Page 51 of Demon

“I get angry. I’ve been having counselling for years, since I was a boy, trying to keep control of it. One of my coping mechanisms is drawing. I can channel it better. Control the outbursts. Draw what’s making me feel that way.”

“I make you angry?”

“No. Sometimes. You make me feel something I can’t explain.”

Demon reached around behind me, and I jumped. But he didn’t touch me, just turned the round handle, and pushed the door that was behind me open. The early morning sun was already lighting this room up. A room littered with pictures. Charcoal sketches, watercolour scenery and shadows and blood drawn onto canvas blocks in oil paints. Each was different, but each was similar. Dark figures dwelled on the paper, a scenery of shadows and chaos.

“All this,” Demon said again, “this is me coping. This is how I manage the anger. Mostly. Sometimes I can’t always control it.”

I nodded. Like the man he put through my car windows.

“These are all shapes and spectres.” My voice was a whisper, squeezing out through the panic that had swelled in my throat.

“I know. But after I met you, that anger turned to something else. It’s still anxiety, it still induces feelings in me that I don’t understand. So, when I tried to draw, to make it go away, you were the only thing I could see. The only thing that I could draw.”

“What happened in the night, then? What’s happening now? Are you angry?”

Demon shook his head. “What you told me last night about how you got that scar? That made me angry. Angry in a way I’ve never felt before. I can’t describe it. It was like I wanted to break something. Break someone. I tried to sleep but I couldn’t. So, I got up and started drawing.”

I studied his face. His dark eyes piercing mine, the slightest of flickers as he tried to read my expression in return.

“Please, Ciara. I’m not totally crazy. Just a little. And I can control that crazy. And I’m not going to hurt you. I could never hurt you.”

I bit my lip, the bottom one wobbling, emotions ricocheting inside of me. Fear. Uncertainty. Sadness. Even happiness. Frigging masochistic emotion that it was.

“Demon. I…”

“I promise, darlin’. I would never hurt you. I’m obsessed. You fill my mind and my paper.”

I nodded. At no one in particular. And then sighed. A long exhalation of air, releasing the anxiety and tension that had been filling my veins.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, embarrassment flushing on my cheeks. “Sometimes I just panic. Sometimes random things just set me off.”

“You don’t have to apologise for who you are, Ciara. I love you as you are.”

Love? Did he just say the ‘L’ word?

“Demon…I…”

Demon placed his finger against my lips.

“Shsssh. You don’t have to say it back. You don’t have to even feel the same way. But I’m in love with you, Ciara. I have been since the moment I set eyes on you.”

“Yeah, those short shorts have that effect on people.” I smiled. It was weak and unconvincing, but I tried.

“No. From the moment you got out of your car after you tried to run me off the road.”

“I didn’t run you off the road. I…”

Demon’s lips curled at one side, the smirk forming, his dark eyes lightening. Just a little. He said the ‘L’ word. No one had said that to me. Not once. Never in my whole life. And I didn’t know what to do with it. But I knew what my instincts were telling me, and that was to run. Run away. Far away.

Chapter Twenty Four

Demon

If I could have listed the emotions so obviously running across her face, I would have. I’d seen shock, fear, uncertainty, sadness and now panic. Her eyes had grown wide, big, beautiful brown orbs, staring back at me, not knowing what to do next. She looked ready to bolt and suddenly I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. My stomach lurched, apprehension brewing down deep.

“Ciara. I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”