Angel Grade (Wattys 2016)

2.Beyond Repair Pt.1

[Luis, a few months ago]

I have never been more confused in my life. I am sitting at my desk, the afternoon light tickling my eyes, and I nervously sip my black coffee as I skim through the pages of yet another book. There is nothing. Literally. Nothing. As if Vanessa's mark never existed throughout history.

She is fucking special that one. She's only been here a couple of days and she already kicked the asses of half of my 'legion'. She also seems to be immune to Carla's powers, which gives me great delight: mostly because their banter is the most hilarious thing I have ever seen in my entire life. Works magic on my mood.

She works magic on my mood. Oh, sod that, what am I even thinking? I am Satan's son, I should be bossing her around, not letting her boss me.

And I finish my cup of coffee before I even realise. I might need to go and make another, but I can't be bothered just yet. I run my fingers through my hair with leftover hysterics of the night before. Another one of my bipolar fits. It was not fun at all, but then again, they never are. As I contemplate the downfalls of my mentality, my gaze falls upon one of the pages with demonic history in them. There is a small circle at the top right corner, next to the name Lilith, and within it three crosses forming a bigger cross with what looks awfully like a tail.

Hold on a minute! That seems familiar. It is not what I saw on Nessa's neck, but it resembles it quite closely. Could this be? Lilith certainly possesses a lot of power, which would explain why the redhead who currently lives next door and tears my comfort zone into shreds is so superior, but she is a demon, and I can swear on my life that only the offspring of fallen angels are allowed on these grounds.

There is a knock on my door and I bookmark the page in the book before I hide it from my visitor's eyes.

'I will fucking kill that bitch' Chris storms in my room before I can even tell him to come in. And he is pissed off, judging by the fact that he almost took my door off its hinges with his dramatic, gin-infused entrance.

'You confuse me, Christopher, which one is it this time?' I smile at him, because I can't help it. It's not that I don't like him, quite the contrary, but he is way too intense for my taste. All the time.

'What do you mean which one, the Loch Ness monster, of course!'

He stumbles a little and lands in one of the chairs across from my desk, panting as if he just ran a marathon. Fat chance, that with his liver about to fail and his lungs the colour of regret.

'What did Vanessa do to upset you then, since you think it is important enough to waste my time?'

I couldn't be any more fake in my politeness, and that technique usually works to shoo people from my vicinity. But apparently he is too drunk to pick up on that. No surprise there...

'She...she...'

But before he can finish his sentence, which would have probably been incredibly heart-breaking and enlightening, there is another knock on my door. At least this one waits for my reply.

'Come in!' I say without a minute of hesitation, because I am almost suffocating in Christopher's emotions and his breath.

And in she walks. She is wicked, I should agree on that. The worst kind of wicked. Red hair, loose as always, falling below her shoulders, big cold eyes and an unimpressed smile. And the leather jacket, of course. I am beginning to wonder if she wears it to bed. I am beginning to wonder what she wears to bed, if she wears anything at all.

And then I stop wondering, because I realise my face is becoming really warm and I have not said anything since she walked in. Which apparently doesn't prevent my two visitors from picking up a fight.

'...did not fucking take your bloody whiskey, you cunt!'

Yeah, her language never fails to amuse me. She literally doesn't give a fuck.

'Oh, yes, you did. I know you did! You come here and think you can do whatever you want, move in on the top floor, boss everyone around like you are the fucking leader of the Nephilim and pollute the place with your scumbag habits!'

I think he might have gone a bit too far with this one. Christopher never knows when to hold his tongue. And just as I am about to say something to comfort Vanessa, because I have seen the effects a comment like that has on Carla and it was ugly, the petite devil strikes back.

'Oh, Christopher, I understand. That's your way of hitting on me...I will have you know, you are absolutely terrible at talking to girls. Why is that? Did your mum die before you hit puberty or something?'

She says that with such an even tone that it doesn't sound like anything more than a detached observation. I am about to burst out laughing, when I see Chris' face and I remember.

'Go right back to hell, you slag!' he shouts in her face and then smashes his gin bottle just a few centimetres away from her head before storming off even more ferociously than he stormed in.

And leaves me alone in the room to explain to an expressionless Vanessa with blood trickling from her cheek that his mum did actually die in his early teens.

[Chris, unknown]

It seems to always be raining in funerals. Obviously, mine will be no exception. I swear, I though this only happens in films, but then again, what do I know anymore. I will be dressed up in a black suit, because, apparently, my afterlife self has a great taste and no need to actually have money to buy expensive shit. Everyone will be gathered around my closed coffin. Well, by everyone I mean Carla and Luis, but then again, I don't have many friends now, nothing will be different in just under six months.

Clara will look like she doesn't care at all, which is not very surprising to be fair. She will still not be too fond of me, so what reason will she have to cry at my funeral? Oh, maybe shed a few tears about the rain possibly ruining her shoes, but that will be it.

Luis, on the other hand, will be an absolute wreck. He will look stunning, as always, in his tuxedo, as only a half-Italian bloke can, but he will also look worse for wear. Gee, it would have never crossed my mind he will become so attached to me in such a short time.

The rain will start falling harder and Carla will take a step towards the coffin first. Place one orchid on the lid and then she will walk away, from the rain and my remains and everything that she's done to get me there, and she will keep on living her life as if I never existed.

Luis will stay around a few minutes longer, just staring into the empty space, as if he can't bring himself to look at me. Well, at my coffin, but still. He will be blaming himself for what happened. Rightly so, you might say, but it is a bit off. At this point, he will have killed so many people, what more will one matter? I doubt half a year is enough to change an emotionally damaged person into someone being capable of experiencing guilt so fully and overwhelmingly. But then again, he will still suffer from depression, so I guess that kind of explains some of it.

His eyes will get so glossy and red I will be almost certain he is going to start crying, but he will only shake his head once, as if he is disapproving of the fact that I have let him kill me, and then he will leave one red rose next to the orchid and slowly walk away, never looking back.

By the time I am left alone with my dead self in the coffin, the rain will be so heavy I will barely be able to see through the droplets. A few will stick in my eyelashes and mix with the tears I won't have realised have been falling. I will have that lead sensation of loss stuck deep into my chest, a sensation I will be way too familiar with from all the funerals of loved ones in my past. It will be harder this time though, heavier somehow, as if it is somehow my fault. When I am not able to bear it any longer, I will take the few short steps that separate me from my coffin and place a purple tulip on it, before saying goodbye for ever.

It always seems to rain at funerals. Mine will be no exception.