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Chapter Eight

There was something wrong with me, I determined after a few hours contemplating why Arthur had turned me down. I mean, I had known that much already, but there was something seriously off with me. That’s why nobody loved me, that’s why I was so unlovable.

I kind of just sat there in my bed, staring at the ugly ceiling. Even though it was completely dark and I couldn’t actually see it, I knew that it was ugly. I folded my hands on top of my stomach like they did to corpses in caskets, because I felt a deep bond with the dead currently.

This was it for me.

If the kind-hearted, beautiful, slightly capricious, half-angel (or more than half, I wasn’t sure on that part) couldn’t love me, no one could.

I couldn’t sleep. My eyes were burning with exhaustion, but every time I tried to close my eyes, they snapped wide open as the nightmares took hold.

To be honest, I was hoping that I’d pass in my sleep--if it ever came. That way I didn’t have to look Arthur in the face. If I ever saw him again, that was. If I was him, I’d let some measly demon break in and kill me.

I probably deserved it.

Would the demon do me like Coffee Guy did? Or would he make it faster? Either was fine. Maybe I’d just go outside now. Let them get me. Tear me to shreds and eat me or whatever demons did.

I was being melodramatic, I knew that, but I just felt so defeated and unwanted. I threw my legs over the bed, making my way to the front door.

I was seriously going to do it. I was going to get myself killed. To me, it sounded like a great idea. Arthur was the last person that I had faith in, that made me feel as if it was possible for me to do more.

And now I had lost that.

I tilted my head back, sadness gripping my heart as I walked down the steps (I didn’t feel like going down the elevator). When I entered the lobby, I remembered on Thursday--or was it Friday?--when I had ran into Arthur and asked for his number. Now that I thought about it, I probably would’ve died that night if I hadn’t asked for his number. Then I wouldn’t have kissed him today and made a fool out of myself. Funny how things turned out.

I walked over to the front door, heart in my throat, and pushed open the door. Almost instantly, the gazes that I hadn’t felt only a few hours ago were back.

This time, there were voices too. Calling me, beckoning me.

Camille...

Come here...

Don’t be sad.

We’re here for you...

Come here, Camille...

I felt an invisible hand take mine, lightly tugging.

Follow... now... show you... happiness.

At first, I was honestly afraid. I didn’t know what was going on. The hand was cold and warm at the same time, its grip loose and tight. Its existence was so paradoxical that I didn’t know how to make sense out of it.

No worries, free. Never hurt. Never pain. Happy?

It--they, there was more than one voice--kept whispering to me. Their voices were carried in the wind, the words sometimes blurring together and making it nearly impossible to discern what was said.

In the end, I allowed it (them?) to take me wherever, probably Hell. At least there were no Quinns, right?

“Are you going to kill me?” I asked them.

No worries, they repeated, free.

“Is that a yes?” I was getting cold, I was only wearing my pajama shorts and t-shirt. I wished that they’d hurry up and put me out of my misery, really. “I’ll take it as a yes.”

Free.

Good enough for me.

I was about to take another step, but all the whispering abruptly stopped and the grip on my hand was replaced by one on my waist, yanking me back. I screamed loudly, whipping around and lashing my hand out to scratch the eyes of my attacker.

Another hand grabbed my wrist before I could even get my hand in his face. “What are you doing?” Arthur questioned, eyes hard. Uh-oh. Was he mad? Probably. “Why are you out here? What are you doing?”

Killing myself. “Nothing. Why? Am I not allowed to go on a walk?” I didn’t want to face him right now. My eyes were swollen from crying and my nose red; I was a mess. Not that he’d care anyway--since he didn’t like me. Speaking of, why was he even here? The fact that he was here was pissing me off. How come he got to act like my holy saviour when he was the one who put me here in the first place? How dare he treat me like I was nothing earlier? And why was he here! Why did he think it was okay to go out of his way for me and then expect me not to feel anything about it?

I sniffled, staring up at him.

“No,” he answered. “You’re not.” He ran his eyes up and down my body, causing me to feel even more self-conscious. “And you’re wearing your pajamas and no shoes; no one goes on a walk like that.”

“Maybe I do.” I sniffed the air, smelling the faint scent of tobacco. “Were you smoking?” Now that I knew that he was a Nephilim, it was kind of weird that he was a smoker. It had literally no effect on him.

His eyes narrowed even more, if that was possible. “Don’t change the subject. You could’ve gotten killed if it wasn’t for me--that demon was trying to lead you astray!”

That was the plan. I looked around, noticing that I had gone quite a ways from the complex without even realizing. “How did you even find me? Did you put a tracker in me? Are you a bloodhound?”

“Camille!” Arthur snapped. “You almost died.”

“Okay, so? Why do you care?” I shot back. “You didn’t care so much about me earlier.”

His expression evened out, face going blank. “Let’s head back.”

“Really?” I called out after him, watching Arthur start going back in the direction of the apartment. “You’re walking away--again!”

He said nothing in response, just continued going forward. Then he stopped, turning to shout, “Come on!” before moving once again.

I was going to follow after him. I really was. But the voices came back in full throttle, the hold on me that had disappeared earlier was back and yanked my arm back forcefully, taking my entire body with it.

No! Not leave us!

I opened my mouth to scream, to alert Arthur. No sound came out, though. Not that it matter, Arthur noticed somehow and whipped around. He ran for me; I think almost heard the sound barrier break because he moved so fast. But not fast enough.

When I was sixteen, I dyed my originally deep, black hair to a peroxide blonde. It looked like s**t and the dye job ruined my hair. Anyway, when I had looked in the mirror, I had thought to myself: no way this can be me, no way.

I had the same feeling when I woke up in what was probably jail cell. I was in pain all over, sharp, stinging pain. It was like someone had stabbed me with hundreds of thousands of needles--only, they weren’t needles, it was glass. My bare skin--someone had stripped me naked--was covered in bloody cuts from the razor-sharp edges and the tiny shards stuck inside of the wounds and burned with a vengeance.

I, stupidly, tried to stand up and almost immediately fell back down onto a sharp piece that jammed itself into my lower back. I groaned loudly, grateful that it wasn’t large enough to do major damage to my body.

“It’d be best for you to not move much, that’s what I’d advise,” a female voice with a heavy English accent spoke up. “You’ll end up giving yourself a nasty cut.”

I turned my head, surprised to see that I had a roommate. She was this beautiful brunette with hazel, sloe-eyes and a delicate face--almost fairy-like. “Where am I?” I questioned her.

“Who knows?” she responded, smiling softly.

Was she happy? Did she find this funny? Was my roomie psychotic? “How long has it been?”

She shrugged and answered once more with, “Who knows?”

“Jeez, you’re helpful.”

“I don’t know the answer to your question.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and look around the cramped cell. “Whose bright idea was it to put broken glass on the ground?”

“The master.”

“Who?”

“The one who oversees this prison.”

I blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing. Why was I here? Had I committed a crime--or was this where the demon had dumped me? “P-prison? I thought you said you didn’t know where we were.”

“Well, I don’t really. Not exactly. We’re in a place that’s neither here nor there. It just exists.” She stuck out her hand, which was covered in gashes and scars. “I’m Lindsay. It’d be nice if we got acquainted, I hope you can stay for long.”

I didn’t shake her hand, it was unsanitary. She didn’t seem offended by it, just shrug and retracted it. “What makes you say that?”

She answered my question more bluntly than I was expecting her to, “The others die pretty fast.”

“That’s... Why?”

“I don’t know. I just kind of assumed that they were dead; they never came back. And there’s no leaving this place unless it’s in a body bag--or at least I think so. Why, there was this one girl named Leticia who got so sick and tired of being here that she picked up one of the shards and sli--”

“Okay.”

“--t her throat,” Lindsay finished. “Brutal, really.” She raised and dropped her shoulders with a sigh. “Poor girl lost her mind.” Lindsay grimaced, scrunching her nose. “A lot of them do, actually.”

“How long have you been here?” I inquired hesitantly. Just how many people had been here before me?

“Oh, the longest,” Lindsay answered. “I got to meet everyone.”

I leaned back a little. I made a mental note, that, with almost one hundred percent certainty, Lindsay was not right in the brain.

“Tell me about you.” Lindsay folded her legs and leaned forward, intrigued by me and my unknown backstory. “Why are you here?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” I told her.

Lindsay ran a hand through her short hair, pursing her lips. “I’m sure that I have room for it in my oh so busy schedule.”

“Right, sorry, um...” I didn’t really feel comfortable with telling her everything, considering that she was a stranger and I didn’t really know anything about her other than her name was Lindsay and she’d been here the longest. “I got kidnapped.”

Her face fell. “Oh, gosh.”

I nodded my head, forcing myself to ignore the distracting pain that I was in and focus on my conversation with Lindsay. I needed to learn as much as I could about my situation. “Yeah, when I woke up, I was here.”

“Where were you?” she questioned. “Maybe someone saw and was able to call the cops.”

I shook my head. “It was super late. I had an argument with my... friend and wanted some fresh air so I went on a walk. Now I’m wishing that I hadn’t. Now I’m cold and bloody and naked.” Lindsay’s eyes flickered to my chest for a moment, causing me to realize that I was the only one naked here. She wasn’t fully clothed either--only outfitted in some underwear, but it was better than my literal nothing. I slipped my arms over my bare breasts, feeling awkward now.

Lindsay touched a sympathetic hand to my shoulder, pouting her already pouty lips and giving me these doe-eyes. “It’ll be okay,” she said. “You’ll get out of here.”

“You said the only way anyone leaves is if they’re dead.”

“Well, you’re still out of here.” Lindsay grinned broadly and then laughed when she saw the expression on my face. “I’m kidding. Maybe you can be the exception.”

I gave her a look. I was not an optimist--especially after what happened the last time when I dared to dream. “I’ll probably be here the second longest, instead.”

“Aww, don’t say that.”

“Uh, okay.”

“Shoot for the stars, kid. Maybe I’ll get killed, and then you can be the next one here the longest.” She spread her arms out, bloodied and scarred, as she proclaimed, “And I’ll pass on my legacy! Wouldn’t that be great?”

I brought my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them. “Do you want to die?”

She looked at me, bitterness in her smile. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Somehow, I understand.”

“That’s good,” Lindsay said. “It’s good to find someone who understands.”

“Yeah,” I echoed, thinking of Arthur and wondering if he ever understood me. “It is.”

Lindsay paused, dropping her arms and saying nothing more.

I felt bad for Lindsay. She looked like she couldn’t have been eighteen, nineteen. The innocence that should’ve been in her eyes was replaced with a dull shine, like a dirty rock. “Why are you here?” I finally asked her, tired of the silence.

“Oh, me?” Lindsay leaned against the wall, eyelids hanging low on her eyes. “Who knows anymore?” She laughed tartly.“I don’t even know myself. What was it that I did? I just remember being here.”

“Wow,” I muttered. “That... sucks.”

Would I end up like her? Alone? No memories of the past? I couldn’t even imagine that. As much as there were past of my past that I wished I could just delete, there some things that I just ever wanted to give up. Lindsay didn’t get that. She didn’t get the option to choose what she wanted to remember or not--she just had nothing.

I swallowed, wetting my lips with my tongue. “Um, what do we eat? Drink?”

“Nothing,” Lindsay answered blandly. “There’s none of that here. You’re never tired, hungry, thirsty, whatever, Just here. Existing.”

I stared at her, heart hurting. “Is there really no way for me to leave? Have you ever tried to escape?”

“Of course I have!” Lindsay shouted, features contorting with anger. “What is with you? Do you think I want to be here? That I’m happy here? I’m alone! All by myself, forever!” She leaned forward, putting her face in mine. “Don’t ask the obvious!” Then softer, “Don’t treat me like I never tried.” She looked up at me, countenance heart-breaking and soul-wrenching.

I looked down, pulling back a little. “I’m sorry.”

Lindsay shot back against the wall suddenly, regret clear in her expression. “No, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just, sometimes I get--sorry.”

“No, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “You shouldn’t have. But you did. And it’s okay, I’m over it now.” Lindsay’s woeful eyes met with mine, her lips downturning. “Tell me more about you.”

I blinked. More? Why? What else did she need to know? Then I realized that she probably only knew things from the outside when people told her about them. “Yeah,” I answered. “Of course.”