Chapter 7: Morning after
The first sensation was the stench. It hit Chloe like a physical blow as consciousness flickered. Dried sweat, stale incense, the sour tang of old beer, and beneath it all, thick and cloying, the unmistakable musk of sex. Lots of it. Her mouth tasted like ash and something metallic. She groaned, her head throbbing as if hammered from the inside. Cold, gritty wood pressed against her cheek.
She opened her eyes. Blinked. Daylight, harsh and unforgiving, streamed through the grimy apartment window, cutting through the gloom and illuminating a scene of utter devastation. It wasn't the apartment she remembered entering last night, buzzing with nervous laughter and cheap wine.
It was a battlefield. A flesh-baring, sticky debacle.
Directly in her line of sight, inches from her face, was Zoe’s bare hip. A vivid purple bruise, shaped disturbingly like teeth marks, bloomed on the pale skin. Beyond Zoe’s sprawled leg, Maya lay curled on her side, facing away, completely naked except for a single ripped sock. Her slight back was a landscape of red scratches, long and angry.
Chloe tried to push herself up. Her muscles screamed in protest, a deep, unfamiliar ache settling in her joints. Her hand slipped on something tacky. She looked down. A dried, yellowish-white streak crusted the worn wood floor beside her thigh. Her own thigh, she realized with dawning horror. She was naked. Utterly exposed. Her skin felt grimy, violated.
Panic flared, cold and sharp. She scrambled backwards on her elbows, her bare ass scraping against the rough floor, hitting something soft. Sarah. Sarah lay on her back near the remnants of the summoning circle – now just a smeared mess of chalk, dust, and… other fluids. Her short red hair was matted to her temple. Her petite frame was a map of contusions: dark fingerprints circling her upper arms, deeper bruises on her hips, a livid bite mark on her left breast. Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the cracked ceiling plaster, tears silently carving tracks through the grime on her cheeks. She was breathing, shallow and fast, but her expression was vacant, shattered.
"Sarah?" Chloe's voice was a cracked whisper, raw and unfamiliar. It felt too loud in the dreadful silence.
Sarah didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Maya stirred at the sound. A small, choked whimper escaped her as she slowly uncurled. Her eyes, wide and terrified, darted around the room, taking in the carnage – the discarded clothes tangled like corpses (her own camisole a shredded rag, Chloe’s hoodie balled up near the wall), the overturned candle stubs swimming in wax puddles, the sheer, brutal nakedness of them all. Her gaze landed on the dark, wet stain between Sarah’s thighs, drying on her inner legs. Maya clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a sob, curling back into a tight ball as if trying to disappear.
Zoe groaned, rolling onto her back, one arm flung over her eyes. "My head… fuck," she mumbled, her voice thick. She lowered her arm, blinking owlishly in the intrusive light. Her eyes widened as they focused, scanning her own naked body, the bruises, then the others. "Oh god," she breathed, the words barely audible. "Oh god, no." She scrambled to sit up, pulling her knees to her chest, hugging herself tightly, rocking slightly. Her gaze fixed on the dark, crusted patch on the floor near Chloe. "What… what did we…?" Her voice trailed off, drowned by the suffocating weight of memory fragments crashing back.
The chalk circle glowing unnaturally. Azazel’s form, shifting, terrifying, impossibly there.
The oppressive weight of his power. It had felt like drowning in thick oil.
Chloe tearing Maya’s top. The sound of ripping fabric, Maya’s gasp morphing into something else…
The raw, invasive heat. Chloe’s rough hands on her skin, her demanding mouth, the terrifying strength as she pinned her. The brutal thrust of Chloe’s fingers inside her while Maya’s smaller, frantic touch circled her clit… The overwhelming press of bodies, slick with sweat and other fluids, the air thick with desperate moans and choked cries that weren’t entirely hers, weren’t entirely anyone’s.
The horrifying, shattering peak that felt less like pleasure and more like her spine fracturing, ripped from her by force, feeding… him.
She remembered Azazel watching. Always watching. That predatory stillness. The way the light seemed to die around him as he absorbed… them.
"Azazel," Sarah whispered, the name a rusted blade scraping on stone. Her vacant stare finally focused, locking onto the empty space where he’d stood. "He was… feeding." Her voice gained a sliver of strength, edged with revulsion. "On that."
Maya whimpered again, burying her face against her knees. "I felt… I felt things…" she gasped, her voice muffled. "Things I didn't want to feel. Like… like fire under my skin. Pushing me. Making me need…" She shuddered violently.
Chloe looked down at her own hands. The knuckles were raw. Had she been fighting? Or… holding someone down? The memory was a tangled mess of sensation: the feel of Sarah’s bare skin under her fingers, soft breast and hard nipple, the resistance then the yielding wet heat as she pushed inside her… Zoe’s moan vibrating against her neck as she fucked her with her fingers… Maya’s frantic touch, egging her on. Possessiveness, dark and alien, had burned through her veins like cheap liquor. Had it been hers? Or his?
"It wasn't us," Chloe rasped, the words tasting like lies. "He did something. Put something in us. Made us…" She gestured helplessly at the wreckage, at their bruised, naked bodies. "Like fucking animals."
Zoe hugged herself tighter, rocking. "I bit you," she whispered, looking at the bruise on Chloe’s shoulder. It mirrored the one on her own neck. "Hard. I… I wanted to. I wanted to taste…" She gagged, dry heaving. "Oh fuck. Oh Jesus fuck."
Sarah slowly, painfully, pushed herself onto her elbows. Every movement seemed to cost her. She looked down at her own body, at the constellation of bruises, the bite mark on her breast. Her expression wasn't just shame; it was a profound, cold horror. A writer observing the aftermath of her own grimmest story. "He used us," she stated flatly. "Fuel. Like logs on a fire." She touched the bite mark. Winced. "He made Chloe…" She glanced at Chloe, a flicker of something unreadable – fear, accusation, understanding? "...use me. And Maya. And Zoe used Chloe…" She trailed off, the mechanics of their violation laid bare.
Silence descended again, thicker now, charged with the unspeakable. The cheerful band posters on the walls seemed grotesque mockeries. The smell was overwhelming. Chloe couldn’t stand it. The stickiness, the grime, the feeling of invisible filth coating her skin. She staggered to her feet, legs trembling. Her bare foot landed on something cold and metallic. She looked down.
A necklace. Thick, black chain, impossibly cold to the touch. The pendant was a heavy, tarnished silver disc, etched with intricate, unsettling symbols that seemed to writhe if you stared too long. Azazel’s necklace. Dropped? Or left deliberately?
She bent, wincing at the sharp ache between her legs, and picked it up. The metal felt like frozen sin against her palm. Power hummed faintly within it, a low, sinister vibration that made her skin crawl. She held it out. "His. He left this."
Sarah’s eyes locked onto the pendant. The vacant horror in them sharpened into something colder, harder. The morbid curiosity that had led her to summon a demon flickered back to life, warring with the terror. "He’s not gone," she breathed. "He’s just… waiting." She looked from the necklace to the smudged summoning circle, then to her friends - bruised, broken, trembling. "He’s coming back. For more."
The words hung in the filthy air, a promise colder than the metal in Chloe’s hand. The faint hum from the pendant seemed to pulse, a dark heartbeat echoing in the wreckage of Sarah’s apartment. Maya whimpered, a small, broken sound. Zoe stopped rocking, frozen. Chloe clenched her fist around the chain, the cold biting deep. The sticky floor, the stench, the brutal evidence of their violation – it wasn't just the aftermath.
It was the prologue.
The cold chain bit into Chloe’s palm. She dropped Azazel’s necklace like it burned, the tarnished silver disc clattering onto the sticky floorboards. Its faint, sinister hum seemed louder now, vibrating in the sudden silence. Sarah’s vacant stare sharpened, locking onto the pendant. "He’s not gone. He’s just… waiting." Her voice was hollow, stripped raw. "Coming back. For more."
The implication hung, thick as the stench. Maya whimpered again, a high-pitched keening sound muffled by her knees. Zoe rocked faster, her arms wrapped tight around her bare shins. "Can’t stay here," Chloe rasped, the words scraping her throat. The grime coating her skin, the dried streaks on her thighs, the sour reek of sweat and sex and terror – it was unbearable. She needed it off. Now. She staggered towards the tiny hallway leading to the bathroom, her legs shaky, the ache deep in her hips and between her thighs a brutal reminder. Her bare foot slipped in a patch of something slick and drying. "Fuck!"
Sarah flinched at the sound. Slowly, mechanically, she pushed herself fully upright, wincing as her bruised ribs protested. She looked down at the dark crust between her legs, the livid marks on her pale skin. A wave of nausea churned. "Shower," she managed, the single word tasting like bile. She needed to scrub the night off, peel away the invisible film of Azazel’s power, Chloe’s rough hands, Maya’s frantic touch. It was impossible, but she had to try. Maya scrambled up, trembling, one arm instinctively covering her small breasts, the scratches on her back stark red lines. Zoe uncurled with visible effort, her movements stiff, haunted eyes avoiding the others.
The bathroom was cramped, the air thick with damp and cheap floral soap. Chloe wrenched the stiff faucet handle, the pipes groaning in protest. Water, blessedly hot, finally sprayed from the showerhead, filling the small space with steam. Chloe shoved herself under the scalding stream first, gasping as it hit her bruised skin. She scrubbed furiously at her arms, her thighs, the raw knuckles of her hands. "Get it off… get it fucking off…" she muttered, her voice tight. The water swirling down the drain ran pinkish-brown at first – blood, dust, dried fluids. It felt futile.
Sarah leaned against the cool tile wall, watching. Her own skin crawled. Maya squeezed past Chloe, ducking under the water, flinching as it hit the scratches on her back. "Ow! Shit, that stings." She reached for Sarah’s loofah, but Sarah snatched it away. "Mine," Sarah said flatly, the possessiveness a dull echo of Chloe’s command the night before. Maya shrank back, hurt flashing in her eyes. Zoe stood frozen by the door, hugging herself, staring at the swirling water on the floor. "My turn," Zoe mumbled eventually, her voice small. Chloe shoved Maya aside roughly, stepping out, dripping. "Whatever. Just hurry the fuck up." She grabbed a thin towel, rubbing angrily at her short brown hair, the rough terrycloth scraping her bruised shoulder.
Sarah stepped into the spray after Zoe. The heat was a shock, then a relief, then a new kind of pain as it hit the bite mark on her breast. She squeezed cheap body wash onto the loofah, the synthetic coconut scent cloying and inadequate against the memory of incense, ozone, and musk. She scrubbed hard at her stomach, her hips, the skin reddening. She pushed the loofah roughly between her legs, the coarse texture dragging against tender, swollen flesh. She winced, a sharp intake of breath. Clean? Could she ever feel clean? The water ran clear now, but the violation felt etched into her bones. She saw Maya gingerly patting her scrapes with a damp washcloth, Zoe standing motionless under the spray, head bowed. Chloe paced the tiny space, towel wrapped tightly around her, her eyes darting to the closed bathroom door like a trapped animal.
"Enough," Chloe snapped, grabbing her discarded underwear and jeans from the damp floor heap near the door. They were crusty, stiff. She grimaced, pulling them on anyway, the denim scraping her damp skin. "Let's get the fuck out of here before he comes back." Sarah turned off the water, the sudden silence loud. Steam curled around them. They dressed in grim silence, pulling on whatever clothes they could find – Sarah in her ripped shirt and jeans (stiff with dried fluids), Maya in Zoe’s oversized hoodie and her own torn leggings, Zoe in Sarah’s pajama shorts and her own stained t-shirt. Chloe kept the towel wrapped around her shoulders like a shield. The air still reeked, despite the steam, the underlying sourness stubborn.
Sarah walked towards her apartment’s front door first, her hand reaching for the familiar brass knob. Her fingers closed on… smooth, cold plaster. She blinked. Where the door should be, where the brass knob always was, was only unbroken wall. The faded floral wallpaper continued seamlessly. "What...?" She ran her hand over the spot, pushing. Solid. Unyielding.
"No," Chloe breathed, shoving past her. She slapped her palms against the wall where the doorframe should have been. "No fucking way!" She pounded the plaster with her fist, a dull, fruitless thud. "Open! OPEN, goddammit!" Panic edged her voice. Maya darted to the window, the one overlooking the grimy alley. She yanked at the sash. It didn't budge. Peering through the grime-streaked glass, she saw not brick walls and dumpsters, but solid, seamless brickwork, mortared right up against the pane. Trapped sunlight filtered weakly through the dirty glass onto the chaotic remnants of the summoning circle.
"The window…" Maya whispered, her voice trembling violently. "It's… bricked up. Solid." She turned, her face pale. "Outside… it’s just brick."
Zoe let out a low moan, sinking to the floor beside the overturned coffee table, her head in her hands. "He sealed us in." Sarah stared at the blank wall, the pendant’s hum a phantom vibration in her skull. Chloe stopped pounding, her fists resting against the unmarked plaster, her shoulders slumping. The adrenaline faded, leaving only hollow dread and the deep, intimate ache of their shared violation. The shower hadn't washed away the night. It had only exposed the cage.
The necklace lay where Chloe had dropped it, near the smudged chalk circle. The tarnished silver disc seemed to pulse faintly, a dark, watchful eye in the center of their prison. Azazel’s absence wasn't freedom. It was the tightening of the noose. They were fuel, locked in the furnace. Waiting.
The hum from the necklace wasn’t sound. It was pressure, low and constant, vibrating in Chloe’s teeth, a physical thrum beneath the floorboards. She glared at the tarnished disc lying near the smeared summoning circle. "Fuck this." She stalked to the kitchenette, the movement sharp, fueled by leftover adrenaline and shame. Yanking open the fridge door revealed half a loaf of bread, a wilting lettuce, and three cheap beers. The meagre light inside felt pathetic against the apartment’s oppressive gloom. She grabbed a beer, cracked it open with a hiss. The bitter tang barely masked the sour residue clinging to the air – sex, sweat, fear. She took a long, desperate pull, leaning against the counter.
Sarah didn’t move from her spot near the wall where the door vanished. She traced the seamless wallpaper with trembling fingertips, the floral pattern mocking her. Trapped. The word echoed. Her writer’s mind, usually frantic with observation, felt sluggish, clogged with the visceral replay of Chloe’s hands pinning her hips, the brutal thrust of her fingers, the searing peak ripped from her. She pressed her forehead against the cool plaster. Was the summoning circle drawn right? Did the Latin pronunciation slip? Futile questions. The demon wasn’t a character in a story anymore. He was the cage. Maya huddled on the ragged sofa, Zoe’s borrowed hoodie swallowing her small frame. She picked at a loose thread on the sleeve, her gaze darting nervously from the necklace to Chloe to Sarah. "He’s really… gone?" she whispered, her voice thin. "For now," Chloe rasped, wiping beer foam from her lip with the back of her hand. Her knuckles were scraped raw from pounding the wall. "He’ll be back. Bet he’s laughing his fucking ass off."
Silence swallowed them again, thick and cloying. Time stretched, viscous. Sunlight, weak and dusty, crawled across the floor, illuminating the debris of their violation: Chloe’s discarded sports bra near the TV stand, Maya’s ripped camisole tangled with a cushion, the dark stain where Zoe had lain. Zoe herself sat slumped against the base of the sofa, knees drawn up. She stared blankly at her hands. The memory of biting into Chloe’s shoulder – the give of flesh, the metallic tang of blood on her tongue – made her stomach churn. "I’m thirsty," she mumbled, not looking up. Sarah finally pushed off the wall. "Water." She moved stiffly, like an old woman, the ache between her legs a persistent, ugly throb. She filled a chipped glass from the tap, the water sputtering. Handing it to Zoe, their fingers brushed. Zoe flinched, pulling back as if scalded. Sarah saw the revulsion flash in Zoe’s eyes before she looked down. My fault, Sarah thought, the weight crushing. All of it.
Chloe paced. Six steps towards the bricked-up window. Pivot. Six steps back to the kitchen counter. The apartment felt smaller with every pass, the walls pressing in. The necklace’s hum seemed louder. Insistent. She wanted to kick the damn thing across the room, smash it. But Azazel’s amused voice echoed in her memory, the promise beneath the command: ‘Share.’ What if touching it summoned him back? Or worse. She drained the beer, crushing the can in her fist. "Got any food?" Sarah rummaged in a cupboard. Crackers. Stale. A jar of peanut butter. Maya nibbled a cracker listlessly, the crunch absurdly loud. Chloe grabbed the jar, scooping out a thick glob with her finger, shoving it into her mouth. The sticky sweetness clashed violently with the beer and the sour dread coating her tongue. "Fuck," she muttered, wiping her finger on her jeans. "This is bullshit." Her gaze drifted back to the necklace. It seemed to gleam dully in the shifting light. Waiting.
The afternoon slumped by. They moved like ghosts in their own tomb. Sarah tried to read a battered paperback, the words blurring, dissolving into images of Azazel’s burning eyes, the feel of Maya’s frantic fingers on her clit. She snapped the book shut. Maya dozed fitfully on the sofa, whimpering in her sleep, her small body twitching. Chloe sat on the floor, back against the wall, sharpening the edge of a butter knife on the sole of her boot with methodical, unsettling focus. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Zoe stared at the bricked-up window, tracing the mortar lines with her eyes. The silence wasn’t peaceful; it was the quiet before an execution. The air grew heavy, charged. Sarah felt it first – a prickling on her skin, like static electricity building. The hum deepened, vibrating in her bones. Maya jerked awake, gasping. Chloe’s scraping stopped. She gripped the knife handle, knuckles white. Zoe shrank back against the sofa. "He’s coming," Maya whispered, terror making her voice brittle. Sarah held her breath. Nothing. The static faded. The hum returned to its low baseline. A false alarm? Or a cruel reminder? Chloe let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "Fucking mind games," she spat, but the bravado was thin. The knife felt useless in her hand.
Dusk bled into the room, turning the shadows long and grasping. The meager food was gone. Thirst returned, sharper. Sarah lit a single candle, the flame guttering weakly in the deepening gloom. Its feeble light only emphasized the wreckage. The necklace lay untouched, a dark pit in the center of the room. Maya curled tighter on the sofa, pulling the hoodie over her head. Zoe rested her forehead on her knees. Chloe remained on the floor, the knife beside her, watching the candlelight flicker on the tarnished silver disc. The hunger started first. A dull ache beneath the fear. Then the thirst, parching her throat. But deeper than that, a different kind of emptiness yawned. The memory of the power Azazel wielded, the terrifying, seductive force that had twisted their desires, rode the edge of her exhaustion. It had felt like being plugged into a live wire. Horrifying. Addictive. She remembered the raw surge as Sarah came apart under her fingers, Zoe’s choked cry vibrating against her neck. Possession. Control. It hadn’t been hers, but the echo of it lingered, a dark hunger stirring in her gut. She looked at Sarah’s silhouette against the dim light, the curve of her hip visible through the ripped shirt. The memory wasn’t just shame. It was heat.
Sarah felt Chloe’s gaze. She met it across the shadowed room. Saw not just anger, not just fear. Saw the flicker of that alien need reigniting. The same need she’d felt under Maya’s touch. He’s not here, but he’s still inside us. The thought was ice. The candle flame dipped. The necklace pulsed. A faint, dark light seemed to emanate from the etched symbols for a split second. Maya whimpered again. Zoe lifted her head, eyes wide in the near-darkness. "Did you see…?" Sarah nodded, mute. The air crackled. Not with power, but with the shared, unspoken dread. They were starving. Thirsty. Exhausted. Violated. And the thing on the floor, Azazel’s anchor, hummed its patient, sinister song. Night had fallen completely. The candle was their only light. The necklace waited. They didn’t dare touch it. They didn’t dare sleep. They barely dared breathe. The silence stretched, taut as a wire, vibrating with the unsaid and the inevitable. The hum was the only sound. Waiting. Feeding on their fear even in his absence. The night stretched ahead, endless and terrifying. The candle flame guttered, threatening to drown them in darkness.