Living in Darkness

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

My alarm clock screamed at me to wake up on the other side of my bed, and I searched blindly through the abyss of darkness, opening my tired eyes to the bright, seizuring flashes of red. 

Rubied light consumed my apartment, the only other light—a flickering candle—keeping me alive in the moments of darkness. I squinted annoyingly at the clock on my bed stand: 8:42 AM. 

Groaning, I tossed the tan comforter uselessly to the floor and dragged my feet across the white carpet of the seemingly endless hallway, the perm of the floor like tightly curled maggots. 

Reaching the bleak, messy kitchen, I snatched my glasses from the stained marble counter and narrowed my eyes at the poor array of healthy food choices in the fridge: a bruised apple, stale bread, and a brown-freckled banana. Gnats circled the food, and I glowered in disgust, appetite spoiled. 

Fuck that. I slammed the fridge door shut in frustration, scowling as I trudged my way back to my room. 

“Adrien! I’m glad you came,” Noah greeted me with a 1000-watt smile, pearly whites sparkling underneath the fluorescent lights that hung on the snow white marble ceiling. 

“You blackmailed me into it,” I grumbled, crossing my arms. He only laughed, which made me even more pissed. It’s twenty-four days into the apocalypse and you’re laughing? 

“C’mon. This party will brighten your day!” Noah jabbed, adding a pun that made me purse my lips. From anger or amusement, I dunno. 

When MASA confirmed that the sun was “burning out”, the world went into a spiral of panic. We were desperate for light, keeping away from lurking shadows. Living in Chicago, I’m not surprised that our reaction was to party harder, have more sex, and that all ages would be found walking the empty streets wasted and drunk. 

I passed the crowd of people, ready to sneak back to my Brius once Noah found himself a sexy one-night-stander. 

“Sorry,” a voice muttered an apology. Even under the neon lights, their freckled cheeks flamed red. It wasn’t until I looked down at my shirt that I saw the puddled stain of beer that dripped down the black button-down shirt. I glanced at the boy, head a few inches shorter than my 6'2, stealing a wad of napkins as he reached his hands toward my abdomen, rubbing them furiously into my shirt. 

“It’s fine,” I snapped icly, stealing the useless clumps of paper from their tattooed hands. Ink traced their flawless ivory skin, and for a moment, our skin brushed against each other. 

Their touch was soft, as if I was running my fingers against silk. He craned his head back, embarrassed, stuffing the napkins in their faded blue jean's pockets. I glanced over their shoulder, focusing my attention through the window, thick droplets rain dripping down the invisible pane. I knew that if I had a good enough look, the sky would be gray from the heavy blanket of filled clouds.

"Sorry," I mumbled, turning my back as I shifted through the crowded warmth of bodies.

Lips curling over the glass, I sipped my bourbon greedily as I watched Noah running his hands through a stranger's hair.

Slamming the cup to the polished, dark oak table, I took easy strides to the bathroom, my feet moving from memories of childhood sleepovers.

"Mph," a girl moaned, and I felt my expression twist in disgust. Pushing past the two blondes—a pair of disturbing look-alikes— the door behind me, and hid myself in the quiet comfort of the bathroom.

Closing my eyelids, I huffed a sigh of frustration.

Damn, how the fuck did Noah convince me to come back here?

Rain drummed against the windows, loud enough to drown out the whimpers that escaped my quivering lips.

Shaking, my mother's hands pinned my wrists at the rounded edge of the white bathtub, ruby droplets sticking to the marble like stickers.

Scarlet lines ran down my forearms, deep enough that I saw each layer of flesh that covered my bones. I allowed my unchained arm to stay loose at my side, icy cold water running through the open wounds like slices of morphine through an IV tube.

I listened to the soft patter of rain as they hit the roof, closing my eyes as I tried to wash away the pain with the rain.

"—okay? Adrien. Wake up!" a tortured angel's voice cried, and I wondered if I was dead. So sweet, so gentle... Why were they sad?

"Call 911!"

"Omigod, he's not breathing!"

I recognized one of the voices as Noah, though the others sounded familiar.

Then...

Pain washed over me like dark ocean waves, threatening to drown me. Cold blossomed through me, as if my veins pumped ice instead of warm blood. Each breath was labored, as if the air was poison. My lungs clawed for a hint of oxygen, my body hitched in desperation. I was so close on the edge. I just needed a push...

"Adrien."

The voice was quiet, a gentle hum inside my mind. The pain numbed, the voices background noise. My jaw clenched in anger, every muscle in my body tightening despite the calming sensation that ran through me.

"You need to trust me."

Just take it away.

"I'm sorry about your shirt."

You're the kid?

"You were supposed to die." they sounded like an echo; distant and lost.

A pause.

"I'm here to kill you."

Then why aren't you doing it?

"You would like to die?"

Does it matter?

"Yes."

Tense silence filled the void, and pain nipped at my limbs, crawling around my muscles.

Will it hurt?

"No. As an Angel of Death, I give my client no sense of feel, smell—"

Then I'm ready.

"Would you like to see?"

What the hell do you mean?

"I've temporarily blinded you. Would you like to see?" he repeated, voice soft and patient.

No.

"Are you sure?" Surprise colored their voice. For a moment, I thought this guy was emotionless. Then I remembered their embarrassed flush, and knew that if I could, I'd be grinning like an idiot.

You're killing a blind man. Cue violins.

"You weren't like this before."

What do you mean? I don't even know you.

“You did, once,” he whispered. 

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