Demon boyfriend - Part 5 - Complete the connection (nsfw)
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4
[NSFW, bit spooky, strong language]
When consciousness found you again, the blood on the kitchen floor had dried to brown crackled smears and dawn light was finally piercing your nightmare. Gasping a lung full of cool air, you sat bolt upright quickly as the memory of the night before returned to you with painful freshness, and in doing so you were immediately struck by a sharp pain in your lower back and dull ache which seemed to permeate your entire body and face. You blearily inspected your pained arms, and were horrified to find that they were speckled with deep gouges and bite marks, each anointment crusted over with dried blood. You felt your whole body started to tremble as you stared at your arms with wide terrified eyes, and hopeless panicked tears start to run silently down your cheeks.
Birds chirped happily outside the kitchen window and they seemed so incongruous with the horror you’d woken up to that you felt a shred of hope inside you break: you started to rack in big heaving sobs, holding your face in your ruined hands as you cried fat miserable tears between your fingers and groaned in fear and self pity. You were the most scared you’d been in your entire life, your whole body ached or stabbed with pain, and you knew that you only had a few days before you needed to live a fresh hell at the hands of that monster. You stayed there on the kitchen floor for a long time with each sob causing your back to thrum with fresh pain from where you’d been slammed onto the tiles, before your survival instincts slowly started to breach through to your consciousness.
You needed to find help.
You needed protection.
Quickly.
When you had a mountain of cash sitting pretty in your spare bedroom, it was surprisingly easy to find someone on the internet who professed to be able to protect you from a monster. Finding someone who you would actually trust with your life had proven to be considerably more difficult, and you’d vowed that if you got out of this horror alive, you’d create a comparison site for exorcists, demonologists, and other dabblers in the dark arts. You’d have never considered speaking to strangers so frankly about this experience for fear of being thought of as ridiculous or insane when this situation started to unfold… but it was funny what being covered in demon bites would do for resilience to being seen as Silly. Two days and several extremely sketchy home visits later, you’d found someone who actually seemed to believe they knew that they were doing. Whether they did know what they were doing was another matter entirely, but you considered her your best hope. Her name was Emma, and she’d introduced herself as a demonologist with a straight face.
You’d been removed from your home, citing the ‘simple fact’ that that was where Friday’s connection to you was strongest, and you were relocated to what you’d come to refer to as The Library Bunker. Every wall of the long windowless structure was covered with shelves rammed full with books and occult looking nick-nacks with individually wrapped hard boiled sweets and sheafs of crumpled paper forced into every available crevice. The place was very…. dense. There wasn’t a surface unadorned with a lit incense burner, making the air heavy and overly fragranced with artificial lavender, rose, and cloying smoke.Your hostess visited you briefly approximately every day, but she declared that she was spending most of her time searching for a way to banish the thing whence it came and left you under instruction that your tether to Friday would be weakened if you adhered to the following rules:
- Don’t say its name, don’t even think its name
- Avoid knowing what day it is, and what time of day it is
- Eat a lot of sugar, fat and beige carbohydrates (whilst forcing toast into your hands, she had explained that really what she was trying to achieve was an uplift in your mood, but given your dire straits that was a big ask. The food provided an artificial boost).
When you’d first explained the situation to her in full, you’d mentally noted the points at which she’d winced to take stock of all the things you’d handled poorly. It seemed as though accepting gifts, giving a name, letting it taste your blood, conversing, inviting it into your home and initiating physical interaction were frowned upon in demon-avoiding circles. It was your first haunting, so you wagered you could be forgiven.. if you lived. When you’d told your tale of woe, Emma had laughed in a high, tense fashion and exclaimed, “at least you didn’t have sex with it”. You’d laughed along, but had instantly been filled with hot shame as you remembered the night it had healed your chest wounds by lapping at you with its long prehensile tongue. You may have glossed over the heat you’d felt in your thighs and belly in your retelling of that evening.
Alone again curled up in a dusty armchair with a book you struggled to understand, the quiet bunker wrapped around you like a security blanket. Emma had explained that if the alarm tripped she’d come running, but when you’d questioned what the alarm actually detected she’d become significantly more elusive.. explaining it with a hand wave as ‘like a proximity alert’. Even though that paled in comparison to the explanation you really wanted, the mere presence of an alarm was a greater comfort to you than you’d imagined it could be. You felt safe to close your eyes in the shower for the first time in a very long stretch. Without the constant itch of a phone to check, you’d found that you were slipping into sleep much easier than you had done in years, and when a yawn pressed against the inside of your mouth in pursuit of its freedom, you felt relief rather than the usual irritation. Planting your book on the end table, you rose from the armchair with a sore grunt; your bruises were in full bloom and every movement was fresh pain. Leaving all of the lamps on, you hobbled over to the futon which had been your bed for the last several long sleeps and slipped into the embrace of the covers with a satisfied sigh. You nuzzled your face into your pillows and relaxed your aching body and floating towards sleep.
When they found you, you experienced your dreams in sharp fragments:
Eating an ice cream on the steps of a ruined husk of a building.
Flying too fast through a pitch black forest, not sure if you were a bird or a pilot.
Running through the forest then, certain that something was chasing you.
Claws sinking painlessly into your flesh, and a long white tongue forcing its way through your tightly pursed lips and down your throat, making you wretch and choke at the same time.
Struggling against a suffocating embrace.
Lost in a dark, empty expanse. Two white dots the only feature in a blank night.
When you awoke, exhausted and unsure why your hands were trembling, you were so grateful for the room being basked in light that despite still being half asleep you choked out a relieved sob. After a period of readjustment, as you were settling back in, a single book slipped from its mooring on a shelf and fell to the floor with a loud THUD and you yelped in surprise, yanked back from the cusp of sleep. Under the blankets, you scratched at the itching scabs on your arm irritably. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give your phone a quick check, maybe text mom so she knew you were still alive, you could squint on the lock screen so you didn’t see the day. Having convinced yourself that it was safe to disobey direct instruction from your only guide through this turmoil, you were half way through getting up before your resolve returned to you and you imprisoned yourself back in the tight embrace of the blankets with a heavy sigh.
You touched your chest, and the memory of how the monster healed you with its thick tongue replayed in your mind as you drifted back towards sleep.
The longer you stayed in the bunker, the more erratic your sleep-wake cycle became and the more days blended into one. Your protector assured you that this was a good thing, but as you joylessly inhaled your fifth bag of smoky bacon crisps of the day (who knew you could get sick of crisps) you couldn’t help but suspect it was easier for her to keep you in a bunker forever rather than construct an elaborate ruse of ‘exorcising’ the nutcase who was paying her an exorbitant amount for safety.
When you took a shower later that day, you noticed that the seven gouges on your chest had changed from dark red to black and made a note to mention it to Emma when she next visited. You turned your face up towards the hot water, feeling it patter against your neck and the bruised skin of your back. Your bruises were starting to yellow and fade, and you were grateful for every movement no longer being accompanied with an ache or sharp pain. You wondered abstractly if Friday even knew what bruising was, and as soon as the thought crystalised in your mind several books rattled and plummeted from the shelves and a loud WHOOOOOOP blared from a speaker above you causing you to reactively scream in terror before it fell silent just as quickly as it had pierced your peace. So there was an alarm.
Shit, you’d set off the alarm.
Suddenly, your warm cosy bunker felt very isolated, and you felt a renewed sense of vulnerability. You shut off the shower. Maybe you should call Emma to make sure she knew the alarm had gone off. You could close your eyes whilst you unlocked the phone… No. No, she’d been very clear that you should stay away from anything which could tell you the day or time. You’d just have to wait it out.
Still damp from the shower, you crawled onto your futon and wrapped yourself in your blankets for whatever meagre comfort that could offer you. You forced yourself to take a deep, slow breath. It was going to be alright. It was going to be alright. It was going to be al-
“NOT SO OBEDIENT ANY MORE, FRIDAY WILL NEED TO BITE OFF SOME TOES AFTER ALL.” It felt as though the bottom had dropped out of your stomach as soon as you heard the familiar voice inside your mind and your breath immediately started coming only in short petrified gasps. You looked around wildly for any sign of the creature (very careful to avoid naming it, even in your mind) but as far as you could see you were alone. You sat there repeating yammering mantra after mantra just to try to keep your thoughts from focusing on the monster and drawing it to you, waiting for a fatal blow or a claw on your back, but it didn’t come. You hugged yourself tightly with blankets clinging to your damp skin and bubbles of light headedness accumulating in your skull with each gasped breath.
Hours passed in tense silence, and eventually the drain of being on high alert for so long drained you and you slumped reluctantly into sleep.
Your dream felt different. Like it was being.. steered. It was a difficult sensation to put into words.
You were laying on something very soft, with your legs pushed open by cold strong hands. You opened your eyes momentarily but after catching a glimpse of dark fur and horns between your legs you screwed them shut again, turning your head to hide your face in your pillow.
Then, you were suspended helplessly on nothingness, with tendrils of darkness pushing painfully against your closed eyelids and forcing their way down your nose and throat, stopping you breathing and making your lungs burn desperately for oxygen.
Then, you were on all fours on your bloody kitchen floor, with your face pressed roughly into the tile and sharp claws piercing your flesh painfully as something big and uncomfortable pushed into you.
Then, you were back on the soft surface with eyes still screwed shut as a long pointed tongue lapped at your folds before pressing into your entrance, stretching you and making you shudder with pleasure. You groaned and arched your aching back, instinctively lowering a hand to touch yourself and heighten the sensation, when you woke up.
Your eyes snapped open and you locked eyes with Friday, looming at the foot of your bed with face split in half to reveal its rows upon rows of sharp teeth and staring at you with bright lidless eyes. You tried to scream, but all that escaped you was a whimper. Its tall, dark, lithe, angular form was in sharp contrast to the soft lighting of the room around it. After a moment of being frozen in terror you managed a hoarse whisper.
“How.. how did you find me?”
“YOU CALLED FRIDAY.” It answered, its mane bristled almost to the height of its sharp dark horns. “YOU CALLED FRIDAY WITH MOANS AND A WET CUNT.”
You blanched with horror, feeling the blood drain from your face at the implications of that statement dawned on you. “No I didn’t, you did something.” You sat up in bed and scrambled backwards, “Leave me alone!” You cried out desperately, about to bolt for the door when Friday reached forward with a clawed hand and grabbed your still bruised ankle, dragging you back towards the foot of the bed despite your frantic writhing and struggling to get free.
“RUN,” It began, and you stopped your useless struggles for freedom to stare up at it in horror as you laid flat on your back, heart thumping frantically against the inside of your ribs. “AND FRIDAY WILL HURT YOU. FRIDAY WILL HURT YOU VERY BADLY.” Tears of panic prickled before beginning to stream from your eyes, spilling down your face onto your hair and the mattress below, the gasps of air you were managing to force into your lungs were quick and shallow and useless, you felt as though you were suffocating. It released your ankle as if in challenge. You didn’t move. Seemingly pleased with your obedience, it reached a hand with long thin fingers towards your face. “STAY, HAVE YOUR FANTASY.” It stroked your cheek with its thin fingers and you flinched away from the touch, your skin left cold in its wake. “COMPLETE THE CONNECTION AND FRIDAY WILL TREAT YOU
SSSSSSOOOOOO
NNNIIIICCCEEELLLLYYY.”
Your vision was blurred by tears and you were in the full grip of blind delirious panic.
“You’re lying,” you choked out, unable to tear your eyes away from its blank bright gaze, “you’re going to hurt me either way.”
You watched it stare down at you with its fixed split grin, and with a new cold wave of terror .. you thought you saw it shrug.
