Title: Demons Don't Feel, but Humans do
Chapter title: Demon's
Regrets
By: Metis
E-mail m_metis@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13
Comments:
*sigh* The long-awaited 3rd Chapter… I know, it
took a year…
But guys,
rejoice for I have reconnected with my 'writing' self. Hope you guys like.
*Chapter 3—Demon's Regrets*
It was only natural. Trish shifted in the overflowing tub and stretched absently as her aching muscles relaxed against the constant lash of warm water. It was only natural that she felt drained. Except that…she never felt drained.
Detachedly, she lathered her supple body with bubbly soap and tried to recall exactly what had happened after she had forcefully gone home with Dante the night before. However, try as she might, the memory eluded her. Trish sighed and dipped herself lower into the inviting bath. She could worry about that later.
She guessed Dante was still in his blasted 'office', taking in requests and fulfilling them faster than his victims cared to know. As far as Trish was concerned, Dante was a bit out of it. Sure, he had his reasons for being so eccentric—fact that he was half-demon being one of them, but a lot of times Dante did things for no apparent reason, and that irked her.
Trish was the kind of person that wanted reasons to justify an action, and quite frankly, Dante did just about anything but justify himself. At one point, he had actually complained she was 'too righteous'. Well, Trish had shrugged in admittance--she did tend to be more honorable than was necessary.
Shifting again, Trish groaned when a sharp knock interrupted her peaceful relaxation. She tried to ignore it at first, thinking it was probably just her imagination, or maybe an overactive marionette. She smiled a bit at the thought.
"Trish!!" That time, the knock was accompanied by an aggravated tone of voice belonging to none other than Dante.
Drawing in a deep breath, Trish submerged herself underneath the balmy water before relenting to the young man's call. She was halfway out of the tub, top exposed, when the bathroom door was forcefully thrown open.
There stood Dante, tall and overbearing in his usual dark attire, face only slightly bewildered, hair askew. He studied her for a moment among the splintered pieces that had been the bathroom door, before looking away, a slight blush in his pale cheeks.
Momentarily, Trish thought she was in some sort of twilight zone. Dante…blushing? Well, that was certainly what it looked like.
So startled was Trish at Dante's small show of 'humanity', that she remained fixed on the spot, chest rising and falling slowly as she took in the scene before her. Then, just as suddenly as the half-demon had burst in through the door, a draft of cold air rushed in, making Trish shiver as the cold water of the tub lapped unsympathetically against the prickling skin of her waist.
Biting her lower lip to keep her teeth from chattering, Trish rose tentatively out of the bath, trying her best to look nonchalant as she brushed past Dante towards the cabinet. Once there, she made idle work at finding a clean towel to wrap about herself. Fully clothed and only slightly denigrated, Trish turned curiously towards Dante.
"What was that all about?" she asked, her voice surer than she felt.
"I thought you were dead," came the reply, the voice cold despite the underlying meaning of the words. Making sure that she was fully clad, Dante shot the girl a quick glimpse before turning his body in her direction once more.
"You've been in here a long time."
Trish raised an uninterested eyebrow. So, Dante had been—what was the word—oh, concerned about her?
"It's only been ten minutes, Dante," she pressed, knowing full well how ridiculous the entire situation was, and how entirely absurd was the fact that she was pursuing it.
"You could've been torn limb from limb by marionettes in less than that time, Trish."
Trish was about to open her mouth to complain when she caught her name falling from his lips. Sure, he had called her Trish several times before, but this time it had been different…his tone had been almost uncomfortable. But uncomfortable in the sense that it expressed worry on his part—something he certainly was not used to expressing. Dante had been in the mercenary trade for quite a while, and anybody with even half a brain could tell another that caring for someone—however minor the affection—in their line of business was dangerous not only to oneself, but to the person for whom the concern was felt.
"Relax, Dante," Trish murmured, bending forward to towel dry her hair, "So they know me, big deal. We've dealt with them before, it's a piece of cake, Dante."
Despite knowing her comment would ignite a fiery comeback from Dante, Trish was surprised to find that he remained quiet. Warily, she lifted her eyes to his. "What is it?"
Again, the young demon chose silence over words.
Trish's patience was slowly thinning, and as much as she hated to admit it, Dante's silence was starting to unnerve her. It just wasn't like him. Dante was a loner, yes, and he often preferred silence to conversation; but he had never hesitated to joke with her, however satiric his remarks were.
"What is it, Dante?"
"You've been infected."
Infected? Trish drew in a deep breath. She knew what the word meant: infected; she just didn't think she was up to understanding what the implied message was.
"Last night," Dante continued in his drawling tone, "when you slashed your wrist on that rock…They caught your scent, but they also managed to—I don't think I can explain this the right way—"
Trish craned her head sideways, eager to hear whatever it was Dante had to say no matter how deadly the message. Vaguely, she picked up a spare towel and began to glide it carelessly over her body, eyes fixed on Dante's tall form.
"Explain. I'm not so dense as to not understand."
Dante nodded to her request, silvery hair landing in unruly waves on his face. Folding his arms about his chest, the demon rested his weight upon the threshold of the door and closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. "Well," he began, "I'm sure you've heard those classical stories of possession…"
At Trish's sound of approval, Dante continued, "Well, to say the least, the entire phenomenon has been overrated; you can't be completely psychologically controlled. However, you are completely deprived of the control of your physical body. To put it mildly, you can be forced to kill while consciously aware of what you're doing and not necessarily agreeing to it. It's harmless, really—unless of course the demons find it of their whim to bring injury to the one they are controlling…Ahh—I guess you can say…Demons don't really have minds of their own; their like petulant children. They do things because they 'feel like it'—no real reason. So, naturally, everything's all right until they grow tired of torturing that particular person. Other times though—they find other reasons to continue the 'torture'—usually because of the attention that is brought to them. In this case, you're the main issue."
"Me?" Trish exclaimed, still not sure how Dante's entire synopsis had anything to do with him.
"They find you…interesting, Trish."
"Interesting, how?"
Dante shifted his weight uneasily and stiffened by his position against the wall, "Well, they find your relation to me, especially interesting. And—rest assured, they'll take advantage of that. Chances are they won't grow tired of tormenting you any time soon. At least not while they know you and I are close. A chance to kill me is worth millions in the demonic world—if you think of it money-wise."
"So…You mean that they're going to use me to kill you—even though I would retaliate?"
Nodding, Dante bore his eyes into those of the girl, "You won't know, Trish—they won't be in front of you…your blood—they know it. At all times they know where you are. They can feel you in a sense. They can control you from afar. I—I don't know how to make you understand…it's a kind of thing you can't understand until you've either seen it or felt."
"Dante…"
Trish trailed off, unsure of how to continue. If she understood correctly, she was a liability to him. At any given moment, she could unconsciously attack him; hurt him. Maybe it would be better is she just disappeared for a while—lay low and far from Dante.
"No, Trish—you can't leave because, again, they know you. Trish, they can practically sniff you out, and they would were you not a game to them! The longer it takes for them to find and use you, the more enticing and challenging the game. It's all a game, Trish—and you're virtually a pawn."
Trish sighed defeatedly. Try and try as she might, every time she was with Dante, Trish ended up feeling like a burden. She hated the feeling; Trish had always been independent, always used to doing things her way and without relying on anybody. "Can I just—"
"No."
Growling, Trish ground her teeth. There was very little she could do but agree, and as much as she hated playing the part of the 'damsel in distress' it seemed that at that point, she really was.
Hope that was all right, guys…