She's the Devil | ✔

Chapter Fourteen

Xavier

Life is good. Everything is good. Or at least that's what I tell myself when my migraines get bad. It's been a couple weeks now, I started getting them shortly after my date with Macaria, where we danced around the fire and slept in a makeshift water bed made from an inflatable pool in an actual pool. At first I thought Lucifer was doing this, maybe he didn't think the date was good enough. But Macaria told me her father swore it wasn't him.

So I'm starting to think I just have migraines. Which my mom finds weird because I have never had them before and neither has anyone in the family. I've racked my brain for something that could have triggered these excruciatingly painful headaches. But nothing has changed for me recently. It's gotten to the point where I can't even walk by the locker rooms due to the strong smell of cologne and perfume.

"Are you getting a headache?" Mark asks, watching me as I rub my temples, trying to ease the pressure in my head. I give him a nod, closing my eyes. The buzz of the cafeteria isn't helping. Any sudden noise like a laugh or someone pulling out a chair is agony.

"Not again." Macaria mumbles, pulling her chair out without making a sound. I look up and smile at her, despite the pain in my face.

"It's getting more and more frequent." Mark frowns, looking at me with pity in his eyes. I don't respond, instead I slip the pills from my pocket into my hand.

They watch as I discreetly pop them in my mouth and swallow with a sip of water.

"Do those help?" Macaria asks, looking at me with concern. When I shake my head, she sighs, reaching over to my balled up fist in my lap. She pries my fingers apart and holds my hand.

I rest my head on her shoulder, using her curly hair as a curtain to block out the light. She must do something, because slowly the noise of the cafeteria fades away as if I have cotton in my ears.

"So, Mark, how are things going with you?" She asks, her voice muted just like the rest of everything.

"They're going good. How are you?" He responds.

"I'm doing good, thanks. How did you do on the History exam?"

"I failed," He laughs.

"It was a hard exam."

"Even harder when you sleep through the class."

She laughs.

¥

Mom comes home late, right after I've finished unloading my stomach contents into the toilet bowl. Macaria greets her at the doors, informing her of my migraine. I don't hear much after that. Macaria bought me darkening curtains for my room, to keep out light and has virtually made me deaf since lunch. She told me that she can't take the pain away, though. Not like I would ask her to.

Once I've made it into bed without jarring my head too much; I lay there, staring up at the ceiling. It's hard dealing with a pain that you can't touch. It's not like a cut on my arm, it's invisible and seems to show no mercy. It makes me feel like a prisoner in my own mind.

But it soon falls away as I sink into a deep sleep.

When I wake up, Macaria is in my room, sleeping in my desk chair. I wince, wondering how long she's been there, in that position. It looks like it would hurt. I grab my phone off my nightstand, finding that it's three in the morning. I sit up and stretch, getting up. She sleeps soundly, even after I pick her up bridal style and carry her to my bed. After tucking her in, I lay on top of the covers and sigh.

She looks peaceful in her sleep. Angelic almost. When she's awake she's always got an evil glint in her eye, like she's ready to reek havoc on everyone at any second. That's the edge she possesses.

It leads me to believe she'd make an amazing Queen of the Underworld. She talks highly of hell, as if it were a good place to vacation. I have yet to see her evil side, but I'm sure I will. One thing I admire about her is the way she embraces who she is, equally. She knows who she is and takes pride in it.

I, on the other hand, don't. All my life I've been confused as to what I am in terms of race. My mom is Hispanic and Caucasian, while my father was more Native than anything else. Despite him being very traditional and set in his ways, he never raised me around the tribal ways. He kept that part of his life very secret, very private. Of course he established the values and the ideas, but nothing more.

While mom came off as more Caucasian than anything else. But they both preached pride in being Hispanic and Native. It's always been a struggle for me to identify as one or the other. Or any of them. Especially when I never fit in with other hispanics or natives or caucasians. I've never even really fit in anywhere.

But right now, laying next to Macaria, I will like I'm right where I need to me.

A/N

I think I might kill off Xavier