Satan's Affair
A small smile graces his lips. In another life, he’d fit right in with my henchmen. He’s beautiful and terrifying all in the same breath, inhaling terror and exhaling a haunting beauty. It hurts to look at him. His face is scarred, his eyes are unsettling. A hard life lingers on the edges of his mouth. His beauty can only be seen on the face of the Devil. Tempting, but would eviscerate you in a matter of seconds.
“Your soul is made of brimstone and fire,” I whisper, stepping closer to him. “Come to me, little demon. I’ll show you what the devil really looks like.”
His smile widens and he meets me halfway, blocking every one of my strikes with ease, but not managing to make any hits of his own, either. We’re nearly evenly matched.
I’ve been fighting my entire life. Fighting Daddy and his punishments. Fighting to get out of a dangerous cult, just to fight the demons that riddle this Earth with filth. I’m no stranger to using my hands to defend myself no less than I use them to kill.
I manage to land a fist across his cheek. He doesn’t flinch from the impact but absorbs it like the towels Timothy uses to clean up demon blood.
He looks at me, his eye twitching with anger. He pauses, and despite my brain screaming at my body to keep fighting, my limbs freeze as well. And just like before, his hand whips out, striking like a viper and crunching straight into my nose.
My head snaps back as sharp pain explodes across my face. Stars dot my vision, and the force of his punch sends me stumbling backwards. My slippers lose their traction, and I’m falling backwards.
Blood spurts from my nose and I let loose a frustrated squeal.
The fucking audacity! The nerve of this lowly parasite!
I glare at him and bare my bloody teeth.
“I will fucking kill you,” I threaten. I spit out a mouthful, not enjoying the taste of my own blood any more than the blood of monsters.
 
; “Yeah, you said that,” he mutters, before storming past me, whipping open the door and storming into the hallway.
I scramble upwards, expecting to see Jackal hauling him back into the room. But that doesn’t happen. I hear a grunt, and by the time I’m skidding out into the dark hallway, Jackal is flat on his back.
“Jackal!” I screech, stomping my foot. Squeals of laughter filters through, and I slinker back into the room before someone catches me. I breathe in deep—through my mouth—and breathe out. My nose is throbbing and clogged with blood. Blood that is still painting my face and dress in rivulets of crimson. No one would look twice at me in a setting like this, but I don’t want my face to be seen.
Gently, I prod my nose, finding that it’s completely broken.
No matter. Daddy has broken my nose a few dozen times.
“You act like a demon, I’ll make you look like one, too, Sibel.”
I take a deep breath, position my hands and snap the bone back into place. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, willing the tears to go back down. It doesn’t matter that I’ve felt that pain before, it still really fucking hurts.
I stomp my foot again, this time to release some of the pent-up anger swirling like a Cat 5 hurricane in my chest cavity. Filling it as steadily as the blood filled my dress.
I’m going to slice this revolting parasite open, piece by piece until he’s chopped into a million different pieces.
Crawling back into the wall, I storm through the hallways, checking the rooms to see where my prey has run off to. I stop short when I see the man in the same room as the four older men and the wife.
A smile grows on my face, and excitement drums in my pulse, quickly replacing the anger. I squeal, not caring if they hear me, and run towards the door. I hear the man I had just attacked groan in what sounds like frustration. He must’ve heard my delight and sensed me coming.
Just as I thought, when I quickly crawl into the room, the man is already staring at me. Frustration and anger are evident on his scarred face.
“For the love of God, please leave me alone,” he says.
“God has nothing to do with this, silly,” I chirp, giggling at his evident anger at seeing me again. What did he think I’d do, just let him go? How cute.
The four older men all turn towards me, shock splayed across their faces. One of them remembers himself and smooths his face into what should look welcoming. He has white hair like the rest of them but wields sharp baby blue eyes. If I dissected those eyes, I’m sure I’d find that they have seen all kinds of sick and depraved things. Things done by his own two hands, sporting an evil smile on his wrinkled face.
He lifts his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey there, we’re incredibly sorry to linger. We were just talking. We’ll get out of your way so the other guests can come through.”
“I’d rather you stay,” I answer. My eyes clash with the wife’s, her green eyes round with fear. I try to convey that everything is going to be okay in a single look, but I think she’s too far in the depts of hysteria. I’m a bloody mess, and I don’t know what the scarred man was saying to these men, but it has the woman shaken.
It’s physically impossible for me to take on all of these men at once. Especially if the scarred man is here, too. I barely held my own against him, and in the end, he got away.