Knock, Knock. Who’s there?

FAY

If I have to describe what just happened with Donna, a list of uncomfortable words comes to mind. Cold. Heart twisting. Dark. Hurtful. Shame.

Curiously, "pleasant" lingers around there, too.

A few years back, I never would have imagined this word in the top million suddenly appearing high in the charts.

But water's gone under the bridge since amistakeof mine, and the word "pleasant" might require reconsideration.

And, if someone had told me two years ago that I would be "seeing" this orc, my mistake wouldn't have been one because I would've never dared to fumble into my dark mind, for starters. No. I won't let anything get the better of me. I may feel like shit, but that's it. That's it... Sucking in my breath, I watch Donna's back shift at the entryway, the thought of her reaction earlier...her pain hitting me like a ton of bricks. Never realized how much I hurt her.

My nails dig into my palm, a reminder of my screw-ups flowing on others. Nails sink into my palm, taking a pulse. Pulse. I'm alive thanks to her...

I only took one pill. One. No. I no longer want to spell myself out in a forever sleep. I want to be strong for them. Be the lifeline they deserve in return. And I will.

I am.

I'm smiling like an idiot, and I don't care.

And exhaling to my satisfying contemplation, Tyke beams into my thoughts. His bones and heart carry unimaginable strength, and it gilds his gaze in gold, which makes the whole of him an armor of mettle, bulletproof. It might have been hard to stay alive before, but now Tyke's making it harder for me to want to die. Life's essence is no longer rancid; it's galvanizing, and I'm no longer afraid to lose my loved ones.

I know what you're thinking, that I used to despise cheesy, love-drooling-inducing flings. But here's the thing... it's not a fling with Tyke.

Leaning over, I pick up the phone on my rug and shut my eyes for two seconds, an inner prayer playing on loops in my head.

I open them again. "Please, just one," I mutter as I scroll through my chats. It's an epic fail, because all I manage to do is track down Tyke's moth-eaten texts from two weeks ago. I know I should stop doing this, but it's beyond my control, a force greater than my tense grip wrapping around my screen.

Nothing...

Deep breath, Fay.

Nothing.

Release your lungs!

No updates. It's cool. I'm cool with it. I grab the nearest pillow and scream into it. It's not enough. After throwing this pastel-green pillow across the room, I rush over and trample it to death.

Pinching my oxygen, I unload it in a whirlwind of rage.Tyke!

I was at least expecting a text—a "Hi, bug," if not more.

Bang!

I jump, nearly knocking my head against the ceiling from an emotional take-off. "Donna, all okay?"

"There's..." Donna's breathing is rapid, as if she needs a paper bag.

Curious, I head out for the living room, my foot silently dying as I walk on one of my wireless earbuds scattered on the floor. I fell asleep with those.No idea how they ended up down here...

Stilling, I find a very odd scene before me. Donna stumbles on her bag, takes the shortest route to the kitchen, yanks a stool out from under the island, and plops down. "He..."

She's rubbing her face as if exfoliating it.

"Who was it?" I dare, inner clasping my face. What if it's Vym?!

There is a mumble beneath her hands. "It's... Derek? Denis? No, Derin."

"Who?" My frown steepens at the mention of Derek—he was a real dick. Then my lip tries to smirk at the name Denis. I don't think it's him, because that ended badly. No one likes to have their wedding proposal turned down, right? But the unknown name of Derin agitates my face utterly. "Who?"

She's shifting, adorable brown wolf ears meddling with her hair, making her look distraught, flat on her skull.

"The one that gave you the hospital kinda hug!" she cry-barks.

"Deon?"

"Yeah... Deon." I'm pretty sure I had good blood flow going on not even a second ago, but it fizzed into thin air and my legs have now liquified. At least I can feel my feet, though. I'm just going to settle them here, flat on the ground, and not move until my pulse slows down. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Ding dong!

"He's still there?"

"Probably..."

What should I do? Leave through the window. Fly away, far!

I take a closer look at my roommate. Donna's cussing things too low to fully understand her gibberish. Perhaps a "fuck" here and a "can't be happening" there, but that's all I can really make out.

I unglue my soles from the parquet and whiz toward her.

Gently, my palm lands on her back. She's taking things too personally. "I'm well. It was a mistake; a drug is the main culprit in this story," I say, running a hand up and down her back. But her face stays nested in her hands, refusing to move. "I've known Deon for a while, and there have never been any red flags, aside from his sexual drive. The man sure loves collecting his women." My joke comes out stiff.

"No, no... this can't be happening," she brambles, dropping herself entirely on the marble counter, tightly gripping her head.

Realigning my confused brows in a semblance of indifference, I raise my head, grappling a bit of dignity, and wobble toward my impending doom, an unwelcome monster stranded behind it.

Shit... I don't want to see him.

A second spritz of anxiety jives up my back. It's biologic. My T-shirt immediately clenches at my back as sweat streams down the trench of my spine. It's tingling and enervating at the same time.

I stall at the door. Slap. Slap. Slap. Spanking my elastic band on my wrist feels mildly therapeutic. Nevertheless, I cannot move.

Get it together!

The most important thing is to keep a straight face. If I keep my muscles soft long enough, I might be able to suppress this urge to slate this mongrel.

I open the door, and as I say, "Hi," I realize I forgot to work on my voice. It's mollified!

A bouquet of green daisies is shoved into my face, which I instinctively grab—it's a self-defense mechanism more than anything else––and remove a petal from my tongue. "For you," I catch behind the flowers.

My nostrils flare to this disarming yet brutal gesture. "Thanks."

Removing his hood, Deon clamps down on the drawstring ends, holding them like little girls' pigtails. I watch him. For the moment, his eyes are trying to see through the floor. "Got my other flowers?"

More like a field of them. "Yes."

"Had the space?" Deon smiles shyly, scratching his head like he's got a flea infestation.

"Hardly," I say, lips flat, containing a smile that could ruin my frigid performance.

I notice wiggles and puppy cries at my feet, though not as much as the tongues cladding my legs. But these wee tongues disperse whatever I was doing or feeling.

"Cerberios! My baby." With the bouquet under my arm, I crouch to this ball of sweetness, and take it all in,theirpuppy kisses cleaning my face, paws scratching my arms,hisneedy want to get picked up and cuddled.

"Mmpf,you're growing fast, littledemons," I huff, trying to get back on my legs, a big load of sandy fur in my arms.

"Fay..."

I stare at Deon, his black gaze, a twinkle of blue dotting them, heaven's imprint... but then cling to the dog, vomiting, "Idontwanttospeaktoyou," which comes out like a torrent of gritty undecipherable stress.

But then, his face, the black eyes, and his beautiful set of horns that are no more make my arms go soft. With Cerberus slipping down my legs, I nix his tortured expression, and my lips part. It's impossible not to reach out and touch him.

Deon winces and shrugs away. "I don't remember what happened..." he whispers in the solemn tone of a dying man.

For now, my immovable glare is sunk deep in his fleeting one. Try harder...

"If I had the chance to go back in time, I would. I wouldn't hurt you, Fay... I-I would never ever hurt a?—"

"What happened to you?" My fingers tap back and lightly glide down a split brow, a faint black cheek, and the dried scab of a very cut lip.

"I'm fine. Don't worry." Deon wraps his hand around mine, fingers gently folding, thumb stroking the same spot on my wrist every time he holds it. "Fay..." This warmth again—whenever his skin touches mine, my mind settles. "Even if you forgive me, I'll still crave your forgiveness. I'll never be free from shame. I hate myself; I can't even look at myself in a mirror. I dread going out, the embarrassment of my existence... It's insufferable. I'm your forever servant, Fay. Please..."

Yes, Deon is a gargoyle, a monster whose blood is said to be tainted with angel tears. A species born to repel whatever darkness hangs around—nothing but a myth, albeit a beautiful one...

"Don't shut me out."

What an idiot.

"I'm not going to shut you out..." I know, but it's stronger than me. And I'm certainly not going all drama on him. No, I'd rather put this mess in the past once and for all.

I huff as two solid arms wrap around me. "Fuck's sake, Fay. I'm so sorry."

First, I am a wooden slab, the plancha with red hot chili peppers burning up my anger. But then, what else can I do, especially when I catch genuine shudders, Deon's embrace constricting ever more as his breathing catches... could very well be sweating blood at this stage.

Shuffling a little, I step back because the longer his hugs last, the weirder they get.

Deon lowers my hand and cocks his head to one side, all beady-eyed. He coughs oddly and clears his throat. "So... uh, was that your roommate?"

"Yeah?"

"S-she um... Is she, um... okay?"

"Donna?" My attention flits behind my shoulders, where Donna is chugging a massive glass of wine. "I think... yes. Yes, she's fine." I swing my head back, dryly spitting, "So, are we done?"

"I'm just so sorry. It's?—"

"Stop."

Deon tucks in his lips, tilting on the left. Now, he's tilting to the right, like one of those calming rotating objects on your car's dashboard.

A simper escapes me. I guess the frosty bitch attitude will be for another time. "I know. We're cool. It's Glow. I kinda joined the dotted lines. This drug is all over the news."

"No, there's something else," he says coldly, looking at his shoes.

I hold my breath, even more so when Deon lifts his dark gaze, too intense for lips not to part at them. "You could've told me you were dating Tyke."

Deon knows Tyke?

Fuck.

Deon knows Tyke!

Fucking fantastic. My hips sway on the left, and, despite efforts to pump down rising acid, my throat warms. "And why's that?"

"He's my partner, Fay."

Just like that, my brain fizzles. Or is it my heart flatlining? I bite my lip and the smile that goes with it.Fucking mother of gods!"I... I didn't know."

"Well, he got to know."

"Your horns..."

Deon smirks uneasily. "Yes. Tyke liked one so much that he kept it. The other is collateral damage." In an apparent stretch-like motion, he massages his head, twists his neck, and brings his shoulders to his ears.

"Deon, I thought you came to apologize. But now, I'm not too sure."

"Was walking around the block and decided to come say hi. Ya know, stuff like that." It's all fake. He has too wide an eye, his smile too tense, and Cerberios, a stellar lie detector, keeps growling at his feet.

"Get to the point, Deon. It's eleven p.m."

He takes a deep breath and locks it in when he sees me cross my arms. "Okay," bursts out of him. His face slants down to the ground, and mine is crinkling again. "I'm your officially appointed babysitter."

Of course. "Tyke?"

"Yes."

I chuckle.What an idiot.

My heart aches for this poor guy, so I take the shot, swallowing my cave-like feelings down as hard as I can. My hand enlarges the door, my invitation forcing a grin. "You wanna come in?"

"No!"erupts at my back.

Deon keeps fiddling with the leash. "Is it Donna?"

"Yes... What did you say to her?"

"Nothing. She's single?"

My head leans forth, muscles fainting. "Excuse me?"

"Is she single?"

I close my hanging jaw, retract my head from this audacity, and pause on him.

Deon keeps peering behind my shoulder, and my little smile can't help but grow. "Do you have any plans this Sunday?"

"Sunday? I don't know."

"Up for a party? Our flat, nine p.m."

His brow scrunches. "A party on a Sunday night?"

"Donna hates her job. It's her way to middle-finger Monday, I suppose. And, um, she needs to release some steam. You know, work stuff and all..." A well-known fact about Donna is that she will do anything to extend her weekend.

"Sure. Will Donna be there?"

I puff across my jiving smile.Why do you think I'm inviting you in the first place?"She lives here."

Deflecting an angelic, candid yet short smile, Deon nods. "Yeah. Ignore me..."

Stepping back, I begin to close the door, eager for this freakish exchange to be over. "See you around."

"Wait!"

"What is it?"Please, nothing that screams, 'Again, I'm sorry.'

"Are you seeing a vampire?"

His question is blunt enough that my gaze soldiers on him.Their sense of smell..."I'm only seeing Tyke... we're official. But I made a friend."

"Sweet. Will he be at the party, too?"

It sure sounds like a good idea. It's all about making friends for Vym, so why not? "Maybe."

He inhales deeply, puts his hood back on, then fastens the Velcro straps around his once-upon-a-time horns. "Let's catch up on Sunday." He tugs the leash and strolls down the corridor, and as I watch him leave, I can't help but note that he's being weird today.

Deon turns and hisses, "Fuck!" as one of his enormous wings bends the wrong way. In his defense, it's a narrow corridor. Waving to me like I'm his math teacher or something, he says, "Bye."

Boy, this is awkward as hell. "Bye," I say, trying to keep my tone soft.

Here he goes. He's doing it again. Another wave. "Nine p.m., right?"

What's wrong with him? Is he still using?

"Right!" I give a thumbs up, cringing so hard my teeth are grating.

Deon calls the elevator and,one more time,turns and shouts, "Give my regards to Donna, will ya?"

Regards? Since when is he so formal?"Yeah, sure..."

I close the door, revolve on my heels, and freeze.

Donna's red eyes stab at my own, their veins crimson. There is no lack of color on her face, which is very red. But that's not all; wolf fangs have sprung out, ready to sever my flesh.

"You invited him?!" she growls, her savage grin a ninety-degree lip-corner-bend.

"Yeah..."

"I need a shower!" Shescrambles her hands over the counter, pushes herself up, and stomps to the bathroom.

That's what happens when you isolate yourself from the social realm. Adjusting back to monster interactions is the most bizarre of experiences...

I only went into hiding for ten days!