12 Undertone
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at his house. She wanted to help him into the house but he didn't allow her.
As they entered, she felt a strong force, such as she had never felt before, press against her on all sides. It was accompanied by a splitting headache. She prayed steadily, consistently in her head and slowly she felt the headache ebb away.
She sat him down by the kitchen island and grabbed a glass cup from a set and filled it with water from the tap. He took his jacket off—the mere act itself is a struggle for him.
"Where do you keep your drugs, sir?" She inquired.
"Check the top cabinet by your right." She did.
She opened it. Her eyes widened at the truckload of drugs she found.
"W-which one?" She called to him. She hoped whatever it was, it wasn't as bad as her mind was telling her.
"The first two you see." He groaned out in pain. She quickly picked the drugs and checked their names—her eyes widened in shock.
She looked back at him.
'These drugs, they were...'
She shook her head and brought the drugs to him.
His hand trembled as he took them. Her heart sank as she looked at him.
He looked so exhausted and unwell.
She hated seeing people sick. She'd seen first hand what disease could do to a person.
She had watched her mom be ravaged by it.
"Do you need anything else, sir?" She sat beside him by the island.
"No, thank you." He felt weak and it was truly a struggle trying to keep himself from keeling over. He stole a glance at her, his dishevelled hair shielded most of his eyes. He could see the worry blatantly displayed in her eyes. But was it real though?
He wanted to convince himself that it wasn't, that what he saw in her eyes wasn't real, couldn't be real, to silence the turmoil that raged inside of him each time he looked at her...like then.
They were practically strangers and she didn't know anything about him, but he knew everything about her.
He knew where she lived, he also knew she was an orphan and that she had a sister-Emily, a hairstylist, among other things.
He was intrigued by her and had wanted to know more about her so he made his own findings.
Sarah looked at him with her eyebrows furrowed. She was still worried but he seemed to be getting better after he'd taken his medication.
Her eyes roamed the kitchen and the living room—everything was cleaned spotless.
The furniture was either white or ash, it was depressing in away. The house was absolutely huge and she couldn't help but wonder if he lived there alone.
"Should I call someone to be with you, a relative or..."
"That won't be necessary." He said indifferently.
"But you're not fully..."
"I'm fine..." He cut her off as she began to protest.
"With all due respect sir, you're not fine." She didn't know where the courage came from but she didn't stop.
"You're clearly not well and you can't stay alone in this house. What if something happens again and you're alone with no one to help you?" Her brows furrowed in frustration at the fact that he didn't want to seek proper help. 'Who does that?'
His eyebrows were raised slightly probably from surprise as he stared at her and then he did something that surprised her greatly—he chuckled.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
Was she hearing things?
It was a light chuckle, barely audible but a chuckle nonetheless.
"Well, Miss Anderson, I'm grateful for the concern but you really shouldn't be worried about me. I've taken my medication so you can be rest assured I won't die in my sleep, at least not tonight." He said it so lightly, almost jokingly but she could sense there was something more behind those words.
Her eyes softened. He was staring at her and her heart was doing that thing it always did whenever she was nervous particularly when he stared at her like that with his bottle-green eyes.
He always managed to maintain a calm demeanour for as long as she's been working for him. Nothing seemed to ever rattle him, not even that night's incident. She wouldn't lie, she was drawn to him.
He was attractive, successful, hardworking and not to mention generous but those weren't what drew her, no, it was his silence.
He wasn't the kind of person given to petty talks or associations.
He talked only when he had to. But she knew there was something behind that silence, his supposed calm demeanour.
There was much more to him than meets the eye but he was like a brick wall.
She wanted to talk with him, wanted to hear him talk, like really talk and not his unfeeling robotic responses.
She wanted to know what went on in his mind, she couldn't help but wonder what he thought of her.
"I should get going, sir." She grabbed her purse she had earlier discarded on the kitchen counter. She had to get home soon, it was late, her neighbourhood wasn't safe at night but she didn't like the idea of leaving him alone for fear that something else might happen to him.
He didn't want her to leave but as usual, he kept his disappointments to himself.
"I'll call Tom to come to pick you up."
He did.
He had only a few minutes to spend with her before she left so he allowed himself to observe her—her dark hair which was a curly mess following the night's incident and her dark-brown, yet beautiful eyes.
He liked her dress and he had complimented her on it, she had been embarrassed.
He knew one thing for sure, she was different but he knew deep down nothing good could come from them being friendly with one another. The demon had told him to stay away from her and he didn't particularly know why.
'Did it see her as a threat?'
Ever since she stepped foot into his house, he hadn't heard it speak, not once—which was unusual.
He didn't feel its oppressive force as much as well.
It was there lingering in the shadows, watching them both ever since they arrived at his house, but for some reason, it kept its distance.
"I like your home." She said out of the blue bringing him out of his train of thoughts. He turned to her and spoke in his usual calm tone.
"It's not a home. It's a house." He didn't know why he told her that but truth to be told, it'd never felt like home to him.
"Living alone can be very lonely. Maybe it just needs the touch of a loving wife." Sarah's eyes widened as she realised what she'd just said.
'Why did she say that?! What was she thinking? Why did she always have to embarrass herself?
His gaze fell to his entwined hands resting on the counter.
"Hmmn." Was his only reply. His interest in the opposite sex had never lasted. He's never really liked one enough to want a relationship.
"Maybe you're right Miss Anderson." He added.
"But relationships haven't always been my strong point." Ladies literally worshipped the ground he walked and no doubt would jump him if they ever had the chance but all he's ever focused on and given time to was his company and then there was also his sister, but that was a different case entirely.
He was amazed, that was literally the longest conversation he's had with anyone outside of work in a really long time. He didn't even know why he was telling her all that.
"What about you Miss Anderson, any fiancé?"
Like the sometimes awkward girl she was, she started stuttering nonsense.
He smiled at that but he pretended to take a sip out of his glass cup.
He was very amused.
She cleared her throat.
"I'm single...happily single sir." She said with a bit of effort.
"Good. Make sure you choose the right person, 'the one'." She looked at him surprised and then smiled.
"I'll keep that in mind, sir." Just then she heard a car outside the house.
'It must be Tom.'
A minute later, they heard a knock on the door. Sarah stood to get the door and as expected, it was Tom.
"Good evening ma'am."
"Evening Tom." She replied back with a smile. She saw her boss walk towards them both and stopped right beside her. She saw him nod to Tom and a look of understanding crossed Tom's face.
"Right this way ma'am." She turned to her boss, she noticed his white shirt was stained with blood—his blood.
Worry etched her brows once more.
She looked up at him, his green eyes were no longer dull but radiant.
"I'll be praying for you." She said quietly to him and then she left with Tom. For a long time, he stood by the doorway watching her, even after they had long gone, he didn't move from the door post.
The moment she left, he felt the emptiness again and this time, it was much more depressing.
She left and with her, the soft warmth that seemed to radiate around her.
She was the first woman to ever set foot in his house—with the exception of his sister of course.
He stared at the ceiling.
The emptiness gnawed at him immensely and he felt the overpowering urge to feel something again, anything at all. He felt so dead inside that on occasion he wished he died really.
He could feel it stand beside him as if they were partners, companions even, but in a way, they were. He could no longer remember a time when it hadn't been with him.
He remembered playing in their home, in the backyard as a little boy, maybe four or five. His parents were watching TV, Julie was with them as well.
They had all been one big happy family then, but that was until everything changed and took a turn for the worse.
He had been playing all by himself when he saw a lone dark figure by the trees near their home, hidden in the shadows. He had thought he was seeing things, until it came closer and closer till it was right in front of him.
It was hideous, dark from the head down and it had gaping holes with red hot coals for eyes. Its red eyes stared unblinking at him, he couldn't move or talk, it was like he was paralysed and could only look on at the hideous figure in pure fear.
"W-what are you?" He managed to choke out softly, his green eyes bright with fear.
The figure only smiled, its wide smile reaching both sides of its head. It had no ears or nose.
It leaned closer.
"Your best friend." It whispered. It sounded shrieky, inhumane.
"I've never had a best friend before." His eyes brightened up instantly.
He heard footsteps by the door, it opened, it was his mom.
"Aaron dear, why don't you come in for dinner, it's getting late."
He turned back to it and saw that it was still there, then he realised his mom couldn't see it.
"Aaron, you coming?" She beckoned.
"Coming mom." He turned back to it and smiled.
"Since you're my best friend now why don't you come in for dinner, I'm sure mom and dad won't mind since we're friends now." The crooked smile was back on its face, it only nodded its head in reply.
From that fateful day, it never left and nothing ever remained the same. It was always lingering in the shadows. He had been young then and had thought it was just his imaginations gone wild.
But then he grew older, his mates called him a freak, they thought he was crazy, talking to thin air. But he had long since realized it was real, as real as the very air he breathed.
"ı ŧơٳɖ ყơų ŧơ Şŧąყ ąɯąყ ʄřơm ɧɛř." It hissed.
"Are you threatened by her?" He asked calmly, his face void of any emotion.
It gave a low growl.
"ŞɧɛŞ ą ცɛٳıɛ۷ɛř.' It spat venomously.
"I'm aware."
"ყơų ɧąŧɛ ŧɧɛm."
"True." It growled even louder at Aaron's response.
"ı'm ɠơıŋɠ ŧơ Ҡıٳٳ ɧɛř." It smiled sinisterly.
Aaron closed his eyes and sighed.
"There's always a protective cover around her and an angel by her side always."
"You couldn't kill her even if you wanted to, I'm sure you know that as well as I do."
It smirked darkly.
"ŞɧɛŞ ɧųmąŋ, ɧųmąŋŞ ąřɛ ąٳɯąყŞ ɠı۷ɛŋ ŧơ ŧɧɛ ʄٳɛŞɧ."
"ŞɧɛŞ ცơųŋɖ řơ ʄąٳٳ ąŧ Şơmɛ קơıŋŧ, ŧɧɛყ ąٳٳ ɖơ ɛ۷ɛŋŧųąٳٳყ ąŋɖ ɯɧɛŋ Şɧɛ ɖơɛŞ, ıٳٳ ɧą۷ɛ mყ ĆɧąŋĆɛ."
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