Dichotomous Thinking

XIII

"You really need to calm down." Was the first thing Pete heard when he walked through the door, the second being, "You're putting him through a lot more than he needs and you know it."

"Hello to you, too." Pete replied dryly, watching his best friend go through his things. "So glad you decided to join me today."

Patrick stopped what he was doing, sighing and staying at Pete's desk. "What have you got against him, Pete?"

"He's a demon." Pete hissed, "He's a demon and he thinks he can just barge in here and tear this place apar-"

"Pete." Patrick interrupted, finally turning to face him. Pete fell silent as he stared at Patrick's pitch black eyes. "Don't you think you're being a little bit hypocritical?"

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Frank was getting really tired of being shoved into cold, dark and cramped up rooms. At least Bert was a bit more gentle than these feathery, stupid little pricks. At least Bert would talk to him. At least Bert cared about him.

Really, that was all it came down to. Bert, unlike the rest of them, actually cared. Bert gave him company. Bert apologized. Bert knew what they were doing was wrong- wicked- and he apologized. He was the only person in this stupid place who did the right thing, yet he's still the one that's gone.

Frank really couldn't believe it. Even though it happened right in front of him, even though he couldn't seem to stop thinking about the empty look in Bert's eyes, he couldn't fucking believe it. Frank continued to stare blankly in front of him, trying to rid himself of the fear that he'd be next. Pete wasn't that cruel, was he? Perhaps cruel was the wrong word for it. Merciful. Yes, that was it. Pete wasn't that merciful, now was he? Why else would he be in this dark room, alone? The two things Frank hated the most, the dark and being alone. Even when he was human, he was deathly afraid of those things, more so when he was a demon.

Maybe it had something to do with how he woke up after he talked to Pete, scared and alone in a dark hallway with no lights. Maybe it had something to do with how he couldn't fucking move even if he tried his hardest, how he could do nothing but wait while his brain was slowly corrupted; hateful words and thoughts that were weaving in and out of it until he turned into something he wasn't, someone he promised he would never become.

It was only then that the ground beneath him gave way and he fell. Shrouded in darkness and fury, fighting himself for his own life until he took the words and thoughts and made them his religion. It was the prime example of assimilate and survive or fight and lose your life. He let Hell's anger make a home in his heart, become a part of his bloodstream, until there was no going back. Now, sitting in this fucking room, Frank wasn't sure if that was what he wanted.

It was only then that he realized he was crying. He wiped his eyes, sniffling. He didn't want this. He never wanted this constant battle with himself. He looked down at his hands in what was almost shame.

How could he let himself become such a fucking monster?

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Yo guys i saw that we hit 100 reads and I was like oh holy fuck but LMFAO i didn't get anything out and i didn't want to write like an A/N cause those are for suckers so now we're at nearly 300 reads thank you guys

xoSoph