Chapter 11
Daisy
He’s gone.
The door slams shut behind him, making the entire room shudder.
My bones do too. For a moment, I just… exist. Still and silent, blanketed in the kind of quiet that weighs heavily.
I don’t move. I can’t move. I’m still half-curled into myself, knuckles white where I’m gripping onto the blanket for a sense of grounding.
My body trembles—whether from fear, or rage, or humiliation, or all three in a nauseating cocktail, I honestly couldn’t say.
The tears keep sliding down my cheeks, soft and endless, soaking the pillow in a realm I was never meant to see.
He yelled at me and pinned me down. And I just let him.
I didn’t even fight. Just like with Ethan.
I thought… gods, I actually thought Korithax might’ve cared.
Even if it was just a little bit, since he came when I called.
What kind of idiot sees the Devil himself and thinks, yeah, but maybe he’s different?
I sit up slowly, and everything aches. My arms, my legs, my soul. The costume feels like it’s made of lead now. Cheap fabric clinging to the bruises I haven’t dared to look at. I don’t need a mirror to know they’re there. I can feel them like they’re burned into my skin.
“I’ll have the help send you a tonic,” he said. “Don’t summon me again.”
A bitter laugh bubbles in my throat. I didn’t mean to summon him in the first place. I didn’t do a freaking spell or some ritual. My body shut down, and my first thought was of the seven-foot demon that had infiltrated my life.
The knock at the door is soft, but I don’t respond.
Eventually, it creaks open, and a servant slips in, their bubblegum pink hair plaited on top of their lowered head, their vibrant orange eyes averted, with arms full of vials.
They set two of them down with practiced care, informing me which vial is which, bow once, and leave.
I stare at the vials. One vial pulses a bright amber, the other a deep green, swirling with flecks of silver.
Like starlight caught in a bottle of swamp water.
One to stop a life from starting. One to heal the pieces left behind.
I reach for the first one with trembling fingers, but without a single ounce of hesitation. It burns down my throat as I drink it with one large swallow. It burns like the truth. The truth of what happened to me… what I let happen to me.
The second vial sits in my hand, cool against my palm.
My fingers keep tightening around it, but I don’t drink it.
Some awful, insidious voice whispers that I don’t deserve it.
That I should feel every ounce of pain still throbbing between my thighs.
That healing is for people who fought. Not for people who froze.
I sit like that for what feels like hours, the green liquid seeming to glow faintly as the silence fills with my heartbeat.
The echo of Korithax’s voice, low and angry, still rattles in my head. Don’t summon me again.
There’s another knock. This one’s soft, almost hesitant.
“Miss Sandoval?” A masculine voice says through the door, sounding almost professional. “I’ve been sent to return you to the mortal realm.”
I close my eyes. My throat is raw, and my head is pounding.
I don’t answer, I just nod, even though they can’t see it.
The door opens slowly, and a man steps inside.
He’s tall with emerald green eyes, dark black hair that’s short and a little wavy, and two horns that match the colour of his eyes that slightly curl from his temples.
They’re not as big as Korithax’s, but they’re larger than the younger servants I’ve seen around here.
He’s neatly dressed in a simple black suit, and a face that is just as pale as mine.
He looks like he doesn’t know how to smile. Not cruel, not kind. Just... neutral.
“Are you ready?” He asks.
No, not even a little. But when has that ever mattered?
I push myself upright and stand on unsteady legs, wincing slightly as I straighten my skirt.
My shoes are missing, and the horns are still sitting on the nightstand.
Those stupid glittery horns. I give them one last look and then leave them behind, along with the green vial.
He raises a hand and conjures a portal that looks like a thin shimmer, kind of like glass warping in the air.
I watch with fascination, my eyes not quite believing what they’re seeing.
Maybe I’m still unconscious at the party, maybe I’m still lying in that bed, Ethan still… still…
I shut the thought down, taking a small inhale whilst looking at my apartment at the other side of the portal. Home is waiting on the other side. My life is awaiting. The world where none of this makes any sense.
“This will be painless,” he says. “Step through when you’re ready.”
I nod, swallow, and step forward. I pause, glancing back at the room.
The bed, the blanket, the bottles, one still full.
The place where the Prince of Hell himself carried me, covered me, and then shredded me with words sharper than a dagger.
Something shifts in my chest. Not grief, not anger…
something that feels older than both, something that feels like it’s trying to wake up.
I step through the portal, the glass-like hole closing behind me with a soft snap, and I fall to my knees and scream.
The quiet of the apartment presses in on me, thick and suffocating.
I’m both physically and emotionally exhausted.
The rawness of what happened lingering in my chest. A dull ache that sits just beneath the surface.
I sit there, curled up in the corner of my couch, blankly staring for what feels like hours.
I spot my phone on the kitchen counter, and it buzzes as I look at it. I force myself up to grab it, the screen lighting up with an abundance of notifications.
54 messages.
Ezra: Are you okay???
Talia: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?
Ezra: Daze, please respond.
Talia: I swear to god if Ethan did something, I will bury him alive.
Ezra: Daisy. It’s bad. Please call us.
Talia: Ethan’s dead. Daisy. His bones. His fucking bones.
Before I can even begin to process that last message, a loud bang sounds at the door. Panic floods through me, my pulse quickening to an alarming rate as I freeze. Ezra’s voice breaks through the silence, and I exhale sharply, the panic leaving my body as quickly as it came.
“Daisy?! Open the door. Please!”
I stumble across the room and pull it open.
They’re both standing there, Ezra’s eyes wide and Talia’s face is streaked with mascara, her body trembling like a live wire ready to snap.
Their eyes sweep over me, over the devil costume I still have on, the bruises marring my arms, and my tear-streaked cheeks.
There’s no need for words, because the silence says it all.
“Daisy?” Ezra says, his voice breaking. “What the fuck happened?”
Talia doesn’t wait for an answer. She pushes past me, storming inside. “Did you know about Ethan?”
I don’t answer at first, I just close the door behind them, leaning my back on it, slowly sliding down until I’m once again sitting on the floor, hugging my knees.
I take a slow, deep breath and start speaking, the floodgates opening.
It’s a rush of words, broken and jagged, pouring out of me like vomit without a moment to spare for breath.
Because if I stop, I don’t know if I’ll be able to continue.
The bargain. The demon in my apartment. The party. The drinks. The drugged drinks. The bedroom. The plea for help.
Korithax.
I mechanically stand, walking over to my counter to grab the card that the Prince of Hell left me after his first visit, handing it to Ezra. His message seems to taunt me:
Your soul now belongs to me.
They’re both silent for a moment too long as I nervously chew my bottom lip, tears brimming in my eyes.
“Holy shit,” Ezra breathes, eyes wide.
“I’m gonna kill him again,” Talia snaps. “I don’t care if he’s already dead. I’ll go to Hell myself.”
I want to laugh, but I can’t. The weight in my chest is bearing down too heavily for me to do anything other than breathe, and even that feels like a struggle.
We sit on the couch, Ezra turning the card in his hands over and over again, trying to process everything I’ve just spewed at them.
Talia’s arms are folded tight across her chest, her thumb in her mouth as she bites at the skin along the side of her nail.
Then, with no warning, a vial appears on the table in front of us. Dark green, swirling with the faint shimmer that I’ve convinced myself is starlight. A note is tied to the neck in scrawled, angry ink:
Just fucking drink it, Daisy.
Ezra nearly jumps out of his skin. “Okay, what the actual fuck,” he gaps, grabbing the vial. “I thought you were bullshitting, but I just watched this appear out of nowhere. What is it?”
He sits, lifting up the bottle and inspecting it, scrunching up his face as he watches the liquid swirl around.
“A healing tonic,” I whisper. “He gave me one to… to prevent pregnancy,” I sniffle, the tears filling my eyes again. They both go deathly still. “I haven’t taken this one,” I add.
Talia’s eyes blaze. “Why?”
“Because I deserve to suffer,” I sob. “I didn’t fight. I didn’t stop him. I just—I just let him. And now he’s dead because of me.”
Talia loses it, her voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it.
“No. No, fuck that, Daisy. You don’t get to do this to yourself.
He raped you. That is NOT your fault. And if anyone says otherwise—hell, I’ll summon that bastard demon myself and thank him for what he did to Ethan.
Then I’ll ask for a knife and do it again. ”
Ezra is crying quietly beside me, but he doesn’t look at me like I’m broken, and I’m truly thankful for that.
Talia pulls me into her arms, and I let her, despite the repulsion of feeling someone touch me and my broken, dirty body.
I let her hold me, her strength wrapping around me like a shield, and I break all over again.
Later, Talia is the one who makes me drink the tonic.
She holds the little bottle up to my lips and doesn’t move until I’ve swallowed every last drop.
The warmth spreads inside me, like honey with an airy feeling to it.
I don’t feel any instant miracle, no golden light shining through my body, or magical transformation.
But the sting between my legs begins to dull, and the bruises on my body no longer seem to ache.
“There,” Talia whispers, brushing the hair from my face. “One less pain to carry.”
Ezra disappears into the kitchen, muttering under his breath as he furiously taps on his phone.
He’s halfway through ordering three different types of takeout by the time Talia’s helping me into the bathroom.
She doesn’t ask what I want or need; she just runs the water.
I don’t flinch when she peels the devil costume from my skin with quiet, careful hands.
She doesn’t ask any more questions, doesn’t look at me like I’m disgusting or broken.
She just moves around me with a kind of gentleness that you’d reserve for shattered things.
“You’re safe,” she murmurs, guiding me into the shower. “You’re not alone.”
The tears come again, but this time, they feel different. They’re not just from pain—they’re from the weight lifting off me, piece by piece. I let the water pour down, washing away the remnants of what happened. When I step out, Talia’s there, a towel in hand, wrapping me up tightly.
Ezra’s waiting with clean clothes when I shuffle out—an oversized hoodie, sweatpants, and fluffy socks.
He doesn’t say anything, just opens his arms and lets me fall into them.
I quickly dress, then move to curl up between them on the couch, our food going cold on the coffee table whilst we sit there, lost in our shared quiet.
Ezra turns on a dumb reality show we’ve seen a thousand times; the familiarity of it becomes a comfort, and I can’t help but smile faintly at the normality of it all.
“I ordered you groceries,” Ezra says quietly. “They’ll be here tomorrow. I made sure I picked out all of your favourites.”
I smile softly at him, thanking him with a gentle squeeze of his hand.
Later, just before dawn, we head outside.
Talia has the devil costume in her hands, and we stand in the alley behind my apartment as she douses it in lighter fluid and tosses a match.
It catches immediately, flames curling around the red fabric, slowly burning the cheap material to ash.
We stand hand in hand, watching it burn together.
“Fuck him,” Talia says simply. “And fuck this costume.”
Amen to that.
They stay the night, the three of us wrapped on the pullout part of my couch in a nest of pillows and old blankets. When morning comes, they don’t want to leave. I can see it in their eyes that they’re afraid I’ll break the second they go. But I insist.
“You need to go to class,” I murmur, my voice rough. “I’ll be okay. I just… I need a week to breathe.”
Ezra hugs me so tightly it knocks the air from my lungs. “You call us for anything. Groceries, murder, emotional support—anything!”
Talia grabs my face in both hands. “If you need me to come back and read Korithax the riot act, I will. I don’t care if he’s a demon or the Prince of Hell. I bite.” She gnashes her teeth together for added effect before winking at me.
I laugh. It’s hoarse and broken, but genuine and real. “I believe you.”
They both give me one more hug and then they leave, and I’m all alone again. This time, it doesn’t feel so heavy, and the silence doesn’t suffocate me. I’m still broken, but with a little part of me put slightly back together again by the two people who mean the most to me in the world.