Its filthy, clawed hand traced over his cheek as it encouraged him, its breath warm and saccharine. "Just do it, love," the demon's voice was enticing. "It will be quick; you won't even feel a thing."
Even if it was painless, what would come after?
"No one will notice," it said in a deceptively light tone. "No one will care."
Arthur flinched away from where it was tracing over his lips, sending it a glare past rosy, tear-stained cheeks. "People will care," he insisted forcefully.
"Oh…!" the revelation was drawn out as the demon leaned back, "You're thinking of him." As it spoke, the claws caressing his neck morphed into something tenderer, rounder―soft fingertips. "Dear Alfred."
Of course. Who else could he have been thinking of? His parents? They didn't care for him more than the day that they'd left him at the orphanage. His friends? What friends were those? It was his own fault that he didn't have any, with his acerbic and callous attitude.
"He doesn't love you." The demon's blunt and cold words wrenched Arthur from his thoughts. Another sob wrested itself from Arthur's throat. "And you know I'm right; I can see into the hearts of men."
Arthur could only force himself to look at the demon for a moment, but it was enough to see the malicious glint in those familiar cobalt eyes. He trembled.
"Poor Arthur," it cooed, its lips brushing against his cheekbone. "What's it like to have your love unrequited?"
"Go away," he tried once more, his voice feeble and his resolve frail.
"I will never go away," it hissed, its hand holding his in place around the gun. "I will always be with you every minute of every day until you pull the bloody trigger."
It's your fault.
He couldn't see it, but it didn't matter. He could still hear it speak to him in whispers, he could still feel it dig its claws into his forearms.
He's gone and it's your fault.
"Shut up!" He snarled, ripping his hands away from his own arms. The scratches that had been carved into his arms stung, warm blood welling up from them.
So much anger. So much hate. It almost sounded gleeful.
He flipped over, slamming one of his pillows over the back of his head.
Pull yourself together, Alfred dearest. Is one boy worth losing all that you've worked for? Worth losing everyone else?
His fingers dug into the pillow, curling into fists, but the whispers only grew louder in his head, crescendoing.
He's gone, Alfred. He's gone. He'll never come back and you won't see him again.
Tension and fury coiled in Alfred's stomach as he felt its claws skim lightly over the small of his back.
Save for in Hell.
Alfred twisted towards the apparition, screaming, "Get the fuck out of my head!" He flung the pillow, which soared across the room and dislodged a picture frame from the wall. It shattered on the ground, sprinkling small shards of glass across the floor.
He trembled in rage, tears streaking down his cheeks as he waited for the voice to return.
All was silent.