Page 27 of Devil Inside

So. A dream, then. Chalk it all up to too much booze.

So much for Lilith.Thanks for the memories...

I see I’ve got a few missed calls. Couple texts from Lys. A few from Freel.

where’d you go

u ditch?

call me back let me know you’re still alive

Then I spot the scratches on my forearm. Up and down my chest. On my legs. Jesus, they’reeverywhere. Fresh runnels of angry red flesh. Blood, even. Scabs tattoo my bicep. Each ruddy streak is the width of a fingernail raking across my body, forging some scabbed path that sure as hell looks like a fun night. Lilith really did a number on me.

So, okay... maybe not a dream.

Only she’s gone.

Splendid.No note, no phone number. No... nothing. The only hint that last night actually happened—that Lilith is even real—are the claw marks she left all over me.

How long before they heal, I wonder? Get in line, along with the rest of my flesh. I doubt I’ll ever mend. Not completely. Not anymore.

This is all that’s left.

A part of me doesn’t want her wounds to fade. Let them scar. Join the rest. Add them to the mix of mottled tissue. A keepsake of skin, reminding me of our night.

Reminding me of her.

Lilith made me feel alive again. Haven’t felt that way in... well, since dying.

What I wouldn’t give to pick up my own pulse again.

I already want her back. Round two.

A new lease on life.

This one, at least.

walk of shame

Lilith

Why is everything so hazy? It’s as if there’s dust in our eyes... I can’t close them.

Our eyes.

The room is quiet. I can still hear, but there’s no sound...

What has happened to us?

I can’t move. Can’t escape. I’m trapped. Stuck inside a host whose body is collapsing in on itself. Synapses aren’t connecting. He’s sick. In a vegetative state, they said. His mind has shut down, severing itself off from everything else... They’ve placed his body in a specialized ward for patients who are no longer in control of their own faculties.

Nobody comes near us now. Nobody touches us. When they bathe this body, they wear rubber gloves. Only sheathed hands. A latex barrier between us and our freedom. Joke all you want, but it’s a prophylactic against possession. It’s mind-boggling to think one can go their entire life without being touched properly. No skin to skin.

That’s all I need. Just a sliver. Why won’t anyone touch us? Hold us? Caress us? Even when they feed us, it’s done from a distance. Through tubes. Never this tongue.

No family, no friends. No love. Everyone would rather forget this man ever existed. I’m alone on a deserted island of desiccated flesh, without any human contact.

I have no voice. All bottled up.