Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 53

**KACIA**

Sitting in my living room with Angelo is… Awkward, to say the least. I have no idea what to even say to him. He’s still sniffly and crying softly, which makes conversation pretty difficult anyway. But I do notice his shoulders drooping, his whole little body sagging with an exhaustion so deep it makes my chest ache to see it.

It hits me then, of course he’s tired. Brownies are hyper aware of dirt and mess. That filthy bar must have been literal torture for him, never a moment’s peace from the grime. My place is practically pristine in comparison, and even though he hasn’t said a word, I can feel the relief radiating off him.

I busy myself in the kitchen, rummaging around to make what can only be described as a snack plate with sliced fruit, chopped carrots and cucumber, crackers, dip, half a tub of hummus I forgot I even owned, some bread, and basically anything in my fridge that looked edible together. I throw it all onto a big plate and declare it a meal.

Angelo doesn’t seem up to eating properly, but his eyes go hazy with longing when I set down a glass of milk beside him. I’m not sure why brownies are so obsessed with milk, it’s one of those quirks of magic no one seems to fully understand, but I’m not about to question it. He downs the entire glass so quickly I’m not even sure he tasted it, and I raise my eyebrows before silently pouring him a second. He drinks this one a little slower, the tears eventually drying on his cheeks, and finally he picks at the food, nibbling a cracker like a shy mouse.

When I come back later with a fresh tea towel to wipe down the kitchen bench, he’s slumped over sideways on the couch, fast asleep. His chest rises and falls in slow, steady breaths, his tiny hand curled loosely around the edge of the blanket I tucked over him. He looks… Peaceful.

I turn out the lamp and tiptoe to my room, leaving the soft glow of the kitchen light on for him. As I close my bedroom door, I sigh. What is it with people crashing on my couch lately? First Oz, now Angelo. I didn’t even last a single night without someone else filling my space. You’d think I would have learned my lesson by now about letting people into my home and letting them stay. But apparently not.

I change into my pyjamas while my mind runs circles. What if Oz had told me the truth, right from the start? About the fae. About being sent to kill me. What would I have done differently? Would I have kicked him out onto the streets, half dead and injured like he was that night? …Probably not. I don’t think I could have.

Would I have hated him? I doubt it. Because even now, even with everything I know, I still can’t quite bring myself to believe that he ever truly intended to hurt me.

What would have been different, then? Maybe I would have been more wary at first. Less trusting. More cautious around his easy smiles and quiet jokes. But honestly… Knowing myself, knowing the way he wormed his way into my life and my heart, it wouldn’t have lasted long.

He made me feel so… Comfortable. So safe. Like I wasn’t alone, for once. I probably should have given him more time to speak today, let him explain everything properly instead of shutting him down. But I wasn’t ready. I’m still not sure I am.

Because I don’t think my anger earlier was truly anger. I think it was fear. Raw, unfiltered terror. All my life I’ve been warned about this exact thing happening. And now… It has.

But the thing is, now that it’s happened, now that the fae know about me and the worst has come true… I feel almost relieved. Strange, isn’t it? All that time spent hiding and worrying about every possible outcome, every threat lurking in the shadows, was so much more exhausting than actually knowing. Now at least I can prepare. I don’t have to be afraid of shadows anymore because I know where the danger is coming from.

As I settle into bed and pull the blankets up to my chin, I feel… Optimistic. I can deal with this. I will deal with it. I’ll figure it out, piece by piece.

But as I stare up at the ceiling in the dark, I can’t help but admit it to myself, I felt a lot safer knowing Oz was just down the hall, and… I miss him. I miss knowing Oz is just down the hall. I wonder where he’s staying tonight and I hope that he comes back soon. It doesn’t mean I’m okay with the secrets he kept from me, or that I’ve even totally forgiven him. But now that he’s not here I’m sure. Angry or not, I like it better when Oz is with me.

When I wake up, I feel tired. Not the good kind of tired where you stretch and feel all deliciously warm and drowsy under the blankets. No, this is the bone deep, heavy kind of tired. Emotional tiredness that makes my limbs feel like they’re filled with wet sand.

My eyes feel weird too. For a moment, I panic, rubbing them blearily, wondering what’s wrong. Then it hits me. For almost my entire life, I’ve woken up every single morning with my eyes feeling dried out, scratchy, and a little sore. Cosmetic contacts aren’t designed to be worn day after day, year after year. But I did it anyway, because I thought I had to. Because I thought hiding was the only way to stay alive.

But yesterday, I barely wore them for more than a couple of hours. And Today… For the first time in as long as I can remember, I don’t have to put them in at all. No more fumbling with the little case in my bathroom. No more fighting with my reflection every morning, poking at my own eyeballs and blinking away tears just to look ‘normal’. Just thinking about it is enough to make me want to cry from sheer relief. For the first time in forever, my eyes feel right. They feel like mine.

I stretch out under the covers, letting that relief sink into my bones. And then I remember, Angelo. Angelo is here. Angelo is safe. My chest swells so fast and so hard it almost hurts. I’m so thrilled I could scream, and if I wasn’t worried about scaring him half to death, I probably would.

I need to share this feeling with someone. Someone who will understand. Someone who will get why this matters so much to me. Someone who will celebrate with me… I need to tell Oz. The thought hits me with a pang so sharp it almost steals my breath.

I need to see him. I need to tell him about last night, about Angelo, about how it felt to walk into that bar with my head held high and win. I need to tell him that I woke up today with my real eyes and that I’m still here, still me, and somehow everything didn’t collapse around me because of it.

But… I don’t even know where he is. He might be upset with me. Hell, I know he’s probably upset with me. I didn’t even give him a chance to explain himself yesterday. I just… Snapped. I was so upset, so scared, so angry, but underneath it all, I was just hurt. And I didn’t let him say a single thing in his defence.

Well. That’s easily fixed, isn’t it? I’ll just have to go find him. How hard can it be? He barely knows anyone here that I didn’t personally introduce him to. I could probably visit every place he might be in just a couple of hours if I plan it right. The library, Mikey’s office, Clarence’s archives, Taryn’s garden… If he’s still in town, I’ll find him.

And if he’s left town… If he’s really gone… My chest tightens painfully. Then I’ll figure something else out. I don’t know what yet, but I will. Because I refuse to let this end like it did yesterday. Not without knowing the truth. Not without hearing him out.

But before I can do any of that, I need to figure out what I’m going to do with the brownie currently snoring softly on my couch, curled up like an exhausted kitten under his blanket, milk glass clutched loosely in one tiny hand.

I sigh and push myself out of bed. First coffee, then brownie logistics, then Oz. One problem at a time.