Page 50 of Demon

“Forgotten something?” I asked, glancing at her chest and the white bra that she’d neglected to remove.

Ciara rolled her eyes, but pulled her arms around her back, unclasping the matching white lace that covered her perfect tits. Hiding those suckable pink nipples. The flesh moved a little. A tiny dip from where the bra supported them. Fuck, they were stunning. They were my favourite part of her. I would never get bored sucking on those. Ever. She smiled at me, something naughty glistening in her eyes. Fuck.

“Give me a minute,” I said, as she sat there with her tits staring straight at me. “Just gonna let Kinobi out for a wee. Then I’ll be right back.”

I could fucking swear that dog was taking the piss. Her head bobbed again, sniffing the patch of grass on the verge separating the pavement and the road. And still, she didn’t squat her little tan and black ass down. It had been a full five minutes and still no wee. Fuck’s sake. It would be daylight before I managed to bury my dick into Ciara’s tight cunt at this rate. Kinobi sniffed another piece of grass, raising her front paw slightly and then putting it down again and moving on.

Eventually, three stops later, she dropped, squatting to the floor, and releasing the longest wee I’d ever known her to have. It was as if she was forcing every drop of fluid from her body. And then, just like that, she stood up, back onto all fours, looked me sharply in the eye and turned, tugging me home. There was a message there. If I could be bothered to read into it.

By the time I padded into my room, after convincing Kinobi she was spending the night by herself in the fleecy bed in the living room, Ciara was breathing slowly. Her hands were tucked up under the side of her head, her pink lips pushed together. Peaceful. Stripping down to my boxers, I climbed in behind her, pulling her into the crook of my body, her flesh warm against me. She didn’t stir. Her breathing continuing in that slow, shallow rhythm.

I closed my eyes, listening to her next to me. But in the darkness, anger and fear gathered, swarming in the blackness of sleep that threatened to take me. And despite the peaceful beauty lying next to me, I could see the men that held her still, saw the hand cutting off her clothes, and the slashing of the knife. Headless apparitions finding their way into my mind, stoking the anger I’d done my best to hide from Ciara. And now, as her heart slowed into that gentle sleep, mine marched on into the night, full of vengeance, rage and a sprinkling of anxiety. Sleep was as elusive as ever.

Chapter Twenty Three

Ciara

I rolled fully over, the bed soft underneath me, but cold, like Demon had got out of it hours ago. Daylight peeked around the edge of the blind, infiltrating the darkness of the room just enough that shadows were a mix of greys, not the swarm of engulfing black.

For a moment, I let myself drift off. Demon’s bed was so comfy. Mine was ages old and probably half dead. I’d bought a new mattress for it when I moved in, but the base was nearing ancient and creaked and groaned under the slightest movement. I should stay where I was and reap the benefit of the comfort underneath me and capitalise on the best sleep I’d had in ages.

But then, creeping from the darkness at the back of my brain, the memories stalked forwards. Of Trevor and the last time I’d seen the old man. Of the despair on Jimmy’s face, how it pooled from him, infecting me with the pain of loss. And now sleep was long gone, replaced by the deep, heavy thrum of grief.

I pushed back the duvet, cool summer’s air rushing to meet my naked skin. Demon’s wardrobe stood to my right, mirrored sliding doors whirring gently as I pushed one aside. I raked through his clothes. Leather jackets, denim and hoodies hung carefully from the rail, and a set of drawers inside filled with t-shirts, socks and those tight designer boxers he liked to wear, that peeked out the waistband of his jeans frequently. But it was the grey hoodie at the far side of the wardrobe that caught my eye, and I pulled the soft cosy fabric over the top of me.

The flat above the tattoo shop was quiet and demon dog was nowhere to be seen. Although that didn’t fill me full of confidence. I was bound to come face to face with the damn thing as I rounded a corner. But when I rounded that corner, it wasn’t the dog I saw first. It was Demon, bent over the kitchen table, his hand moving on something in front of him. The dog was asleep at his feet. Sound asleep, not even stirring as I padded almost silently closer.

He was drawing. I could just make out the papers on the table, his hand moving quickly over an area, shading something in. I remember being taught to shade at school. Although I can’t remember which school I’d been moved around that much, it was difficult to keep track, but the memory flickered in the back of my head, embers reigniting.

I took another step. It was a face. A woman’s face. And another step. Not just any woman’s face. It was my face that stared back at me over his shoulder. Another step. It was my face all over the papers that covered the kitchen table. Different positions, different expressions, but as I looked down from right behind him, it was me I saw littered across the surface.

My stomach dropped. Fear igniting now. Deep and heavy, sending my stomach into freefall. Why?

“Why?” the word sounded so loud in the quiet.

The dog raised its head and Demon turned his, dropping his pencil like a kid just caught graffitiing something they shouldn’t.

“Ciara,” he said, delaying, startled.

“Why am I all over your table?” my voice was harsh as I tried to keep the wobble of fear from the words. “What is all this?”

“You.”

“I know it’s me. But why?”

Fuck. I shouldn’t be standing here asking questions. I should be putting some clothes on and legging it. But if I moved too fast, that dog might get me. Savage me. Rip me to shreds. I took a step backwards. And another. Slinking away. Retreating. Backwards out of the room and into the hallway.

The chair scraped across the floor, Demon rising to his feet.

“Ciara,” he said, turning towards me. “Ciara.” He held his hand out. Another step. Put the distance between us. “Ciara. I’m just drawing you.” Another step. “For fuck’s sake. Let me explain.”

My heart was bounding in my throat, each beat making me feel I would gag with the pressure. Demon’s long strides had already closed the gap. The dog too, walking to his heel, like a fucking hellhound itself. I could just run out of the door. Into the street. Someone would see me. Someone would help. My scar twitched. Someone hadn’t helped the last time. Someone had walked past and left me to be assaulted. It had been a homeless guy who’d raised the alarm, eventually. When I staggered out that back lane with blood spilling down my face. Someone who had owed me nothing.

Demon was in front of me now, his arms stretching out, fingers wrapping around the tops of my shoulders. The dog staring up at me.

“Ciara. Just wait a second,” his voice was calm. “Please. I know what it looks like. I know it makes me look crazy. Iamfucking crazy. But please. Please listen.”

I nodded. I couldn’t swallow and I couldn’t speak. The heart filling my throat wouldn’t allow it.