It took a bit longer to edit the chapter due to being busy, but here it is. Next one will be way longer, I promise!
This story is slow burn, and the relationship will develop a lot slower.
As we enter the garage, I instantly rush to Denise's side. She hasn't moved and is sleeping seemingly peacefully. I'm not sure what I was expecting or if I was expecting anything at all. My mind returns to my mom and Denise's mom. I can lie to them for tonight, but after that, I'll need to come up with a believable explanation of what's going on. And possibly prepare for the worst as I'll be unable to explain what is wrong with Denise.
"Where is the battery?" I ask Kevin.
"In my car. I didn't want to bring it inside, no space."
I nod and return my attention to Denise, sitting next to her. I close my eyes and try to concentrate, trying to focus on her energy, her aura, but once again, nothing. It's as if I'm completely blocked from her mind. Every time I try, I make some initial progress, but it quickly all turns to black. A sigh escapes my mouth.
"Hey," Kevin says, trying to grab my attention. "Some help here."
I take a last look at Denise and stand up, turning towards Kevin. He has his shirt off and is twisting his body backward, trying to reach the giant scratch that travels from his back all the way to his front abdomen. I blush at the sight and instinctively look to the side while walking toward him.
"That looks horrible," I comment.
"And it hurts horribly," he says. "But I can't goddamn reach it."
I take the hint and softly grab the bottle of disinfectant ointment from his hands. I slather a small amount on my hands and reach closer to him. I take a deep breath at our proximity—I'm not used to interactions like these with men. I'm not a wallflower by any means, but having a half-naked—and objectively handsome—boy standing in front of me would make anyone a nervous wreck. I can sense the smirk appearing on Kevin's face and bite my lip to keep from reacting.
My fingers travel across his warm skin, and I dab the ointment on his wound, all the while avoiding eye contact with him. If someone had told me a week ago that I would be doing this, I would have deemed them insane. My face heats up further when I reach his abdomen and I move quickly. I hear Kevin take a deep breath, and I lift my head to see him staring directly at me. I blink at him, and he blinks at me. We stay like this for a moment before I clear my throat to break the awkwardness.
"It should be fine now," I say.
"Yeah, thanks."
I take a step back, still avoiding eye contact, and turn around to head toward Denise. But before I can even take my first step, I feel Kevin's gentle touch against my skin as he holds my wrist.
"My turn now," he says.
I lift my eyebrow in confusion, and he takes a step closer to me—far closer than before. His fingers hover over my jaw, and he gently touches my skin with the ointment. He moves upward, touching my cheek, and I inwardly shiver. My face heats up, and I know he can tell.
"There, all done." There is a genuine smile on his face, and despite my awkwardness, I return it.
A comforting silence envelops us for a moment, and I look around his garage more carefully, inspecting it. I'm surprised by how well-maintained it is, and I suddenly wonder if that's where he sleeps. What about his family? A home?
"Why don't you try getting a job?" I ask.
"Huh?" His eyebrow lifts, and I realize my question came out a tad more insulting than intended.
"I mean instead of dealing with criminals. If you need money, then a job can sustain you and won't get you in trouble with the rehab program. So why not?"
"They don't tend to hire workers without experience, if you haven't noticed."
"Unless you try for a 'starter' job, like retail, cashier, you know the…normal? It's still something that can sustain you."
"I'm not the type," he says dismissively. Kevin turns from me and heads to a storage closet, opening it and revealing some strange machinery. He grabs a silver hourglass-shaped item and then sits down on a plastic chair.
"What about a mechanic? You have experience." It's a guess, but a good one at that—his garage is filled with tools and machinery to the brim.
"No official experience. They don't want teenagers, they want, you know, professionals."
I press my teeth together in annoyance.
"Have you tried?"
He looks at me for a moment and simply blinks. It's all the answer I need. And why am I not surprised?
"So you are looking for excuses!" I exclaim, stating the obvious. "Is it because dealing is easy money, or is it some way of upholding a 'bad boy' image?"
He slams the hourglass machinery on the metal table and rolls his eyes at me. For whatever reason, I don't feel threatened—pushing him doesn't feel like I'm pushing my luck. I should be double-thinking my words, but it feels as if he has proven himself to me. I don't believe he would hurt me.
"Of course, you would think finding a job is as simple as walking up to them and asking them," he stands up, continuing, "all you've ever known is your preppy schools, and life, and you come and—"
"Ah!"
I snap my head to the side instantly upon hearing Denise's scream. My eyes widen, and I rush to her side, my heart beating so fast I feel like it could burst. I reach her side, and I'm filled with fear at the realization—her whole body is convulsing, her lids are fluttering, and her skin is so awfully pale, it feels as if she is dying.
"Denise?" I call out loudly, hoping she can hear me.
Denise shakes her head, and a horrific black mark travels to her face, slowly expanding. Sweat drips from her forehead, and I hold my hand against it.
"She is burning hot!" I call out to Kevin.
"Stop!" Denise screams.
"She is dying," Kevin notes, his voice far less panicked than mine. "That thing is killing her."
I place my hands on her temples and try to concentrate everything on her aura. Open your mind, Denise. I try once. I wince in pain as I feel myself being pushed back mentally, as if there is some shield there. But I don't care. I reach again and try. I try with all my might, shoving all my thoughts aside and trying to only concentrate on Denise's aura and energy. I can do this. The moment I feel like I'm making some progress, I yelp again. It feels horrible. It's like something is bouncing from her to me, trying to penetrate my mind instead.
Kevin reaches over and hands me something, a syringe with something inside. I look at him in confusion while being crouched over on the ground, tears forming in my eyes. I feel helpless.
"It's medicine—it should help with the pain," he explains. "Hold her."
I crouch next to Denise and do as he says, holding her upper arms still, while the rest of her body is twirling and convulsing like crazy. Kevin reaches closer and is about to press the syringe on her skin. But right at this moment, Denise goes completely still.
"Denise?" I ask. I turn her face to my side, and I remain still, my eyes wide, staring at her own lifeless ones. Denise is dead. Gone. Her face is stuck in a scream-like expression, there are black streaks all over her face and her skin is so awfully white, it's like staring at a ghost.
"No," is all I can utter.
Tears stream down my face, and I clench my fists. Kevin reaches to my side, frowning, and I fall on his chest for comfort. Although he is hesitant, he wraps an arm around me, while my sobs echo through the silent room.
I don't say anything. I can't say anything. I stay like this, wrapped in Kevin's embrace until I have no tears left to cry.
It has been a week since Denise's death. An awfully long week. It honestly feels like yesterday, but yet the funeral is today. I still can't believe she's gone. I still expect to reach for my phone and receive a text, or to walk home and find her waiting for me there. There is an emptiness in my chest, something I haven't experienced before and like no one would understand.
Because no one knows what truly happened. Kevin is the one who helped arrange everything. Denise's death was unusual and sudden, so unusual that it would raise suspicion right away if anyone found out the truth—the black marks on her face, the paleness of her skin, everything combined. I couldn't (and still can't) risk anyone finding out the truth. It would raise such a big alert across the whole country and I know it would only work to spread panic.
Kevin helped make it seem like a medical condition. Although I hate it, I hate having to lie to everyone around me, I know it was necessary. We made it seem like a sudden heart attack instead, and that I came into the room and found her like that. The marks on her skin had disappeared a few hours after her death, so it didn't raise a problem. When they decided to do an autopsy, as her mother requested, they found the report conclusive and diagnosed it as a heart attack. Because technically, despite everything unusual, it was what ultimately killed her.
As the funeral continues, with the priest reading a few words, I look behind all the people—students and parents from the school included—and I see Kevin. He is standing by a tree, wearing a black coat with his hands folded over his chest. Despite my grief and sadness, I smile. I gently push through the crowd of people and head towards him.
He looks at me, his hands resting at his sides, and his features soften.
"You came," I say.
"You asked me to."
I stare at him for a moment, the corner of my lips softly tugging upwards. I don't know him—in fact, I've only truly known him for a week now—yet it feels like some sort of unusual friendship is forming.
"Thank you." And I mean it sincerely.
"I'm sorry about your friend," he says. "And for…you know."
I shake my head. "It wasn't your fault. I don't blame you for what happened."
Kevin shoves his hands in his pockets and stares around the open cemetery. There is a tension in his face and body, I can tell.
"What are you planning on doing?" he pauses for a moment.
"He'll be back."
"He will," he agrees.
"I don't think I can defeat him alone." I look directly at him, noticing his tense look, as if he is contemplating what I'm saying. "And I know it won't be easy."
I hold my hand in front of me, offering it directly to him. He looks down at it, then returns his eyes to mine. I'm not sure what to expect; I'm not sure if I should even expect anything. But relief washes over me when I see him raising his hand and intertwining it with mine.
"I'll help you," he finally says.
I smile at him, and he looks at me, hesitantly doing the same. I never thought I would join forces with the enemy, but here I am.