Amicus Mortis

Weeks passed. I knew Evangeline about as well as I knew I was fucked in the head, which – as Doctor Connell made perfectly clear – was not very much at all. I spent most of my days locked in the confines of my room, staring blankly at the walls and feeling more insane than I ever had.

Occasionally I would leave the room for food and I would see her, and my heart would pound like I was twelve again and I would be unable to look away – just staring at her as though she was a vision, as though I was out of breath. She would smile and I’d be reminded that she was the devil, just as awful as me, just as insane and wrong and out of control as I was.

And God, I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

After eighteen days of keeping to myself I ventured out of my room, walking mindlessly towards the dining room with my hands clenched in fists by my sides. When I entered the room people stared at me and for a moment I felt that sharp, startling clench of fear in my stomach, but then it was gone and I was sneering like I always did, telling them to fuck off before wandering over to grab my food.

They’d revoked my knife privileges. I was left scooping up my food with a plastic fork, wondering whether I could use it to gauge out the eyes of the people looking at me.

God, it wasn’t like they weren’t insane too. That’s why we were all here: because we were out of control, because we were fucked up and lost and not good enough for the outside world. And yet they stared at me as though I was a farm animal, as though I was something that they didn’t recognise, and I was about to stand up and yell when someone slid into the seat across from me.

“Nomad,” she greeted, and I should’ve known it was her. “Getting angry?”

She said it all with a smirk on her lips, and it was all I could do not to shout at her. Instead I stared – like I bloody always did, hand gripping my fork tightly as I reminded myself to breathe. “’fuck do you want, Evan?” I ground out, glancing down at my food and pushing it around my plate. She was looking thinner than usual – all skin and bones, like she was haunting the place rather than living in it. And maybe that was why I couldn’t get rid of her, because she was small, so small and she would hide in my flesh without me knowing.

She leaned towards me, lips curled into a smile and smelling like everything dangerous. “Careful, Noah,” she said in a sultry voice, eyes glowing as she grinned. “I might not let you in on my secret.”

Before I knew it she had pulled backwards and was walking away, past the tables, turning around only briefly to give me a look. And like the idiot I was I found myself stumbling after her, food forgotten and legs moving to their own rhythm, watching the sway of her hips and wondering if I really could feel her.

We made it outside. Into the garden – a place I’d never been before, a place I’d never cared to go. And then she turned back to look at me and my breath caught in my throat, and I wanted to kiss her and touch her and consume her so badly that I couldn’t move.

She reached into her pockets, a smile dangling from her lips as she pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

“Fuck,” I blurted, “I think I might love you.”

She laughed. Idly opened the packet and chucked one at me, and in my stupor I caught it and placed it in my mouth without a word. “’ow’d you get it?” I mumbled, cigarette dangling from my lips, my whole body tingling with anticipation – aching for the smoke to fill my lungs.

She just laughed and leaned towards me, eyeing me with those dark, dangerous eyes of hers. I gazed lazily back at her, eyes hooded and lashes lowered as I stared. My lips curled into a lazy smirk, and I eyed her greedily. Smiling, she startled me by clicking her lighter so that the flame flickered in front of my eyes, looking almost as dangerous as she was. Her eyes never leaving mine, she lit my cigarette before leaning backwards and lighting her own.

It was like heaven as it slid down my lungs, relaxing my body in an instant, reaching parts of me that I’d thought to be numb. “Fuck,” I moaned, pulling the fag from my lips and exhaling the smoke, loving the smell as it danced around me.

She kissed me then, and God – fuck, it was everything. Everything against my lips and in my mouth and pounding in my heart. Reaching down to my wrists and my toes and filling my lungs. She tasted like cigarettes and smelt like smoke and I could feel her inside of me and around me and everywhere.

When she pulled away she grinned, bringing her cigarette to her lips and drawing in lazily. “Fuck,” she agreed.