Page 193 of Satan's Spawn

When I step inside the shower, the water runs frigid, but I don’t shy away from it, accepting any temperature that cleanses me of remnants of the night.

Except it doesn’t; instead the cold water hitting my face wakes me up, heightens my senses, my memories.

My skin crawls with the reminders of the way Felix touched me, and when I open my mouth to rinse it, I can feel him inside me.

Scraping the walls of my throat.

Nausea stirs in my gut, the same as it did then, and all I can see is Felix’s distorted smile staring down at me.

Tormenting me.

Belittling me.

My chest squeezes, and I press my hand against it to ease the pain.

Reality floods my system once again, and all I want is to escape Felix’s cruelty.

He’s everywhere.

On me, beside me, inside me.

I scratch my arms, trying to rid the invisible bugs invading every surface of my body, not stopping even when my skin turns red and blotchy.

Tears flow steadily, my shoulders shaking with sobs as I become that helpless girl I was before Crayton saved me.

A bare chest hard as rock presses against me from behind, offering alleviation against the cold.

“Shhhh,” Crayton hushes, running his hands through my hair. “He’s not here, you’re okay.”

“Crayton,” I cry his name, turning to embrace his warmth.

He’s always so warm, no matter the condition of our surroundings.

I can’t tell if the water is changing, or if Crayton's touch brings a sense of comfort, allowing me to ignore the freezing limbs.

But either way the bugs are gone, and I’m calm.

Felix is gone, there’s only Crayton in the shower with me.

“I’m here, Little Ghost. I’m not going anywhere.”

I tilt my head up to look at him, all protective and serious.

I trail a finger down the black goat taking up his neck and sternum, the creepy fella not looking as intimidating as he used to.

I scan the rest of his front, since it’s the first time I’m getting a good look at Crayton bare.

There’s a snake wrapped around a human heart, a large skull with wings and some intricate script behind it, so tiny I can hardly read through the water running down the both of us.

But the latin quote just under his left nipple stands out to me. It’s a simple text, but the sound of it is beautiful.

I’ve taken Latin courses at the church Dad and I attended, but it was so long ago I can only decipher the first word.

The devil.

“Diabolus orationes respondet.” I trace the words with my finger, saying it out loud for both of us. “What does it mean?” I glance up at him again to find his jaw flexing.

“The devil answers prayers…” He mutters after a few seconds.