them or hide from them and he’d tried.

God, he’d fucking tried…

No matter where he went, they found him.

Every. Fucking. Time.

They were always there, watching him, begging him for help before their pleas turned into screams, and every morning, they were there, waiting for him to crawl out from under his bed so that they could do it all over again, except for that morning.

Within seconds, Tristan knew that there was something different about this one. Shayne sat comfortably on the loveseat in Tristan’s room as he ran his eyes over him, taking in the welts and bruises that covered Tristan with green eyes that matched his own.

“Everything’s fine, lad. They’ll never hurt ye again,” Shayne promised as he took in the scratches covering Tristan’s chest.

Tristan didn’t believe him, didn’t trust him, so he did what he always did with ghosts. He ignored him. Shayne didn’t seem to take it personally. He remained by Tristan’s side day and night for several weeks before Tristan slowly began to trust him. Shayne kept him safe, made sure that no one touched him, and for the first time in his life, he could breathe without feeling like he was going to lose his fucking mind. It wasn’t long before the cuts and bruises covering his body faded away and he could finally sleep in his own bed.

Over time, Shayne explained that he’d had the same curse when he was alive. That was it. He didn’t talk about his life and Tristan didn’t ask, afraid of finding out just how fucking bad it could really be.

After Shayne died, he realized that he’d been cursed in death as well. He could still do everything that he could when he was alive except that no one could hear or see him. The only thing that changed for him was that he didn’t need food, water, or sleep to survive. Other than that, nothing had changed.

At first, Shayne stayed to protect Tristan until he was strong enough to protect himself, but over the years, their bond had strengthened. Shayne went from being his protector and a second father to him to his best friend. Tristan didn’t know what he’d do without him. Without Shayne, he’d probably be dead by now, by his own hand or someone else’s, he wasn’t sure.

“Listen, I’m just asking you to do me a little favor,” the asshole following him snapped.

“Fuck off,” Tristan said, walking past him to his front door and yanked it open. He rolled his eyes when the sounds of sex and god-awful porno music reached his ears. He moved to shut the door only to sigh when he spotted the persistent prick standing in his foyer.

“Get out,” Tristan said, gesturing to the door.

“No, I’m not going anywhere until you do what I want. If you don’t, I promise that I’ll make your life a living hell,” the asshole said with a smirk as he folded his arms over his chest.

Tristan shut the door and walked past the stubborn ghost towards the open double doors to his left. He walked into the living room and dropped down onto an oversized leather chair next to the couch.

“Hey, I was watching that!” Shayne snapped when Tristan grabbed the remote and turned off the skin flick and switched on the Xbox.

“You know how it ends. She fakes it and he comes with his eyes closed while picturing some guy’s tight ass,” Tristan said, tossing the remote aside and grabbed his X-Box controller.

Shayne glared at him. “I don’t ask for much-”

Tristan cut him off with a chuckle, “Only for your own room, the twenty-four-hourPlayboychannel, and you make me listen to Sinead O’Connor whenever you get homesick. That alone is too goddamn much!”

“She’s a very talented woman!” Shayne snapped back, throwing a throw pillow at Tristan’s head.

Tristan picked up the other wireless game controller and tossed it to Shayne. “Man up, bitch.”

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