The Reality Of Nightmare (LBGT+)

Chapter 3

"Mortal clothes, mortal, mortal, mortal I am!" I shriek.

Crying out in frustration, letting my hands drop, the dirty water splashes me on my face and I groan. I have landed on a dirt, and what surprised me was I fell lightly. But still, it splashed my clothes with dirty brown liquid. I stink. I can practically deathly smell of my clothes, and it's clinging onto me like a heavy, draggy perfume. The sky is at peace, clouds move, or rather the Earth. I clench my hands by my side, not bothering to stand up and find any shower that can take the smell away from me.

I scan the area around me, and find that I'm in sort of a forest area. Trees loom over me, taller, as if it's taunting me. The way the leaves rustle, and the way the wind carries them, I sense already that there's something wrong.

Now that demons can freely roam all over the Earth as the Land of Second Chances has been tainted and basically destroyed, it gave them a chance to slip and get into Earth. Everybody is not safe, not even me. I don't need to look into the mirror to see how mortal I am, how my powers have been stripped off of me and make me as humanly as possible. There are a lot of ways I can gain my father's trust, and who knows, maybe in a day or two, or within a week, he'll let me go back to the Angel's Home and give me my powers back.

"Léandre – right," I immediately cut myself off, realizing that Léandre, my servant, is not here to serve me at all. I got used to Léandre being around me, being my friend, but ever since he met his werewolf lover, I was suddenly alone. I am suddenly alone. Standing up, my mortal clothes sticking up on me like it's glued on my skin, I frantically search for any signs of life here. But the place is empty. It reeks of nothing. Sighing out loud I begin to move myself forward. I will accomplish nothing if I just stay here and do nothing but to whine like a little kid that has been neglected of treats. Muttering under my breath as I walk through the forest, the air suddenly gets cold, making me feel chilly. I wrap my arms around myself, focusing my eyes straight ahead. There's a rustle of leaves behind me and I whip around hastily, squinting my eyes. No one. When I turn around, a scream escapes my lips and a man laughs. "Holy Hell, who the Hell are you?"

The man has a dark brown hair, so dark it looks almost black, but when you take a look closer, you will see that it's really brown and not black. The man has a chiseled jaw, stubbles filled his chin, unshaved, but you can clearly see how gorgeous he is. I'm not really gay and I haven't been interested in men in a s****l way, but this guy is making me question it. Of course I'm just threatened. Just because I'm an Angel doesn't mean I don't get jealous. The man's brown eyes, so dark that, just like his hair, it looks almost black, like he has no irises at all. A chilly feeling runs up and down my spine, making me shudder. The man is topless, showing me his sun-kissed skin and six-pack abs, and the happy trail that leads from his belly button disappearing into the band of his underwear.

It looks like the man has been running, jogging, exercising, considering the beads of sweat running down across his forehead and chest, down to his abs. I look away, feeling suddenly awkward. I'm not exactly ogling this man, no, not at all. It's just that I desire to have that body. The proud V of his hips is visible, and once again, I look away. From his point of view, I can practically see that he thinks I'm checking him out, admiring his body and gorgeous face, but I am not. Perhaps this is one of the side effects of being mortal. When you become a mortal, or if you are a mortal, you're freely exposed to sins and other demonic stuff.

He has a bottle, half-empty of water, in his left hand and the way he stares at me, the way his eyes twinkle, this guy is basically giving me the creeps. "My, my, my, snarky mouth, you have there." The man's voice is teasing, mocking me, and I shoot him an icy glare, crossing my arms across my chest and staring at him, as if I'm willing to burn him to ashes. But he just looks at me with amusement in his eyes. The man shakes his head, offering his free hand to me. "My name's Slate."

There's something about his voice that draws me, and I lean into him, taking a sniff of his manly, mixed with the sweat, scent. He still smells good. "My name is Adrian." I murmur, giving him my nickname instead of my angel name. He chuckles, as if sensing me that I am smelling him, which is so obvious by the way. I pull myself back, glaring at him and arching a brow.

"What happened to you, Adrian?" he asks me, his voice sending a tingling sensation inside me. I refuse to look at him in the eye, instead I focus what's behind him. It's a house, a cabin. There's a swing, the ropes connected to the ceiling. From what I can see the cabin is a bit old now, as if it has been standing there since the beginning of 1900s. Of course I wasn't born at that time yet, because I have only been born 17 years ago. As if on cue, Slate turns his head, looking at the house with a blank expression, then he turns his face back at me. "You want to go to my cabin and use the shower there? It seems like you need it."

"Yes, I do." There's no point in lying. Angels don't lie, but I do sometimes. I do sins sometimes, but I repent when Zadkiel, the angel of prayer, makes me feel guilty. Plus, I really do need a bath, and I hope that Slate has a few clothes to spare for me because I need it as well. I can't go walking like this, wearing dirty, stinky clothes.

Slate turns around, his back facing me now. The muscles of his back are beautifully sculpted, and I have this urge to run my fingers across his back, to check whether it's soft against the pad of my fingers or not. There's something about his presence that makes me question his attitude towards me. He's not exactly rude, but he's... hard-headed, I can feel it. Because I am hard-headed as well.

"Well, follow me." Slate motions for me to follow him, which I gladly do without any hesitation, or giving it a second thought. Slate is being nice to me. He offered me a bath to use, and he might offer me clothes to wear for the mean time.

We enter the cabin, and the smell of roasted chicken fills up my nose and my stomach grumbles. Slate turns around, arches a brow at me, but a smile plays on his lips. I roll my eyes at him, but don't say anything. When people or an angel are being helpful to you, you should say thanks, not roll your eyes and make them feel bad for offering you a gift.

There are three bean bags placed in the center of the living room, facing the huge plasma television. Behind those bean bags are a silver cushion, its pillows strewn everywhere around the room. There are no pictures hung on the wall that I have expected because I've seen that in movies; mortal people like to put pictures on the walls, but there are no pictures pinned on the wall. There's a couple of bottles scattered on the ground, and Slate just simply ignores it. Slate turns around and jerks his thumb behind his shoulder. "Turn right, fourth room is the bathroom. I'll lend you my clothes."

"Thank you," I say, smiling brightly. Something flashes in his eyes, and momentarily his eyes turn black. His kindness is something I should question, but that beautiful face of his blocks that path. As fast as it appeared, his eyes return back to its original color: dark brown, and I ignore it. Since I'm now mortal, stripped off of powers, it could be my mind is tricking me. I'm exposed to sins and demonic stuff, I think. "I'll go ahead."

I head to the direction where he jerked his thumb, and give him a nod as I pass him by. This is too easy, my mind screams at me, but I ignore the voice. Sometimes I think why I have been born an angel and not a human. Definitely there's something wrong the way I think. Sometimes I think like humankind has lost hope, but most of the times, I feel like they can still be lifted up, stripped off the sins in them. Now I'm a mortal, I feel and see things as a mortal and not an angel. I can feel that.

Reaching the bathroom, I immediately shut the door behind me and rest my back on the door, sighing out loud in relief as I see the shower and the soap and other bath stuff. I strip myself off, making a face once the stench of dirty water invades my nose. I hastily climb into the shower and open the faucet, groaning when I fail to turn it on after several attempts. Mortal stuff, I curse you!

There's a knock on the door and I immediately shut the shower curtain. I tell Slate to come in, and he tells me that he has brought me clothes. I thank him again, but something, through the curtains I see him, makes him freeze on spot and his demeanor changes... then he gets out of the room without saying anything.

After showering, I step out of the shower and notice the clothes he has lent me: a simple white t-shirt, a bit big for me, and sweatpants, a bit big for me as well... and boxers. Pink boxers. I groan out loud, cursing under my breath. I should be thankful. I should not be cursing. There's a towel placed just beside the clothes, folded neatly. The clothes and the towel are placed on the wooden table, connected on the wall.

I wear the clothes that Slate has lent me, not really liking the pink boxer, but it will do. There's nothing really I can do about it. Slate is kind enough to let me use his bathroom, lend me clothes, and... what's next? Surely food will be good, and I will thank him more than five times if he offers me food. I head back to the living room, and notice that Slate is nowhere to be found. I call out his name, but he doesn't answer. Frowning, I decide to head outside and find him. The smell of roasted chicken still lingers in the air, making my stomach grumble. Once I get outside, I begin to look for him, not really shouting his name. Who knows what creatures are living in the wilderness. There's a rustle of leaves, a twig of a branch, behind me and I whirl around, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.

Walking further into the wilderness, I see Slate meters away from me, his back facing me. He's still topless. As I'm about to call his name, a cold hand suddenly grips my shoulder and I let out a scream, making Slate turn around. I whirl around, and wish I didn't, because what's in front of me is a demon who has large, black wings, grinning up at me, fangs showing.

"Fallen angel," he hisses.

I have had training back at the Angel's Home, at the castle, and this is the time I should use it. I fist my hand and punch the demon in the stomach, but the stomach of the demon is hard as steel and I feel my bones of my fingers c***k. I yell in pain, glaring at the demon who just laughs at me.

"Seriously, Slate, you have adopted a fallen angel?" the demon asks Slate, who just shrugs, who is suddenly just beside me and I feel my heart races. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. He's a demon for Pete's sake!

"He's supposed to stay in the cabin, devour the roasted chicken, but I guess he got too curious," Slate says, his tone laced with amusement and curiosity. I scream in frustration, walking away from them. I'm trying to be brave here. I'm just a mere human, and the fact that my powers have been taken away from is enough for them to have a huge advantage on me. They could easily kill me as they could kill a human, or pet, or bird, or a dog. My heart still races, pounding hard against my chest. The demon hisses again, not Slate, but Slate tells him something. "Let him, Aeshma. See you soon, Hadraniel!"

Slate's voice rings in my ear, and I break into a run, screaming at the top of my lungs. I hear Slate laughing, his voice echoing in the wilderness and I block my ears with my hands, pressing as hard as I can. I run, not having any idea of where to go, or which path I should take. I just run as fast as I can, so I can get away from them as far as possible.

When I'm on the road, a car is heading my way, and I immediately stretch my arm out, trying to get the driver's attention, which I succeed. The driver pulls and stops in front of me, rolling down the windshield of the door, looking at me with furrowed brows.

"Can you please help me? I'm lost." I say, pouting and looking frantic.

The man looks at me, unsure whether he should help me or not. "Sure, hop in."

I immediately find the handle to open the door. Ugh, mortal stuff, I curse you for the second time! But since the man sees that I'm struggling to open the door, he stretches his hand out and opens the door for me and I hastily climb into the passenger seat, demanding him to drive faster away from here, which he does. I look over my shoulder and suddenly Slate emerges out of the wilderness, now standing on the road. He gives me a wink and mouth: See you soon, angel.