A.N- Update, yay! I am under a lot of stress right now. School is killing me and now I have to start some special course on Sat-days. School, why you no let me sleep? Anyway, special thanks to: WxTxR, TwilightC, .Tweek, styleforever20 and OXRosinaOX for reviewing! During these stressful times reviews really boost my motivation to write, so thank you so much.
Warning- There is a little bit of tomato juice in this chapter, but it's nothing strong.
Hope you enjoy!
Chapter Five: With lost senses…
I let out a sigh of nervousness, disguising it as a deep breath.
"So. How do we do it?" I ask, casually as possible. He raises his eyebrow then smirks.
"You seem more enthusiastic than the last time I saw you."
I shrug. "Yeah, well-" Kyle's cry flashes in my head. "How bad could it be?"
His smirk falls into a frown, eyes glaring into space. "Not so good." He says as he takes a glass flask out of nowhere. "But first we have to do something about your baptism."
"Oh yeah," my heart sinks even further. "I forgot about that."
Damien throws the transparent flask at me and I notice it glow bright red in the moonlight. I catch it safely and admire the beautiful liquid inside. A deep mesmerising red, the centre glowing under the dim light, it makes me feel intoxicated by simply gazing into it, its sheer beauty almost like a seducing poising.
"What is it?" I ask dreamily, raising the flask into the light and twirling it around, making the transparent liquid swirl inside. I lose myself in the liquid, forgetting reality, even forgetting that I asked the antichrist a question. That is, until he opens his mouth and his voice echoes through the cold air, light and transparent, yet heavy like smoke.
"'This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many so that their sins may be forgiven…'"
His voice is mesmerising, even more than the beautiful liquid, but it sends a deep chill down my spine as if a ghost had just brushed right through me.
I gulp. "Is this wine?"
He sends me a quick glance. "No. It is more similar to tea. Blended five different plants from Hell's garden and a rose burned with my fire into a cup of water from the crimson sea." His teeth show as his lips slit into a thin smile. "With an extra touch" He adds. I don't even want to know what that extra touch is.
"So, I'm guessing that I have to drink this?"
He nods. "Bottoms up."
I twist the flask open, dropping the cock to the ground. The liquid has no scent, giving me no idea of its taste. I sigh. "Okay… here goes nothing."
I raise the flask to my lips, the glass painfully cold; then I swing my elbow into the air and tilt my head back, letting the liquid pour out of the glass neck and into my mouth. The smooth liquid scrapes my tongue as if I was licking an old rusty knife, I can feel it burn through my throat and leak into my stomach like acid. It feels thick and heavy, like mud, only boiling.
When the last drop falls on my tongue I fling the flask to the ground and grasp my throat in agony, not caring about the glass shuttering into a million pieces.
"What the FUCK is that!" I shout through rasped breaths.
"Well, the blended plants are simply to hide the flavour. What it really is, is my blood."
I gape at him, my hand falling from my throat. "Your… blood?"
He shrugs with a smirk and I suddenly feel all the acids in my stomach stir and rise up my pipes. My hand swings to my mouth to hold the vile in. Damien simply watches me drearily as I whirl on my feet, sickness making me dizzy.
"Sick…" Is what I say when I finally feel the boiling liquid sink back down. "Is that all then?" I ask hopefully. But his answer pierces me with slight fear.
"No… There's one last thing" His heals click as he takes a step forward towards me. Silver shines as he slides a masterly crafted knife out of his black sleeves. Twirling his knife in his left hand to free his fingers, he lifts the sleeve of his right hand up to reveal his ghostly skin. Then he raises his arms and brings his hands just above my head. When my mind concentrates back onto Damien's face, his blazing red eyes are only inches away from mine, his cold breath floating across my neck. "Remember, after this there is no turning back. When you die your soul would be casted to the depths of hell. Do you accept this?"
A shaky laugh escapes my mouth. "Heh. Kenny said that only Mormons go to heaven anyway."
"I see."
Just as those words leave his mouth I hear skin rip and feel something splatter over my head, warm drops leak down my fringe and spits onto my cheeks. It takes a second for my mind to register that that warm liquid is Damien's blood.
He drops his arms without a flinch of pain as if it were nothing, but I see a long deep cut shoot through his forearm and blood running down his skin like a river, creating a crimson sea on the white hospital floor. My heart beats to the sound of the small red drops falling from the silver blade in his left hand.
Feeling the warmth tickle down my cheek, looking at the oozing wound on Damien's arm, hearing the rhythmic drops hit the floor and smelling the acrid metallic tang, my senses get dominated by the blood of the Devil's son. My whole body shakes uncontrollably, my mind is left in a dark blank; every breath I take is a ragged gasp.
"Now you're done-" I hear a voice in the distance. But it's so far away that I can't move a hair to respond to it.
Then suddenly something pulls me down by a grip around my jacket and I nearly stumble over a figure in front of me. I'm brought back to consciousness as flaming red eyes burn into mine. The menacing strength of his glare cools my head and calms my breath down, my shaking coming to an end.
"This is it." He says softly, his grip still around my jacket. I drop my head in a nod. "Remember, this is necessary and I don't want to do it as much as you wouldn't, so don't push away, no matter what."
"Ah- Okay-"
Before I can finish, and before I can take a deep breath, he pulls me down, crashing our lips together. My stomach turns as Kyle's faint sweetness leaves my mouth and is completely replaced by a spicy sensation of smoke. I grab his shoulders aiming to tear him away, but his previous words struck my brain and I slide them back down.
It's not a kiss, don't call it that. It is merely an entrance for Damien to slide into me. I can tell it by the way we glare at each other as our mouths clash, as if telling each other not to enjoy a single moment of it.
Slowly, my mind starts to numb and my vision begins to darken. The strength in my body flows away as I slowly kneel to the ground.
The last thing I see before I lose all my senses, are two flaming eyes burning in the darkness.
o
o
o
He stares at the body lying on the ground blankly, as if it were a puppet that fell to the floor after its strings were cut off. His pale white, almost blue eyelids are closed, leaving the flaming fire locked inside his eyes, or maybe it has completely burned out. Blood continues to ooze out the long cut on his forearm even as he lies there, completely empty and forgotten. Yet the cut seems smaller than it was before, but that can't be, can it? I hear the rubber of my shoes squeak against the hospital floor as he takes a step towards the body. A shiver shoots up my chest and I notice that he has stepped into the pool of blood without a second thought.
Blood sinks into my hands, leaks underneath my nails as he crouches down and scoops my hands underneath the body. I don't feel it or smell it, but it still makes me sick. Neither do I feel the weight of the body being cast over my shoulder. And then I notice that it's not only the weight, or the blood that I don't feel. I don't feel the cold air stab my cheeks, I don't feel my lungs expands as I breathe in air, I don't feel any twitches in my hands or shakes in my legs- I don't feel anything.
He turns my body and shoots a glimpse at the frozen window as he rocks back into the air. And then for the first time I see my reflection, and he sees his reflection. My nose, my skin, my mouth, my hair and my ears, yet the two eyes staring back are different- they are blazing crimson. It is my face, my clothes and my body, yet he who wears them is different.
That is not you Stan Marsh; say hello to Damien.
x
He runs my hand through my hair, rinsing out every drop of dry blood off every strand. I could feel really uncomfortable about him touching me, washing me in the shower, which I really do feel uncomfortable with to be honest, but the blank expression he makes that reflects in the glass, without even a spec of admiring, interest or even disgust shown there, almost makes me feel like I'm the dirty one for even feeling uncomfortable with his touch- not that I can technically feel it. So I pretend I don't care, after all, it is his body now, and this would be one of the things that I will have to get used to.
"So Stan- I mean, Damien. Do you want me to send your empty body to hell, or do you just want me to stash it here, in the basement or… something like that?" Pip's voice calls out from outside the bathroom. It is strange to hear him call out to me like that, or though he's not technically calling to me. He doesn't have that formal way of talking that he usually has, it is not fake. It makes me realise that he has always kept himself distant from other people by being so polite. But now when he talks to Damien it is so natural, there is even a sense of respectful ego. It is like talking to a friend. Goddamn it. If he talked like that to everyone then maybe he wouldn't have gotten all that shit for all these years.
"Keep it in your basement." My voice calls back, cutting off my thoughts. And I notice that that coldness and edginess of the antichrist has already begun to sink into my voice. Strange. Change the inside and the outside seems to change as well.
He takes a step out of the shower with a towel wrapped around my waist; my vision is blurred from the drops of water falling from my fringe. The laundry machine roars with my clothes in it, trying its best to take out every drop of blood from the fabric.
The first thing Damien does half naked is to head towards the basement. Pip sits there next to the empty body, a bucket of water next to him, and gently wipes the blood of Damien's pale arm. "I am still amazed at how fast you heal Damien. The cut has already healed even without you inside." He comments and drops the bloodstained towel into the bucket. "Maybe it doesn't even need you." He adds with a chuckle.
"What use does it have without me-" Damien mutters as he kneels before his body, and takes his clean wrist into my hand. Before I can even guess what he's about to do, I hear a loud crunch come from my hand. But not exactly, it comes from what is in my hand. Damien's wrist is completely split, his hand dangling from the meat that keeps his hand attached to his arm. Blood gashes out of the savage wound, pouring to the ground. Snapped bone rips through his skin like a thick needle, making a hole in his wrist.
"Damien what did you do that for! Have you gone completely mental?" Pip yells from above. "I just finished cleaning that arm you know!"
But Damien ignores him, dropping the broken wrist to the ground and sinking my fingers into the pool of blood. As if it's the most natural thing to do, he lifts the shirt up of his body lying on the ground with my clean hand, exposing his white torso. He begins to mutter something in a foreign language under his breath like a dark chant and carefully draws a symbol on his chest with his blood, right above his heart.
"What is that?" Pip words my question. "It's unlike anything I've ever seen."
Are you kidding me? It looks exactly like all those weird pentagrams or pentacles or whatever they're called in the book he showed me the other day.
"It is a type of seal, like freezing my body in time." Damien explains with my voice. "Now my body practically cease to exist. It won't return to hell after the two hours is up and there will be no one who can find it. It is my first time using it though. It is only useful if I'm not in the body."
Giving the empty body one last glance, Damien blankly exits the basement.
"Borrow some of my clothes Damien, or you're going to make Stan catch a cold." Pip calls, following Damien's trail. I nearly forgot from not feeling the cold, but the only fabric on me is the bath towel wrapped around my waist. Does the antichrist not feel the cold?
x
"Here you go." Pip says, handing out a large mug, fume rising from inside. It is warm milk and I almost laugh, if I had the use of my mouth. How dumb is he? No way the antichrist will drink that like a good boy to warm his body up before he goes to bed.
"Thank you." My voice whispers politely. I don't know what to be more surprised about: Damien's manners or the fact that he gratefully takes the warm milk. I always thought that Damien was too much or an arrogant dick (being the son of the Devil and all) to even have manners. But I guess if I look back, he always had that weird politeness, or formality in him. Maybe it comes from royalty. He is a prince after all, no matter how gay that sounds. …The prince of darkness drinking warm milk before bed…
I hear myself laugh, but the sound doesn't enter my ears. It is a weird, surreal feeling, like talking in a dream.
"Shut up" A voice echoes in a similar way. But it instantly disappears, doing nothing but stopping my laughter, so I guess that it's just my mind playing tricks on me.
Damien and Pip both finish their drinks at the same, eyeing each other as they take their last sip. First, I see amusement in Pip's eyes until they slowly fall into doubt.
"Damien. You should get rid of that habit while you're in Stan's body." He inches.
But Damien simple answer a small "I know", before standing up onto my feet. "I will rest now."
Pip smiles then lets out a yawn. "Yeah. I might as well too."
For a second, my stomach lurches in doubt that Pip is going to sleep with Damien, with my body. But that worry instant disappears when Damien flips onto his back on the couch. A blanket and pillow already ready waiting for him. He grinds my teeth and wiggles my nose annoyingly as if stressing on trying to hold something in. But after a few seconds he decides to ignore that stress and flips over, facing the back of the couch, ready to sleep.
In a second the lights are out, he closes my eyes. Now I don't even have the small moonlight to keep me compony. It is as though I've suddenly gone blind. With Damien taking over my body I only had my hearing and my vision, but now the latter I have lost as well.
I wish I could just fall unconscious. I feel incredibly tired, but I don't feel a spec of sleepiness. Maybe I don't even need to sleep. Damien seems to be doing that for me after all. But that leaves me with nothing to do. I could focus on my hearing, but the only thing I can hear is the distant sounds of rustling trees. It is slightly relaxing, but it doesn't kill much time.
Left with nothing to do, my mind trapped in this body, I can't do anything but think. Think about what happened, think about what will happen, and then most of all, think about Kyle. To be honest, I'm scared. I have no idea on how Damien is going to act around with my body. I mean, would he even try to act like me? Maybe over the next couple of years with Damien inside me, Kyle will go sick of me-
Suddenly, the memory of our last kiss flows into my mind: the softness and warmth of his lips, the sweetness of his air breathing into me. And for that brief moment it is like I have gained back my feel; happiness and hope run through me as I feel warmth spread and squeeze my chest. But that sensation instantly disappears, and I come back to reality, left in the darkness. I regain my trace of thought…
…Even worse, maybe he will notice that I'm a different person.
I shudder at the thought.
If Kyle ever knew that I sold my body to Damien to save his life he would definitely blame himself. With his kindness and moral beliefs he would make Damien call off the deal to free my body, and that will leave him to die. No. I can't let that happen, no matter what.
I want to grip into the blanket tight, I want to bite my lip until it bleeds, I want squeeze my eyes shut until my head begins to throb, just to distract myself from thinking. But I can't move or feel; I can't do any of that. And I'm left here, with nothing to distract me, to listen to the cycle of my hopeless thoughts.
A.N- I. Love. Being. Mean! …to my characters. Just in case you're feeling anxious, there will be no Damien/Stan (Stamien?) or Dip in this story, I assure you (…maybe). But please tell me what you think. In other words~ I love you… so please review!
Oh, and tell me if Stan's monologue is getting a little confusing.
