Page 7 of My Demon Neighbor
Just as I was drifting off, my phone buzzed, and I grabbed for it, quickly unlocking it.
A faint flutter in my belly made my brows furrow, and I wondered why I was so excited about a reply from my neighbor. We were talking about self-defense classes, for fuck's sake. What was thrilling aboutthat?
Artist216: How about 11 a.m. next Saturday? And I don't mind paying. It would make me feel better.
I frowned. I didn't need money. I had no use for it. But I also understood his wish to not owe me, so I thought about it for a moment before replying.
Me: If you really insist on paying, how about you make a donation to the community center instead? They're always in need of funds, and they'll have more use for it than me. And the timing works for me. See you this weekend!
This time, he replied almost instantly, telling me he had his phone in his hands.
Artist216: I can do that. And yes, see you on Saturday.
I returned my phone to the nightstand, then closed my eyes and turned on my belly, wrapping my arms around my pillow and smiling as the faint sound of Codie's music reached my ear.
For some reason, I didn't find it as irritating as I had just days ago.
Codie
I spent the rest of the week in an anxious haze. Nessa and I chatted every day, but I somehow managed to keep her from sensing my growing unease.
Now that I'd invited Pythor into my home, into the only place I felt safe, I was starting to regret it.
What if he wasn't as nice and helpful as his online persona implied? What if he was dangerous, and I just welcomed him past all my defenses?
The only thing that kept me from having a full-on breakdown was the fact that Nessa would be there with me. Nessa was strong, and brave, and I knew that if something went wrong, she could hold her own, even against someone like Pythor.
She'd offered to train me herself, and while she had taught me the basics, I worried that I would freeze up when faced with a man. Working with her was easy because I trusted her, but you didn't need to be able to defend yourselves against people you trusted.
I painted in a frenzy the whole week, barely catching a few hours of sleep before I was at it again. It was the only way I could calm my mind, and while I'd worried I would never be able to create again when I was still healing, I'd been wrong.
I'd never painted more than in the last few months, which made me wonder if there was some truth to the whole "tortured artist" thing. Or maybe I was just creating because it was the only time I didn't feel anxious or afraid or like I was seconds away from falling apart.
I eyed the painting I'd been working on for the past two weeks. I didn't have a name for it yet, but it was like every darkthought and memory and image from my mind had spilled onto the canvas, and I didn't know if I wanted to put it up on a wall or burn it to ash.
My gaze flicked over the canvas, taking in the red and black that dominated it. I sucked in a breath when I saw the eyes, and quickly covered them with a streak of bright red. I had no idea when I'd painted them, but they'd seemed to peer right into my shattered soul.
I shivered, then put the palette away, taking a few steps back. Maybe I needed to take a break. Yeah, a break would be good.
Abandoning the canvas, I made my way to the kitchen, washing my hands and then searching through the fridge for something to eat.
I grabbed an orange, peeling it as I peered out the kitchen window. It faced the front of Pythor's house, and I wondered if he was home. Did he go to the shelter every day? What about a job? He must have one, right?
I stuck a slice into my mouth, then retreated to my couch, grabbing the book I'd been reading.
A rustle outside made me jump, and I eyed the window as my heart rate climbed up. When there was no other sound, I returned my gaze to the book, but I couldn't focus anymore.
Swearing under my breath, I put the book away, then grabbed my coat off the back of the couch and slid into it. I'd pulled it off to paint, but the moment it was back on, I felt marginally better, like there was a shield between me and the world. It was silly, but it worked, and I could use every coping mechanism I had if it meant not losing my hold on myself, tenuous as it was.
I got up to dump the orange peel, then jumped as my phone beeped, swearing under my breath.
Maybe Nessa had been onto something with her suggestion of getting a guard dog. I had no idea how I'd find one I got along with without leaving the house, but I certainly wouldn't mind having one. A warm furbaby to cuddle at night would just be an added bonus.
Sighing, I checked my phone, swiped away the spam email that'd startled me, then returned to my studio, shrugging out of my coat and hanging it on the hook on the door.
I moved to a different easel and picked out a new canvas because I wasn't ready to face that one again, not yet.
Eyeing my palette, my gaze was drawn to the rich brown, and I slid my brush through it before beginning, an image taking form in my mind.
