Chapter 2
Two
Pythor
That evening when I returned from the community center, I glanced over at my neighbor's place, finding the car gone. I wondered who Vanessa was. Was she my neighbor's friend? Sister? Girlfriend?
What kind of girlfriend visited once a week? It was probably one of the other two.
I almost went inside my place before thinking about Jerry's suggestion to have a conversation with my neighbor, and walked across the street. Jerry was mated to one of my Demon friends, and I'd asked for his opinion on how to deal with my neighbor since I'd needed a human perspective.
Checking to see no one was around, I magicked up a notepad and pen, and scrawled a short note asking him if he could please keep his music down before sliding it under the door.
I would try this, but if my neighbor insisted on doing as he pleased, I might have to move.
I hadn't wanted to do it again, but there was no way I could continue living here with that human driving me crazy.
I would be of no use if my mind was slow and lagging from lack of sleep, and I didn't want to disappoint Artemus, the man who'd summoned me and given me this responsibility.
Once inside, I puttered about the house, then watched some TV as I magicked up a meal from my favorite restaurant on the other side of the city. Eating as I watched one of the many 'reality TV' shows the humans seemed to enjoy, I pushed my neighbor out of my thoughts for the next few hours.
It was only when I slid into bed that I thought of him again because there was no music playing. He'd listened. Oh, thank the Afterworld. I could finally sleep.
As if that was all the permission I'd needed, I conked right out with my face buried in my pillow.
I shot upright in bed, instantly alert as I searched for the source of that sound. It'd sounded like a scream of pain, like someone was dying and screaming for help with their loud breath.
Another shriek reached my ear, and I realized it was coming from my neighbor's place. Was there an intruder? Had someone hurt him?
I heard a sharp intake of breath, silence, then the sound of a shower. Surely, he wouldn't be taking a shower if there was someone in his house.
Calming back down, I returned to bed, my ears still focused on my neighbor. It took me far too long to realize he must've had a nightmare of some kind. He'd sounded truly terrified and in pain. Just what had he been dreaming about? And was it my fault?
He hadn't had a nightmare before—at least not to my knowledge—in all the time I'd lived here. Was his music a coping mechanism for him? Something that comforted him and kept the nightmares at bay? And had I taken that away? Guilt curdled in the pit of my stomach, and I sighed.
My sleep wasn't more important than his well-being; it couldn't be. I could just put up a temporary silencing ward and use some other magic to alert me of the presence of dark souls. It would be fine.
Tomorrow, I'd let my neighbor know that he could listen to his music, that I didn't mind. Should I mention the nightmares? Would that be wrong? I needed a human perspective.
Picking up my phone, I scrolled through my contacts and found the name I was looking for and hit call.
"Hello?" Eshim answered just when I started thinking the call would end, then added, "What the hell are you calling so late for?"
"I need to talk to your mate," I said without preamble, and he grunted.
"He's sleeping. Is this a life-or-death situation?"
"Well, no," I said, and before I could continue, he huffed.
"Then call tomorrow."
"But—"
"Tomorrow, Pythor."
I sighed as the call ended, then threw my phone onto the nightstand, where it bounced and dived right off.
I froze it midair with a flick of my finger and returned it to the table before it could break, then pulled the blankets over myself.
Clearly, I wouldn't be finding a solution in the middle of the night.
The neighbor's house was silent, but upon focusing, I realized that I could hear something.
It was a familiar sound, of bristles stroking against a canvas, and I remembered the ones Vanessa had been carrying.
My neighbor was an artist, then. Was he as quirky as Ryk?
He was the only other artist I knew, and he also tended to enjoy painting at night, though I had a feeling my neighbor was doing it because of the nightmare that had woken him.
Feeling shitty about trading his sleep for mine, I closed my eyes, determined to put things back to rights tomorrow.
Humans needed rest for more than just better cerebral function, so it was more important for him to get good sleep.
I could make do with naps, and alternative methods if it came to that.
As I waited to fall asleep again to the soft soundtrack of the scritch-scratch of brush against canvas, I wondered what his nightmare had been about.
He'd sounded far too terrified for it to be something innocuous and human like falling off a building or being chased.
Had he experienced some trauma he was trying to escape from? And why did I want to know so badly?
Growling into the pillow, I forced myself to stop thinking. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'd make everything right.
Codie
He was coming over again.
I tightened my coat around myself, and watched through the security feed as he came closer.
Yesterday, he'd left me a note asking me to keep my music down at night.
I hadn't realized it was loud enough for him to hear, and I'd felt mortified.
I hadn't played any last night, and I was still a little shaky from the nightmare it'd triggered.
I didn't know why, but listening to music tricked my brain into letting me sleep without interruption. It helped me ignore everything but the words in the song, even while I slept.
What did my neighbor want now?
When he'd left the note yesterday, I'd been in my studio and hadn't seen him do it, so I'd played back the security feed, even though he'd left his name on the note.
Watching him, it'd almost looked like the pen and notepad he'd used had appeared out of thin air, but it must've been a glitch in the recording. He really was handsome, and I'd found myself rewatching the moment a few times after that.
Now, he stood at my door again, his lips pursed as he eyed the note he'd pre-written. He sighed loud enough for me to hear through the thick door, then eyed the keyhole. For a moment, I felt like he could see through it, that he knew I was standing on the other side.
Then, he leaned down and slid the note in, along with a set of... were those painting brushes?
I picked up both things, needing to tug the brushes since they were just thin enough to get in but not enough to do it easily.
I was confused beyond measure. How did he know I painted?
And where did the brushes come from? I'd seen his hands a moment before he slid the note in, and all he'd had was a piece of paper.
Was I losing my mind?
I eyed the brushes, realizing they were of high quality and not the simple ones you could find in every hobby store. I felt unnerved for a moment before remembering he'd met Nessa yesterday. Had he noticed the canvases she'd brought me and come to the right conclusion?
But why had he even given me these?
I read the note, hoping it would shed some light on this weirdness.
Hello, neighbor!
I would like to rescind my earlier request and ask that you please continue listening to your music. I don't mind it as much as I thought I did. I hope you have a good day.
-Pythor.
I was even more confused than I'd been before I read it. Just what was up with this man?
I hadn't told Nessa about yesterday's note, but since she was the only person I could talk to, I fired off a few texts explaining what had happened and then showing her today's note and 'gift.'
Instead of replying via text, she called, and I answered quickly.
"I don't know what to say about this," she said, and I snorted.
"Right? I'm so confused."
"I guess just use the brushes and play your music again?"
I hummed, feeling just a little weirded out by the whole thing.
For some reason, Pythor's attention didn't scare me, which made me nervous.
I had a healthy dose of fear when it came to people, but especially when it came to men, and Pythor was everything I was usually afraid of.
He was so much bigger than me, and he was strong.
He could easily overpower me, and that should scare the shit out of me, but it didn't, which in itself scared me.
"I have a suggestion," Nessa said, her voice hesitant.
"What is it?" I asked, my eyes still on the note. His handwriting was messy, with the tail ends of the ys and gs dragging far too much, and I liked it for some strange reason.
"You know how you've been wanting to learn how to protect yourself?"
"Yeah?" I asked, hoping she wasn't going to suggest another class, or worse, gym.
She'd only tried once, and we'd even driven there.
It was months ago, after I'd gotten done with my PT but before I stopped leaving the house completely, but the moment we'd walked inside and I'd seen all the strong, large men around, I'd had a panic attack.
Nessa had had to basically carry me back to her car, and she hadn't tried again.
"Well, Pythor teaches self-defense. You could ask him to teach you."
"Like at the community center?"
"No, I know you wouldn't want to go. But he lives right there. He could give you a one-on-one class."
I shook my head, my free arm clamping around my middle instinctively. "That's not...I can't..."
"What if I was there too? Would that make things easier?" she suggested, and I exhaled loudly.
I knew I had to compromise somewhere, somehow.
I didn't want to spend the rest of my life cooped up in this house.
I wanted to be able to go back out, and I didn't think I could even try until I felt confident in my ability to protect myself.
I had to start somewhere, and having Nessa with me had to help, right?
"I suppose."
"Great! Do you want me to talk to him?"
"You have his number?"
"No, but the community center website had his socials. I thought I'd try that."
"I can do it." I could do that, right?
"You sure? You're not just saying it?"
"I'm sure," I promised, then sighed. "I don't—I don't like being trapped in this house either, Ness."
Nessa made a sympathetic sound. "I know, sweetie. This will be a good first step—you'll see."
"I hope so."
I sat down on the couch as we continued talking, and when the call ended, I pulled up the website on my phone, knowing I'd chicken out if I put it off for later.
Since I still remembered the community center's name, finding the website, and Pythor's socials from there, was easy.
I'd deleted all my socials in a fit of anxiety a few months ago, so I had to make a new one to message him. I went with a generic username, then used a corner of my current painting for the profile pic before opening a chat window with him.
Then I stared at it as I tried to figure out what to say, as I tried to get up the nerve to say anything. My eyes flicked to the set of paintbrushes, and I sighed.
I had to do this. If I wanted any kind of life, I had to take the first step. Those bastards stole everything from me. My freedom, my soul, my sense of safety. I didn't know if I'd ever get it all back, but I knew I couldn't give up without giving it my best try.
"I got this," I muttered to myself, then started typing.