Chapter 8
EIGHT
The days blur together until time feels like water slipping between my fingers.
Sleep comes in ragged scraps—ten minutes here, an hour there—and every time it does, he’s waiting for me.
Deimos. No longer a hazy figure at the edge of a dream but a constant, heavy presence.
It isn’t just a dream anymore. It’s a tether.
A pull I can’t explain. I wake up gasping, my skin damp, my heart a runaway drum, his name on my lips and heat curled low in my belly.
My body remembers him even when my mind tries to forget.
And the worst part is, I’m not sure I want to forget.
I sit curled on the edge of my bed, knees hugged to my chest. The curtains are drawn, the lights off. Penny’s out—thank God—but her absence doesn’t make the silence easier. The room is too still, too loud with my thoughts. It feels like a sanctuary and a cell at once.
My head throbs from lack of sleep. My thighs ache. My pulse is a constant flutter under my skin.
Tomorrow is the bonfire party. Everyone else will be excited—texting friends, planning outfits, picking who they’ll flirt with, who they’ll fuck under the stars.
And me? I’m a nervous wreck, spiraling into moral crisis mode like the dutiful little preacher’s daughter I was raised to be.
I tell myself this shouldn’t matter. That sex is just sex, a first time like any other.
People do it every day. I’m not special.
I could just get it over with. But the truth tastes bitter.
It is a big deal to me. It always has been.
Ever since I stepped into that confessional—ever since his voice pressed against my mind and his hunger tangled with mine—something inside me has been unspooling. Something dark. Something hungry.
Shawn is safe. Predictable. Normal. The life I should want. If I sleep with him, maybe I can reset. Maybe I can snap myself back into the shape of the girl I used to be.
But what if I can’t? What if I do it and still wake drenched in sweat, Deimos’s voice whispering my name into the dark? What if nothing mortal ever feels like enough again?
I close my eyes and breathe out slowly. When I open them again, the room pulses once—like a heartbeat that isn’t mine. My stomach flips. My fingers tremble. Warmth trickles beneath my nose, and when I wipe it away, my skin comes back streaked red. Blood.
For a second I just stare at it, wondering if I’ve finally cracked—if my mind has split clean open.
I rub my palms down my bare thighs, restless.
My skin still tingles as if someone else’s hands were just on me, as if they belong there.
God, what’s wrong with me? One second I want to rebel, the next I want to curl up in shame and pray the craving away.
I want to forget him. I want to go to the party and drink too much and fuck Shawn until my body forgets the shape of Deimos’ mouth and the sound of his voice.
But the closer the night gets, the more I know I’m lying to myself.
Because I don’t want Shawn. Not like I want Deimos. And that truth terrifies me more than hellfire ever did. I bury my face in my hands and groan, a low, helpless sound.
“I need help,” I whisper into the dark.
I stand in front of my closet with my arms crossed, glaring at my reflection as though it personally offended me.
Clothes hang limp like dead skins, none of them right.
I’ve already changed three times—first jeans and a cropped sweater, then a short dress that felt like too much, then back to jeans that now feel like a noose around my hips.
Every option seems wrong tonight. I want to feel sexy. Confident. In control. But I also don’t want to look like I’m trying to be sexy. God, why is this so hard?
Behind me, Penny sighs from her bed. She’s sprawled across it with her legs tucked under her, earbuds in, her phone screen casting pale light over her face. “Jesus, Lillien. It’s just a party.”
I huff, yanking off the shirt I just pulled on and tossing it onto the growing pile at my feet. “Yeah, thanks for the insight, Penny.”
She flops onto her back, groaning theatrically. “Oh my God, you’re actually spiraling.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You so are.” She doesn’t even look up from her phone now. “You do this every time you try to pretend you’re normal.”
My spine stiffens. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She shifts, propping herself on one elbow. “You spend all your time being good, and then once in a while, you decide to be bad, and it breaks your brain. You can’t just have fun like the rest of us. You have to self-destruct while you do it.”
Her words sting. They hit too close to home. I scowl, snatching a short pleated skirt off a hanger. “You don’t know me.”
She snorts softly. “I know you better than you think, church girl.”
I ignore the interruption, slipping the skirt up my hips.
It hugs my waist perfectly, flaring just enough to make my thighs look thick in a way I actually like.
I roll fishnets up slow, the mesh rasping against my skin and catching the light with each turn.
I pair it with a black sweater—tight enough to cling, loose enough to pretend I didn’t pick it on purpose.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I expect to see the same indecisive girl staring back. But for a moment, my reflection wavers. My eyes glow faintly, violet like his. The color catches and burns before vanishing just as quickly.
I blink hard. Gone. Better. Maybe even… good.
Penny lifts her head just enough to glance at me. “There. Was that so hard?”
I roll my eyes, running my fingers through my hair. “Shut up.”
She smirks, going back to scrolling through her phone. The room feels too small, too warm. My heart is pounding harder than it should be for a simple outfit change. I sling my bag over my shoulder and exhale sharply, trying to steady myself.
This is fine. This is normal. I can do this. I can go to a party. I can make out with a boy. I can have fun.
I square my shoulders and head for the door. But something makes me glance back. In the corner of the mirror there’s a flicker—shadow, movement, horns curling like smoke. My breath shudders. When I blink, it’s just me again, only my reflection, only a girl in a skirt and a sweater.
I don’t look back at the mirror again. Because if I do, I’m afraid the girl staring out won’t be me. And deep down, I already know. She’s stronger. And she’s waking up.