Demon at My Door (4 page)

“Wonder if I should waste what little bit of time I have left in this place?” I question myself quietly. I check my vanishing life lines to see how much they’ve changed. They fade a little more each day. Last night I did some research on the internet about life lines and demonic soul possession. There wasn’t one site that was even remotely helpful—probably because most people don’t live through demonic encounters. But I did order some holy water and a bag of salt from a demon hunter website. One can never be too prepared when their soul’s at stake. 

A couple of sites mentioned winning your soul back after a demonic deal, but basically they said I’d have to make another deal with the demon that currently owns it. No way do I want to make anymore deals with that little shit. Shivers erupt through me. He could be anywhere, just waiting to pounce on me like a lion does its prey.

“Hey! Wait up!” I hear someone call, but I don’t stop. No one ever talks to me. Well, at least not in public. My reputation as a certifiable nutcase precedes me.

“Hey!” the male voice calls again. It’s closer this time, and there’s a light touch on my elbow.

I glare down at the hand on my elbow and then allow my eyes travel up the tattooed arm of the brown-haired guy holding it. He’s cute in that bad boy, biker kind of way.

My eyes narrow. 

He immediately releases me and holds his hands up, palms out. “Sorry,” he says.

He’s hot and all, but I doubt he’s here to ask me out. Most people at school never actually talk to me – unless you call making fun of me “talking.” I stare up at him and demand, “Are you talking to me?”

“Yeah.” He raises an eyebrow and smiles. His teeth are perfect—probably cost his parents a mint. “Who else would I be talking to?” He chuckles as we both look around the empty parking lot.

“Okay…soooo… what?” I ask a little more brusquely than I meant to and then take off in the direction of the school before he can answer. I am so not in the mood to be messed with.  

“Whoa, hold on there.” He catches up to me and matches my pace. “I was just wondering if you could show me where Administration is. This is my first day on campus. By the way, I’m Rick.” He holds out his hand as a standard greeting, but I just keep walking. “Rick Steele.” He tries again. I glare at his hand for a second before he shrugs and drops it down to his side.

He’s new. That explains the tinge of southern accent I hear in his voice and why he’s not afraid to be seen with me. He’s got a great smile and a deep throaty voice that makes me think of hot caramel over smooth, cool ice cream. He’ll do well in the girl department here. Especially with those intriguing gray eyes—the kind that can peer into your soul – and thick, dark hair that nearly touches his shoulders. Girls eat that crap up. 

Even though I’m not really feeling hospitable, especially to a guy that’s going to eventually ignore me like all the others, I decide I can show him. He hasn’t done anything to me. Yet. “Sure. Follow me.”

I pick up the pace, wanting to get into the building before anyone tries to use me as target practice with their half-empty, fancy iced-coffee cups. For some reason the prep crowd around here think that kind of shit is hilarious.  

We arrive at the main office. I smile faintly at Rick. “Here you go. See you around.” 

“Wait,” Rick says, as I turn away from him. I whip around to meet his gaze. “What’s your name?”

I roll my eyes. Why does he care? “Most people call me Sugarman.”

He tilts his head to the side. “That’s your last name, I take it.”

I nod and walk backwards, trying to get away as quick as I can without looking like a total bitch.

“What’s your first name?” Yep, he’s a smooth-talker.

“Natalie.”

A slow grin spreads across his face and his smile leaves me feeling a little light headed. “Thanks for helping me out,
Natalie
.”

My name rolls off his tongue with ease, like he’s said it a million times. His accent gives it a special twist. Damn it. I can feel my cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. I duck my head, trying to hide my reaction.  

He chuckles and then heads into the main office.

Ugh. What a flirt. I flee back across the courtyard, completely baffled in this guy’s interest in me. He probably plays all the girls like this and causes them to swoon all over him. I’m sure Rick will fit in just fine.

After surviving my morning classes, I head to lunch. Usually, I sit alone outside under a big oak tree—trying to disappear—until it gets so cold we’re forced inside. 

Ah, the lonely life of an outcast. Was I always seen as social pariah? The answer is no, not always. As hard as it is to believe, I was once accepted, and - I might even dare to say - semi-popular. 

At least until I went to Taylor Gee’s freshman year sleepover seven years ago in high school. Thanks to Mom, she revealed my psycho status to practically every girl in my grade by storming over to Taylor’s and making a huge scene. Talk about mortifying. Going on and on about how I’d forgotten my ‘crazy pills’ at home and how it would affect my ‘condition’ if I missed a dose. From then on people started avoiding me like I had leprosy and lucky me that status followed me on to college. 

I saunter over to the lunch line and grab an apple and a bottle of water and head out to the tree.

Great, so much for being alone out here. The entire student population seems to be spread out across the quad and—wouldn’t you know it?—there’s someone in my spot.

“Hey, again.” Rick grins as he looks up from his book to meet my stare.  His long legs stretch out in front of him, and his black tee shirt clings to his chest as he moves his books out of the way. “You want to sit down?”

Ugh. What’s the deal with this guy? I might as well set him straight about my social status around here and hope he goes away. Now’s not the time for new friends, especially a guy friend. Demon boy made that quite clear. 

“You do realize that’s not the smartest move. I’m probably not the best person to be seen with,” I say as I take my satchel off my shoulder and toss it down. “This is usually where I sit.” He looks at me, like he doesn’t get it, so I state the obvious. “Alone.”

He laughs and crosses his legs at his black, booted ankles, like he doesn’t plan on moving anytime soon. “Everyone needs a friend. And well, lucky for me, I’m not the kind of guy who cares what other people think. Come on. Sit.” He pats the ground next to him.

I raise my eyebrows and give a quick shrug. If he wants to take on the wrath of the jock crowd to hog my spot under the tree, so be it. Doesn’t mean we’re friends, though. Finally, I take a seat in the cool grass next to him and bite into my apple, ignoring him the best I can.

It’s epically silent, except for my thunderous chewing and the mindless chatter surrounding us. Rick seems oblivious of me as he reads his book. Even though I shouldn’t, I glance around, hoping to spot Stew. It doesn’t take me long to find him. He’s at the picnic table in the center of the quad, not more than twenty feet away, surrounded by the entire puketastic cheerleading squad. Taylor Gee—the most vomit-inducing of all the cheerleaders and my previous best friend—is perched at his side. 

I hate that half of my high school class got accepted into Capital University along with me. 

Taylor giggles at Stew’s every word and flaunts her A cups at him. Her brown hair twirls around her perfectly manicured index finger as she makes goo-goo eyes at Stew. Are they hooking up now? The whole scene makes me want to hurl. I don’t know how I could have ever been her friend. 

Blood burns in my veins, and I’m ready to explode. Frustrated, I squeeze the crap out of my apple and grind my teeth. From the outside, it looks like they’re perfect for each other. But Stew told me he hates superficial people like Taylor as much as I do. The only reason he puts up with it, and pretends to be friends with those posers, is to appease his domineering father. He wants him to surround himself with only good people, and obviously, according to Mr. Masterson, that excludes me.

But God, Stew doesn’t have to pretend he likes it so much.

My stomach churns for believing what we had together was real.  

Rick pulls me back to reality. “Friend of yours?”

My head snaps in his direction. “Pssssh. Hardly.” 

“Hmmm.” He lifts an eyebrow and then goes back to his book.

This guy thinks he knows me. Whatever. He’s known me all of four hours. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He snaps the book shut and looks me in the eye. “It just means I’ve noticed you two staring at each other when you think the other one’s not looking. It makes me wonder what’s going on there because you two don’t exactly look like you travel in the same circles. No offense.”

I shrug. “Not much to tell. He’s my neighbor. That’s all.”

He cocks his head, almost like he’s suspicious of something. “Right.” He smirks. “You know, I want us to be friends, so you should be honest with me.”

For a second, I think about how amazing it’d be to have a friend like Rick, someone who isn’t afraid to be seen in public with me. But I haven’t had a real friend –not counting Stew, for obvious reasons - since the Taylor incident, and the one thing I’ve learned since then is to protect myself.

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Think what you want. I gotta go.”

I stand, throw my satchel on my shoulder and turn back to address him. “What makes you think we’re friends?”

I hear Rick call my name as I walk away, but I don’t look back. No way do I need the new guy knowing any of my secrets. I’ll have to make sure I’m more careful with the Stew situation so the demon doesn’t suspect there’s something still going on between me and Stew. 

Because if the new guy can see through me, so will everyone else.

Chapter Five

Abstract Art is the only course I’m really excited about on my schedule. I wish I could major in it, but my parents would flip their shit if I did. Here I can express my darker side—my inner most demon fears. Dr. Woods, one of the main art professors, just refers to it as soulful and slaps an A on my work, yet never questions where I draw my dark inspiration from. This is also one of the only courses where people willingly talk to me. Even if it’s only questions on how to make their project better so they can score a good grade from the hard-to-please Woods.

I find myself back at my old faithful corner desk and peer out the window, while I wait for the other students to come in. I try not to make eye contact as they pour into the class room because I don’t want to scare anyone off. Believe it or not, I like to have people around.

The chair next to mine scrapes across the floor as it slides back and the table rumbles slightly under the weight of a big pile of books. I breathe a sigh of relief. Having a partner this semester will be awesome. 

I’m shocked to see so many empty desks around when I scope out the class. This person intended to sit next to me, since there are so many other places to pick from. My most friendly smile goes on display as I turn to greet my tablemate. 

My jaw drops when I look at my partner. It’s Stew. His legs stretch out under the desk as he scoots his chair closer to me. Has he changed his mind? My stomach tenses and my palms grow clammy. Holy crap! This is it. He’s going to let everyone know we’re together. Guilt fills every inch of me for believing he was a worthless user.

I can’t tear my eyes off him. If we weren’t in class right now, I’d leap into his arms and kiss him with all my might, but since Woods doesn’t tolerate any funny business, it probably won’t fly. The smell of cinnamon and soap wafts off of him and my fingers ache to touch his skin. It’s been too long and I’ve missed the feel of him. 

“Hey.” He wears a sheepish grin as he cradles my hand in his under the desk. Fire courses through me, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. I can’t look him in the eye so I focus on the little black bruises Stew has on his right bicep. It looks like a finger marks, like someone grabbed him really hard. I wonder which one of his football buddies did that during practice. “I picked up this class as my elective since I knew you’d be here. I thought this would be the best way for us to talk.” 

The best way?
I give him a lukewarm smile while my heart thumps against my ribs. It’s a good start, but I’m not giving in so easily. “I’ve missed you, Nat. I’ve been to the tree house every night, hoping you’d come. Meet me tonight? I can’t take not seeing you. It’s been hell.”

His thumb rubs the skin on the back of my hand. Every nerve in my body wants to meet him in that tree house, but my head is screaming for me to stand my ground. “I told you what I want.”

“Come on, Nat. Please, be reasonable,” he says in a hushed whisper while he looks around the room. 

“Reasonable?” I say through clenched teeth and try to pull away from his grip, but he tightens his long fingers around my hand.  “You think I should be okay that you’re too embarrassed to be seen with me?”

He furrows his brow. “I’m not embarrassed of you.”

Maybe I should give him a chance? “Great, then meet me at Drakes tomorrow for lunch.”

He shakes his head. “Nat—”

“Stew,” I growl, “if you say no, I suggest you get up and find another place to sit.”

His gray eyes soften, and his voice shakes a little. “Nat, please. I think I love you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

I don’t answer. Instead, I jerk my hand free and turn my attention to my backpack, pretending to search for something so I won’t have to look at him. My eyes sting as he rejects me yet again, and I blurt, “You don’t love me.” 

“Yes. Yes, I do,” he whispers. “My Dad won’t let me see you. You know that. If word got around campus that we’re together, it’s only a matter of time before he finds out.”

“So that’s it then. Your dad says no, and you won’t fight for us. Stew, if you loved me, you’d stand up to him.”

“Do you know how hellish my life would be if I defy him? I’d loose everything.”

“You’re being dramatic. He wouldn’t kick you out on the street because you’re with me. He isn’t that evil.” My eyes meet his. “If you love me, you’ll prove it.”