OUT OF TOUCH

Yotsuya Kaidan

The devil has a contract with her at long last. Contract for her body, her consciousness, her soul.

All written on a tiny plastic box, a box glaring angrily at her – abandoned in chair. She sits in a puny room somewhere in orbit, in chamber that only a couple of hours ago a hurricane of her tantrum tore through. Doctors dare not to try to enter out of fear as she hurled a chair at one of them. Perhaps she succeeded to injure them as panel close to the door spewed glass after the land.

Eyes scan each and every line, each and every paragraph. Man seated there has already withdrawn, leaving her to contemplate the deal he has presented to her. Leaving her alone with her own thoughts, to wonder her next step – one that can very well be her last.

The bastard was right. She's not who she used to be. She's not the V she used to be after coming off crazy roller coaster named Johnny Silverhand.

His words keep running in infinitive loop – claw at her very core.

"They're cuttin' a piece of us out, a part you'll always miss. A part that'll leave a hole. You're not getting rid of me, kid. I'll stay with you, forever."

Johnny knows how to cause fear, how to arouse a crowd full of people, and how to fuck with their minds. He's charismatic, yes, but he's also a self-centred blowhard. Rogue once called him a boy with a box of matches and a can of CHOOH2. Said he'd set half the city on fire to prove he's right and other half just for fun. And she was right.

He's an obnoxious, arrogant, cocky little shit. Always just me, me, me. Hell, the first night of their merge he tried to kill her – so far, his plan didn't seem to be working, but he tries other ways to ruffle her feathers. They had their upsides downsides, all right, fine, more downsides. Omega blockers didn't help. That idiot must have found a way to go around them and then buzzed in her ear for the rest of the day.

"Can you feel it? Trapped in your own fucking body. Powerless!"

"Knock it off!"

When did he quit?

Since when did he stop doing something?

Since when did Johnny fucking Silverhand ever quit anything?

He takes a step, tests her limits, demonstrates his abilities – what he is capable of. Proving that he doesn't need her anymore, doesn't need her permission to take her body. Proves he can very easily sit her pert little ass in the backseat and grabs the wheel.

"I swear to God, imma gonna. . ." Lungs are heavy, foggy, hot tears sting her eyes, a cough rocks her body, knees buckle, the ground beneath her feet fades, and she finds herself on a frigid elevator floor.

She regrets her words at point as he breaks into a throaty laugh. He cackles, but his eyes are cold. The faintest chill goes through her, just the lightest prickling of hairs on her arms and neck.

"What you gonna do, kid? Kill me?!"

Before she can do as much as blink, silhouette of her not so favourite stalker lowers himself to her level, invading her space, looking her up and down in a calculating way. If he were still alive, she'd feel his tresses tickle her cheeks, if he were here his warm breath would fane her face. But she doesn't.

"Newsflash, I'm dead and so are you."

She swallows against the lump in her throat, arches her spine, balls her fists in frustration. "The hell you want from me?!"

Why is she arguing with hallucination? He's just a figment of the imagination, a little glitch that devours her. . . what Hellman call it? Oh yeah, her little meat brain. So why the fuck is she arguing with him?