Mortal Wounds

Chapter Eight

Invidian's POV

The silence of midnight drowns me in the small of Henley's apartment. Stars dance in the sky and my lungs scrunch in my chest as it dawns on me, I am back in Purgatory. Arms reach over my shoulders. One hand shows off the ouroboros ring, shimmering like a star, while the other hand holds a lit cigarette, with a burning ring of an eclipse at the end.

"Whether human, god or demon, we are our own universe, there are as many atoms in a single molecule of our DNA as there are stars in a typical galaxy," Henley breathes against my ear with a light laugh, "We're living galaxies of dying stars, Invidian. Isn't it glorious to be alive?"

The frosty window reflects Henley and my headaches as I try to place her in my memory. Dark circles show between oily tangles of hair. Her grin contrasts against her beaten-down appearance.

"Who are you to me?" I press.

Henley draws the cigarette to her lips with a mischievous grin and breathes the smoke in my face. I cough, and she laughs, plopping onto the living room couch. The old dingy and small television shows nothing but static. She picks up her iPhone, scrolling through some website.

"Isn't it a shame, to slowly carry to corpses of stars while still living? Sometimes I wish we didn't need to grow up."

"Answer my question. Who are you to me?"

"And that's not all I learnt at school. Oh no. I learnt the sound of you clicking isn't made by your fingers rubbing together. It's made by your finger hitting your palm. As demonstrated."

She proceeds to click at least fifty times. It takes me a minute to realise she isn't responding directly to me. She is on autopilot, replying to words I'm not even saying. This is a memory. Her phone buzzes and she places her phone face down on the table.

"Are you going to answer that?"

She sighs and deflates. I must have asked that question in this memory because she responds properly.

"My father keeps trying to convince me to move back in." She gives a loud sigh before lying back on the couch. "You're lucky you don't have parents breathing down your neck."

"Then cut them out of your life," I say with a shrug.

She takes in a long drag before tapping out her cigarette on the ashtray.

"Don't worry, I'm not going back. All your work convincing me out of there didn't go to waste," she assures me with a smile, "It's nerve-wracking, you know? Scary even."

"Why?"

She chuckles a little.

"You creatures have powers. You have a way out of this world. But humans? Living is to suffer. To find meaning is to survive. You're always being controlled by something, obligation, family, insecurities, laws, and society."

I take a seat.

"Immortality is witnessing what you hold dear to turn to dust, to lose interest in everything we used to treasure," I mutter.

"And what about you?"

"What about me? I'm inexperienced. I haven't suffered. I don't even feel," I say the last part without thinking.

Before I died, my emotions were as dry as a desert as I coped with emotions. I never was born without them.

"I wonder what stars we fell from to meet each other in such a place. What fills your universe?"

She sits up, her eyes sparkling with interest.

"I'm an empty shell, unfeeling and barely conscious of the fact I am alive."

"So, you're empty and I feel too much?"

"Feel too much?"

"I got lonely enough to reach out. You do remember the deal we made, gentle demon."

"What was our agreement?"

No response.

"Ok, what do we do about this?"

"I dunno. I guess the only way to would be able to see what it's like to live in each other's heads."

"I possess that ability."

Her expression is of clouded uncertainty before her smile grows like parting sunlight.

"I feel like we're going to regret this but bring it on."

My eyes are assaulted by an array of colours, everyday objects mirroring themselves and twisting like a kaleidoscope. Everything spins and my stomach hauls as if I'm falling. My vision snaps to black as if someone cast curtains down in front of my eyelids.

I press the heels of my palms against my eyes when sunlight pierces them. My stomach churns for partying last night. The smell of ash and gasoline invades my nose. The ceiling suffers intense burns as if fire chewed its way all the way up the woodwork. I thought I had fallen asleep in my nephew's apartment.

A smile waivers on my lips. Cosmo hasn't changed much since I last saw him, his eyes, livid, unforgiving and hurt. He's still the same family-driven demon my brother raised. He helped raise me in the same goddamn room I made out with Davian. Grimm Brothers' fairy he used to read to me tales, a sucker for tales of the past, and closet-nerd for Disney stories. He can recite the entire script to Alice in Wonderland in simple times I can never get back.

I cover my eyes with an arm as my eyes begin to sting. I didn't plan on getting in touch with family. I don't want to drag them into this massive s**t hole of a mess. Everyone thinks I'm dead. They would have mourned and moved on without me these past two years. I'm the only one stuck unable to move on from the same trauma, and I don't even remember what happened to me. What will be worse if they accept me back in their lives? There is no guarantee I will stay out of Purgatory. My time will be up in a month and they will lose me all over again.

There is no winning. My phone vibrates the worst sound I've ever heard. I pull Virgil's phone out of my pocket.

Anonymous number (2:00 pm):

'Enjoyed last night? You seemed hell-bent on avoiding Cosmo Are you going to run to your precious family? Or are you going to try and figure out how you died? Either way, have fun with the 28 days you have left. I'm anticipating your next move.

Sincerely, Your Host.'

I grit my teeth and pocket my phone. I don't remember the fucker being in the bar last night. I would have noticed 7 feet, orange-eyed freak of nature in the bar even if I'm drunk. That means a few things:

A. He can possess people.

B. He can shapeshift.

C. He has people spying on me.

Or worse, it's A, B, C, and a whole bunch of letters I don't even know exist. I sit up, resting the urge to throw up. I slept on a floor burned down into ashy foundations, surrounded by the charred outlines of other pieces of furniture. I wince at my nails. They're broken, caked with dry blood. The floor and walls are clawed to hell. I climb to my feet and throw the door open. Fire damage ravages the building, leaving behind patches of a dusty rose carpet. People sleep in the hallway of this abandoned building. I begin to walk forward when I step on a bouquet of roses.

"Her mum comes by that apartment to pay her respects, she does," a homeless woman tells me. She sits against the wall, counting coins. "The fire injured many that day, it did. Killed more people than it should have."

My eyes go wide as realisation creeps in. The woman climbs to her feet with a sigh.

"That woman would do well to move on, she would. Clinging to the past didn't do her husband a world of good, it didn't," she tsks to herself before wandering down the hall.

I stare as she leaves. The creeping feeling I've been here before causes my heart to hammer. After a long minute, I finally turn around. The number 23 is stuck to the fraying door in gold. I dry swallow. Henley's apartment. My legs almost buckling when I walk inside.

Sunlight pours through the glassless window. In my dream, she sat on the same couch which barely holds its form together. I stared at the stars through this window. We must have known each other for years. She could have triggered my emotional development. I could have tons of happy memories with this human or could have been madly in love with her. I cared about her enough my Purgatory consisted of me being trapped in the memory of her apartment.

Should I break down in tears and scream until my throat is raw? Should my heart ignite in rage and vow to figure out what happened? Should I run from this room? There is this hazy, phantom hole I have in my memories and it's killing me. Even if I do end up remembering what went on between us, what good would that do? She's dead.

I step on a knife. My fingers tremble and it feels like ice against my skin when I pick it up. It's the same blade the orange-eyed stranger stabbed me with. The blade can flip into a floral handle. The words 'Che la mia ferita sia mortale,' is carved into its surface.

I collapse to the floor and sit with my back against the bathtub which is burnt to a crisp. My heart races, panic pushing again my chest. I swallow the stale air, desperately trying to regulate my breathing. The questions swirling in my head won't stop. Everything aches in pain. My chest burns. The nervousness and uncertainty that I remember experiencing in Purgatory are creeping up on me again.

I know in Purgatory I wanted to feel again. I wanted to hear the world working around me, feel warm on my skin and be reminded that I am alive and functioning. I didn't have any of these suffocating emotions in mind when I wanted that. I just wanted to be happy. Why is that so hard?

In a way, I'm in that weird place between alive and dead. Purgatory is meant to erase who you once were as the world you knew moves on without you. It's meant to strip your memories, who and what you are so you can move on. Since I'm here, I don't know what to do. Do I hold on to what shattered identity I have left or try to move on?

Someone, tell me what I should do!

I jolt as Virgil's phone buzzes. I take check out the text message, welcoming the distraction.

This message shows a dark photo with a man in the middle, looking on his phone. It appears to be taken from the aqueducts Davian showed me. I squint, concluding the man is Davian. Why would this guy send me a picture of Davian?

How did he get that picture?

Anonymous number (2:05 pm)

'Interesting choice to hang out with this Reaper. Someone so... ignorant. He doesn't seem to realise he is a mere sheep being stalked by a wolf.

-Sincerely, your host'