The sun was making its brilliant appearance when I hauled myself though the front door. It took me the entire bloody night to kill the shadow demons, and it feels like they took a chunk of me with them. Clutching to what better be a huge gaping wound with the amount of pain it's giving me, I made my way up stairs to my bathroom while trying not to get any blood all over teh house. Step-bitch of a mother would have a fit if anything should get onto her presteen walls. That woman is not cut out for the family business, a fact I have tried to tell my dad frequently. She hates dirt, dust and anything out of place, faints at the sight of blood and thinks I'm anti-social because I go out to kill demons each night instead of going to parties with friends, and that this doesn't bother me. Which it doesn't. It's what I've been raised to do and quite frankly, I'd rather beat the crap out of a demon than getting drunk. It's much more cathartic.
One thing people need to know about healing wounds; it's a slow and painful progress, even if one uses magic. Nothing like what they do in Charmed, where all they do is call for their guardian angel who comes and instantly heals them. That would make my like so much easier, but that's a TV show. In real life, there are incantations, foul smelling potions and hours of sitting on the bathroom bench, waiting for my muscles and flesh to get reintroduced and make the scar disappear. Unless, of course, I want to explain what I was doing that got me the huge scar across my stomach to my friends.
Three hours of painful healing and steamy shower later, I bounded down the stairs and flung myself into the kitchen. Well, I tried to but my step-brother Cain was blocking the entryway.
" C'mon Cain, I've been up all night. I don't have time for this," I groaned at him.
"You do not want to go in there," he said, puhing me towards the front door. " Trust me."
" I am so hungry and in dire need of coffee, I can even tolerate our parents mushy gushy business."
" Mum's having one of her break downs. You go in there, you're surrendering yourself to an entire afternoon and possibly weekend to 'retail therapy'. Your choice." Damn, he had me there. With a groan I allowed him to push me out the door and towards his car. Few people could tell that we were related only my marriage. Cain was the typical older brother- arrogant, pain in my butt who was also very protective and sometimes my best friend. I was the annoying little sister whose mission in life was to make his hell. Unless he bought me coffee, then I was an angel until I finished it.
There are three types of hell. The first is the actual, full fledged, burning for all eternity one where dear old Lucifer currently resides and rules over. This is the one that is reserved for the truly sick and twisted souls as punishment. The second type are the hell dimensions that demons often take their victims, they are located here on earth. I call these the hell pit stops, the place before the real deal. Last but not least, and I think every one will be familiar with this one, is High School. Six hours of walking down hall ways, trying not to get squashed, noisy and immature students, teachers that either resent all children or believe that they can save us all. Then you have the sport related obsession with the football team (who are crap) and cheer leaders that try to make us believe they have 'school spirit' because they wear little tight outfits while doing stupid routines. It's these things that make me wish my step mum Janie accepted that I wasn't a normal girl. I could be killing demons during this complete waste of my time. I'd much rather be killing demons. Or them killing me, haven't decided yet.