Why You Should Never Rescue Stray Demons Chapter 58

**KACIA**

I’m a little overwhelmed with both Oz and Angelo fussing over me like I’m some broken doll. I slump back against the couch cushions, watching them bicker with the detached numbness of someone who’s about five seconds from either passing out or screaming at everyone to shut up. Oz is fussing over my injuries, hovering so close I can practically feel the heat radiating off his body. Angelo, meanwhile, is fussing over… The mess? His eyes are darting around the room, landing on me with an expression of near horror. 

“You need to get clean.” He declares suddenly, hands propped on his narrow hips like a tiny, furious general. His voice is firm and oddly commanding for someone barely taller than my thigh. Oz shakes his head immediately. 

“She can barely stand, Angelo. She needs time to rest and heal first.” He insists, shifting closer to me protectively. Angelo frowns at him, undeterred. 

“No. If she’s injured, it is even more important that she be clean. Dirt leads to infections, and infections can kill people. I like Kacia, so she needs to be clean.” His voice wavers slightly at the end, but the determined set of his jaw doesn’t falter. Oz scowls back. 

“I can get a cloth and clean her up as best I can, but she needs to be lying down, not trying to stand under a shower right now.” He argues. Angelo glares at him like he’s just suggested we roll around in sewage for fun. 

“No. Not good enough. There’s dirt and bacteria everywhere. You’re not even clean yourself, how are you supposed to clean her properly? It won’t work!” He snaps, his tiny foot stomping against the polished floor with a surprisingly loud thud. They continue to bicker back and forth, louder and louder. Angelo’s timid demeanour is gone entirely now, replaced by righteous fury as he lectures Oz about the dangers of bacteria, skin infections, fungal overgrowth, and sepsis in rapid succession. Meanwhile, Oz looks ready to explode with frustration, his tail flicking dangerously behind him. I close my eyes for a moment, breathing slowly against the pulsing pain in my ribs. My head feels heavy and my bones feel made of molten lead. All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep for about a week. But… Angelo isn’t wrong. I am filthy, and the thought of lying down in this state makes my skin crawl.

“Okay, stop.” I croak out, my voice cracking painfully in my dry throat. Both of them freeze mid argument, turning to look at me with matching guilty expressions, like two kids caught fighting in the backseat of a car.

“I will have a quick shower, and then I will go straight to bed.” I declare, enunciating each word slowly and clearly so neither of them thinks I’m negotiating. Neither of them looks particularly happy with my decision. Angelo looks like I just told him I was going to wash myself with mud, and Oz… Oz looks downright tortured, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin, worried line. I sigh heavily, feeling the exhaustion sink deeper into my bones. I try to stand up on my own, stubborn as always, but the second I shift my weight, the room tilts sickeningly and my knees buckle slightly. Oz is there in a heartbeat, his hands gripping my arms with gentle strength. 

“Please, let me help you.” He murmurs softly, his voice rough with emotion. I swallow hard, pride and practicality warring inside me before I finally nod, just once.

“Oz… Will you please give me a hand to the bathroom?” I manage, my voice small.

“I… I might need a little help getting cleaned up.” I admit. He nods solemnly, something almost like relief flashing in his dark eyes. 

“Anything you need, princess.” He answers sincerely. I fight the urge to blush. I probably would if it weren’t for the fact that I’m in so much pain. Angelo wrings his hands anxiously, his eyes darting between us like he wants to help but doesn’t know how. His small frame is vibrating with restless energy.

“Um… Angelo?” I say gently, catching his gaze.

“Could you do me a favour? Could you… Make sure my bed is clean and safe for me to rest in? I can’t think of anyone who could do that better than you.” I ask. His eyes widen and fill with determination, his chin lifting with pride. 

“Yes. Yes, I can do that.” He says firmly. 

“It will be perfect by the time you come out of the bathroom.” He promises. 

I manage a small, grateful smile as Oz wraps an arm carefully around my waist, supporting me as I lean heavily into him. Every step sends sharp pain lancing through my ribs, but his warmth and steadiness ground me. His scent, amber and something darkly sweet combined with smoke from my burning car wraps around me, and despite everything, it makes my chest ache in an entirely different way. I nod at him to let him know I’m ready, and together, we start the slow, painful walk down the hall. Each step is deliberate, my breathing shallow to keep from jostling my ribs too much. Behind us, I hear Angelo bustling away towards my bedroom, already muttering under his breath about clean sheets, fresh towels, sanitising sprays, and ‘the absolute state of that bedroom lamp.’ I manage a faint huff of amusement despite the pain. We reach the bathroom and pause awkwardly in the doorway. I clutch the frame to keep myself upright as Oz shifts his hold to steady me.

“So… How do you want to do this?” He says, his voice low and uncertain. I blink at him, my foggy mind struggling to process the question. Then heat rises in my face as I realise what he’s asking.

“Um… Maybe if you just… Leave me here and wait by the door? Just in case I fall or get dizzy or something.” My voice comes out thin and embarrassed, my cheeks burning. I don't like being babysat, and even worse I can’t even deny that I sort of need it. Oz hesitates, his brows pushed together. I can see the conflict on his face, protective instincts warring with respect for my privacy and independence. Finally, he sighs and nods.

“Alright. Leave the door unlocked, please, princess.” He says, his voice rough around the edges. His eyes flick briefly to mine. 

“I don’t want to have to break it down.” He adds. His tone is half joking, but there’s an edge of seriousness beneath it that makes my chest tighten. I let out a shaky sigh.

“Yeah. Okay.” I agree quietly. Carefully, he unhooks his arm from around my waist. My legs wobble dangerously, and I catch myself against the doorframe before I can tip over entirely. Oz’s hand hovers near my elbow for a moment before he steps back, giving me space. I stagger into the bathroom, every muscle trembling with exhaustion, and close the door behind me, leaving it unlocked like he asked. It feels wrong not to lock it. Vulnerable. Exposed. But… There’s no way around that right now. I lean heavily against the counter, my hands gripping the cool edge as I catch my breath. My reflection in the mirror is… Grim. My purple hair is limp and tangled, my face smeared with dried blood, eyes sunken with fatigue and pain. I look like someone who’s been to hell and back, which I guess… Isn’t far off. Okay. Shower. I can do this. Just strip off, rinse off the blood and dirt, and get to bed. Easy. Right? I shrug my jacket off first, biting back a whimper as the fabric brushes over the raw scrapes on my arms and shoulders. Tears prick my eyes. 

“Ow, shi.,” I mutter under my breath. Immediately, there’s a knock at the door. 

“Are you okay?” Oz calls, his voice tight with worry. Stupid demonic hearing. 

“I’m fine.” I croak back quickly. I swallow hard, trying to force down the pain and humiliation burning my chest. Damn it, this is pathetic. I’ve survived on my own for years, I’ve been in some pretty tough scrapes before. Yet here I am, about to pass out trying to get undressed. I grip the hem of my shirt and try to pull it off, but it catches on something near my ribs and a flash of pain nearly drops me to the floor. I gasp, shaking. Okay… Okay. New plan. Circle back to the shirt later. I toe off my boots, bracing a hand on the wall for balance, doing my best not to bend over in case I fall over and can’t get back up. I try my shirt again, fingers trembling. It’s stuck to a cut or maybe dried blood. Tears blur my vision. Damn it. Damn it, this sucks. I’m not getting anywhere like this. My knees wobble and my chest is screaming. Pride and practicality wage war inside me. Finally, practicality wins out. I swallow hard, hating the words before they’re even out of my mouth. 

“Oz?” My voice is small and shaking. I hear him shift outside the door immediately.

“Yes love?” He answers softly. 

“Can you… Can you come in here, please?” I whisper, staring down at the bloodstained fabric bunched in my fists. My cheeks burn with humiliation. 

“I… I need your help.” I admit.