Chapter 5

A pulsing pain pulled me from a dead sleep and back into consciousness. I lifted my eyelids and searched the room, and it took me more than a moment to realize where I was. The master bedroom of my new home. My boxes still sat stacked where I'd left them the day before, my clothes still haphazardly scattered around them from my quick searching.

I looked at myself. The black dress clung to my skin, disheveled and slightly lifted. I pulled it down as I sat up, fighting against the wave of dizziness that hit me.

Allowing myself a moment to recover, I tried to remember when I'd gone to bed, but for the life of me, I couldn't recall. I retraced the events of the previous day, leading up to the date.

I was there.

My eyes widened as the memory struck me. The words echoed through my mind as if he were speaking them in that moment. His voice, clear and even. The feel of his face so close to mine, the warm breath against my ear, then... blackness. I couldn't remember a thing past it no matter how hard I tried.

My hands gripped the comforter beneath them. The monster. My monster. Had it been real? I replayed my original meeting with Brady, our conversation throughout dinner. Had he been the monster the whole time, had he been possessed, or was I just way too drunk the night before?

The last option seemed the most sane, but with my history, I couldn't call it the most likely.

My eyes roamed the room again as if the thing were watching me, but I forced myself to stop. Taking a deep breath, I stood and took the few steps needed to reach the boxes, grabbing a pair of jeans and a t shirt from the pile. I needed to not think about it. If I thought about it, if I let myself become consumed by fear, I'd already lost. I'd be that little girl again, only this time, I wasn't little. What would happen when a grown woman started acting insane? Something told me the doctors wouldn't offer me crayons. They'd probably offer me more drugs, possibly a nifty jacket with plenty of restraints to go with them.

Before the panic of my thoughts could fully set in, I pushed them away. I won't let that happen. It couldn't control me. It couldn't ruin my life if I didn't let it. Ignorance. I just needed to pretend, ignore, and hope it would become bored.

Chanting that trio inside my head, I made my way towards the bathroom. Ignore. Just take a shower, wash away the memory, ease the headache, and get ready for a new day.

I threw my clothes on the sink before turning on the shower. As I stripped the dress away, a thought occurred that had me once again eyeing the empty room around me.

It's a pervert.

My shower was quicker than usual, but I told myself it wasn't because I was being watched. It was just excitement to start my day. That was it. Not a monster. Monsters aren't real. I made a pssh sound. Monsters definitely aren't real. That's crazy talk.

My movements were quick and jumpy as I turned off the water, grabbed a towel, ran it quickly over myself, then struggled to pull jeans up legs that were still wet. Once covered, I heaved a sigh.

Steam hung heavy throughout the room, making it hard to breathe and impossible to see. I opened the door to let it clear, then stepped over to the mirror. Fog coated the surface, so I grabbed my towel from where I'd left it on the floor and moved to wipe it clear.

I was less than an inch from placing the material to the glass, when I froze in place. A scream locked in my chest as I stared unblinkingly at the sight before me.

There was no ignoring the lines that began to form, right before my eyes, one after another until a message became clear.

Sleep Well, Drunky?

Something snapped, deep inside of me, something that had been barely hanging on by a thread since my childhood. Without thinking, my fist connected with the surface, glass shattering on impact. Then, placing one hand on either side of my head, I let out a scream, only not from fear. Rage poured from my lungs like liquid lava from an erupting volcano. My throat grew raw, choking me until I stood there, half-coughing–half-sobbing amongst the broken glass.

Something warm trickled down my cheek, and I lifted my hands away. Blood coated my right hand, running down my arm, spurting from my palm. I looked into what was left of the mirror. Deep red coated my right cheek, and in that moment, covered in my own blood, hair still wet and unbrushed, I looked insane. "I am insane," I whispered. I turned the water on and rinsed my arm before sticking my face beneath the faucet and rubbing the sticky liquid away. When it was gone, I grabbed the towel and wrapped it tightly around my wound.

I'd just got it bundled properly, when something grabbed my hand. A screech left my lungs as I fought to pull it away, but the grip was too tight. A warning grunt came from the empty spot in front of me, only increasing my panic. I swung at the air with my free hand, and the same deep chuckle from the night before echoed through the air around me.

Tears filled my eyes, and my throat closed shut. This is it. The day it kills me.

Then, when I'd just given up trying to get away, it released me. I didn't waste time. In a clumsy attempt at escape, I rushed through the doorway, into the living room, and to the front door. I found my keys set on top of my shoes beside the doorway, as if laid out for me.

I didn't think about it.

Once I made it inside the car, I tentatively unwrapped the towel.

Clear, clean skin without a blemish in sight. "I didn't imagine that," I said to myself, as if needing the reassurance.

My eyes darted to the passenger's seat and the laptop laying within it.

I needed help.

I couldn't do this alone.

Not anymore.

I needed an exorcist.

👻👻👻👻

A giant breakfast, the cure to all hangover related side effects. The waitress set the plate in front of me, and my stomach thanked her before I got the chance. It let out a growl that resembled a roar, and the small woman smirked at me. "Sounds like someone's hungry," she teased.

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you so much."

With another smile, she walked away, and I turned my attention to the screen in front of me. Across the surface was a google web search result I'd found while waiting. An exorcist. Or, at least, someone who claimed to be an exorcist. Father Peter Bayshore. Countless facts about the Parrish he resided over filled the screen, upcoming events, prayers, and links for those seeking help with various vices.

I scrolled as I stuffed eggs into my mouth, and finally found a phone number for the office.

Someone sat down in front of me, and I looked up to see none other than Brady.

I choked.

He smirked.

When I finally managed to clear my airway, I took a deep breath. "Hello?" Was it him, or it?

He stared at me for a full minute. "How's your hand?"

I jumped back as far as I could while being confined to a booth. "It is you. Or, I mean, you're it!" Other diners began to look over at my sudden shout, and in return I offered a glare. Fuck them. I was dealing with some shit at the moment.

"I prefer him, but if you insist on using it, then yes, I suppose I am."

Why did that sound so articulated? Why did he look so calm? So... intelligent. "What are you?"

He rolled his eyes. "I am Brady," he answered slowly, dragging each word out as if I were dense.

"I know your name!" I snapped, then lowered my voice. "What I meant was, what the hell are you? We both know–"

"I'm Brady," he cut me off, his smile widening at my obvious irritation.

We watched each other, silently, me fuming and him making me fume more with each second he wore that stupid amused expression.

"Why me? What did I do to deserve any of this?"

His smile fell, and he heaved an annoyed sigh. "I didn't choose you, not that I wouldn't have. You're very choosable." His smile returned. "There's no getting around it. You're mine. I'm not leaving."

Heat filled my chest, angry disbelief. "You-don't-own-me," I managed to say between bared teeth.

He grinned again. "Your anger amuses me."

"Fuck off!" I tried to get up, but my legs were suddenly frozen in place.

"Don't get too upset. I didn't mean it." He reached across the table and took my hand. "I can't help it that you anger so easily."

I jerked my hand away, then tried to get up again, but my legs were like dead weight. "What did you do?"

"What do you mean?" His eyes were full of mischief, his voice that of a teasing child.

"My legs won't work!" I glared at him, trying beyond anything to make him die with my eyes. Die! Just poof into a pile of ashes and never regenerate!

"You're adorable."

I growled, a genuine growl, like a rabid animal. "Go away. Leave me alone. Don't come back. I don't want you here. You suck."

"And you're adorable."

"I'm leaving!" With all the will power I possessed, I somehow managed to get up from the booth, grab my computer, and slowly walk away. If he followed, I purposely didn't notice. My car was like a finish line, my body solely focused on reaching it.

I did, and I'd just gotten my key in the door, when a pair of large hands clutched my shoulders on either side and whipped me around. I opened my mouth, prepared to scream, yell rape, or fire, or I don't know you combined with a knee to the groin.

Instead, I gaped. Two electric blue orbs, glowing like a neon sign, bore into me. They swirled and danced, mesmerizing, until I not only wasn't pulling away, I leaned closer.

A humming noise left Brady's throat, deep and smooth. It vibrated his chest like a cat's purr, and I felt it, because I was clung to him. Why was I clung to him-it?

"I have to go," I said, snapping out of my stupor. What happened? Why had I done that? I looked up at him, and his eyes were back to normal. He stared at me intently, studying, his smile replaced by an expression made of stone.

"I have a date tonight!" I snapped, saying the first thing that popped into my head. Isn't that what girls said when a guy wouldn't back off? I have a boyfriend? Did that rule apply to these extraordinary circumstances? Something told me it didn't. "He's a great guy. Amazing really. Very talented."

Brady glared at me but didn't speak.

"Gotta go," I turned to get into the car, and breathed a sigh when he didn't stop me. When I had it cranked and in reverse, however, it didn't budge.

My window started to lower, with no action on my part to make it do so, and before my brain could even process, Brady leaned into the opening.

"Don't play games, sweetheart."

I turned a glare on him, needing to lean back in order to do so as his face was far too close. "I stopped playing games a long time ago," I said. With that, I punched the gas, and to my relief, the car lurched backwards.

Brady got out of the way with a speed that shouldn't have been possible. I took one last look at him as I sped out of the lot.

Glowing red eyes stared back at me.