4 One After Another (1/2)

Something square and hard jagged against my head. It fell down on the floor and turned out to be books—big binding books. Slowly pushing myself out of the heavy heap, I stacked it one after another beside me wondering at the colorful hardcopies that were covering my body without reasons.

How did I end up in here?

There was no light but, looking around, I found myself in the familiar space of my bedroom. I switched on the white neon-light and checked all the doors and windows which were well locked. Everything was in order.

I went over to mum's room—it was fine. In the kitchen—nothing was out of normal. I got a pack of frozen spaghetti and ate. My stomach was empty. The house was empty. My head was empty.

I could not recall a thing. It was exceptionally peaceful.

My stomach was full now and I went back into my room to prepare a canvas. Getting into a mood, I used the paintbrush to mix blue and black acrylic colors, then spread the indigo on the pale sheet in front of me. The emptiness on the canvas started to fill and, slowly, so did my head.

My hand was unconsciously drawing a guy with wings—wait, what!

It was that night!

I grabbed a big walnut patterned sheet and threw it over the unfinished painting, too scared to look at it any longer. My head started to rearrange the events from yesterday night in which I went to see Dale but got a curse, this morning in which I stalked the monster but was found out, and just now in which I was drawing in such a joyful mood but it turned out to be the picture of that monster! Everything went wrong one after another.

I remembered now. I ran home after that monster threatened me. I locked every entrance and got myself squashed by heaps of books to feel safe before falling asleep—no, fainting.

Light chilly air touched my neck. I swiveled my head and saw the curtain flying with the current of cool night wind that came through the opened window. I chuckled—

I had locked every doors and windows and now it was open.

Everything went wrong one after another!

”Hey,”

I quickly turned to the direction of the voice, jaws hung like a fool with disbelief. There, at the edge of my bed, s—sat Dylan Ziarre!

”H—how did you get in?” I asked, voice quavering, felt a little—no a lot!—spooked.

”Now, now, before you run away or cry or scream again, let me tell you, I mean no harm.” said Dylan as he stood up and took of his jacket showing sleeveless warm grey shirt. He advanced toward me.

I fell back a little. ”How can I trust you? You—you are—”

”I'm a demon.”

Huge gust of wind appeared out of nowhere. It surrounded Dylan Ziarre like a hurricane. I had just noticed that he did not have bandages on his head. So when his black hair was rising with the wind, a mark similar to that on the forehead of mine was imprinted there. It casted a bright blue radiance that temporarily blinded my eyes. When I regained my sight, a pair of huge obsidian wings was whirling elegantly on his back where it then rested shiny and shimmering. His black marble pupils had turned into jewel of the sea, brilliantly sparkling with colors of blue and green.

Many glowing circular symbols appeared on the floor, under my feet where I stood and under his. My legs refused to move me and the plaster flew away in the unnatural currents. Despite the bright lights that pulsed over my eyes, all I can felt was calmness and coolness as if this wave of light had washed away all my worries and pains. When the symbols on the floor disappeared and the magic-light died down, the weird identical mark to that on Dylan's head had vanished.

I was about to shout with glee when he said,

”Now, that's done. Our contract.”

I had a hard time getting to my voice. ”Wha—what? Contract? I'm GONNA DIE!”

”What! Why? Why?” Dylan almost shouted too.

”Because you'll kill me!”

”No!” Dylan put his face in his black hand. (Heck! From his elbows until his hands were black!) ”I said I won't harm you!”

”No, you won't!” I began to sob. ”You'll kill me!”

”I won't kill you!”

That did shut me up.

The demon sighed, ”Just relax and listen okay?” and he threw himself on my bed. ”I'm a demon,” he began once again, ”don't freak out just yet! We, demons, usually do not show our real selves to people like you unless—” There was quite a long pause and the pessimistic thought almost taken over me again. 'Unless we want to kill you' was what I had in mind but he continued at quite a different topic, ”—we like you.”

I startled. ”Y—you like me?”

”Of course not! How could I? You—you're—”

”I'm what?”

”Anyway,” he quickly changed the subject. ”we only show ourselves to people we choose, people we like, because human who witnesses our true form has to make a contract with us.”

Curse and contact kind of mingled up in my head and I wondered if it was a 'contract for the curse' or 'curse of the contract.' ”W—what sort of contract?”

”The contract which enforces me to serve under you,” he pressed his lips. ”to protect you, to help you out of any troubles or dangers, A.K.A., your bodyguard.”

”I don't want a slave!”

”I said bodyguard!” Dylan groaned. ”Look. I don't know how you saw me like this in the first place but this thing,” he put his index on where the mark used to be. ”—came up yesterday, and that means I'm already tied with someone. I just didn't know who it was! And never thought it'd be you!”