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Blaring. Relentless. It was the only way you could describe it.
Feet pounded against the ground, laughter roared through your home’s—no, your house’s— thin walls. All of it confirming what you already knew: you were an afterthought.
Your phone’s glow engulfed you as you checked the time. 2:54 am. That late and still your mother and the grocery store man were having the night of their lives. Not you though. This night—no, this whole week—had been the most miserable you had ever been in your existence. You had been traversing unknown landscapes, fighting for your life against hellish Darkners, almost had your soul stolen by one.
Ha. ‘Your’ soul. The thought almost made you laugh.
You didn’t have one of those anymore. You hadn’t for a long time.
That soul that was almost stolen from you was from that… demon you summoned. It was a far better Kris Dreemurr than you were. It could make friends, make people laugh, make people actually like ‘you.’
But you never wanted to have your flesh worn by some thing. Every breath felt like drowning on land as it stole your oxygen from you. You hated this situation, you hated the parasite in your body, you hated who put you in this situation— No, no, Mrs. Holiday didn’t put you in this situation. When she told you to be a vessel for the Angel, she was helping you fix the mess you made. All those years ago, you did this to yourself when you failed to save Dess.
This was your punishment: you, no longer a person, and it, now you in body and name.
Of course, that was when you felt a gentle nudging against the back of your head. As you sunk deep into your hateful thoughts about the soul, of course it was the one who offered a hand to save you from drowning.
“... Go away.” Your voice was hoarse, fragile.
Again, it pressed into you. Its red glow wavered— Was that concern?
Bile crawled up your throat. You hated it. You hated that it pretended to care.
The words quietly slipped through your lips, “... Why do you even act like you care?” Then, the next line came clear, without hesitation: “I hate you.”
It hovered still above you like a hummingbird, deep in thought. You squinted, though even you were uncertain if you were trying to intimidate it or if its bright glow was really that harsh. Smoothly, the soul drifted through the air to your other side, facing you directly. It slowly inched its way toward you, and you held a bated breath.
The soul floated forward, nuzzling into your chest, between your arms.
You
cried.
The tears poured, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. Only now were you grateful for the obnoxious music downstairs—at least no one could hear your tears! Well, no one but the soul…
With the tears came broken laughter. How ironic that the thing you so vehemently hated was the only one here to comfort you.
...Was it pathetic that you wanted to lean into its warmth?