The Devil and I by Kay Alastor

 

Chapter One

Rayna

My heart feels as though it has been ripped out of my chest, tortured and beaten, and then shoved back inside. The jagged, broken pieces of it just can't seem to fit back inside the aching cage of my chest the way it once did. The damage that has been done feels wholly irreparable. The pain of trying to heal and nurture this dying organ is more than I can stand.

Hand-written notes are usually innocuous, so when one was slipped under my door I wasn't expecting it to bring my world crashing down around me. The torn white sheet of paper I picked up falls from my fingertips, cascading slowly to the floor to land at my feet. It is powerful, this little piece of paper, in the way it can push me over the edge I've been standing on.

The words scribbled messily across the off-white paper are devastating in their impact. The pain that pierces through the fog of shock is like being struck by lightning. Ripples of damage shooting from my fingertips that once gripped the note, straight to the depths of my fractured soul. Despite having dropped the note, the phantom pain of touching it still holds me hostage.

I can't do this anymore. The cracks all over my weathered soul can no longer contain all the agony inside of me. It's pouring from me like a torrential downpour, rotting me from the inside out.

See you soon.

That's all the note said. No signature, no other telling feature, and yet I knew exactly who had slipped this torn paper across the threshold of my front door. My first real date that turned into the most traumatic experience of my life, one that would leave me damaged beyond repair. I thought Mark was a good guy, a normal guy, one that seemingly had his life together despite his young age. All it took was one date for my illusion of him to be completely shattered. In the back alley of the bar he pressured me to meet him at. He took my body against my will and used it for his own pleasure. He violated me and left me broken, and it was clear he wanted to return to finish the job.

Unfortunately for him, there will be nothing to finish by the time he comes for me. I will be ashes in the wind before I give him the opportunity to lay his destructive hands on me again. He may have gotten away with raping me that night and damaging me beyond repair, but I'll be damned if I give him the opportunity to demolish what is left of me.

No, I will do it before he gets the chance to. It will be the ultimate fuck you to the piece of shit that viewed me as nothing but a worthless piece of meat for his entertainment and pleasure.

I turn from the front door, still left slightly ajar, and stare into the hallway marking the entrance to my small, two-story townhouse apartment. As my eyes slowly scan the space I've been living in these last three years, a place I never really thought of as a home, I am suddenly struck by just how desolate everything in here feels. Home is supposed to be your safe place, isn't it? A refuge from the world just outside your door. This place was no longer safe, not since Mark slipped his note beneath the frame of my lightweight wooden door. But part of me wondered if it ever truly was.

These off-white walls create the illusion of security, a stark contrast against the seemingly cozy dark gray sofa up against the farthest wall. My dark wood coffee table, several beautiful paintings, a book shelf with my favourite books... all pieces of furniture I carefully arranged in an honest effort to create a home for myself. Home, it would seem, would be unattainable for a girl like me. The kind of girl that never really fit in anywhere, walking through life without people or places to call home.

It certainly didn't feel like home as I walked through the small hallway and headed straight into the bathroom, falling to my knees in front of the cabinet. Opening the cupboard beneath the sink, I reach into the small white basket of supplies I keep there. My fingers roam the contents, passing over various toiletries before settling over the cool, crinkly packages of single razor cartridges.

My damaged heart sinks to the pit of my stomach when realization settles over me, morbid images of my abrupt plan flickering through my head. The weakened, frantic beating in my chest that follows the surge of adrenaline feels like a subconscious cry for help, but I ignore it. Please, don't do this. I hear the words in my head like a distant, muffled voice. Choking on a single, quiet sob, I do my best to force my thoughts farther away.

Thanks to previously practicing meditation, it isn't so hard to empty my mind and focus on the sensations in my body instead. Once I'm dead, I'll be safe. I repeat those words like a sacred mantra in my head, over and over, until it soothes my wounded nerves.

“It's better this way,” I whisper out loud before getting up off the floor, straightening to my full five foot five inches of height. Without looking at it, I tuck the small package into the front pocket of my black zip-up sweatshirt. Chancing a glance at the mirror before exiting the bathroom, I stare at the weary expression I find there. My brown eyes seem so much more empty than I remember them being. Where there was once golden warmth, I now see nothing but a lackluster shade. It is as though the person staring back at me is far older than the twenty years I've spent on this Earth.

Barely an adult, and already dead. The truth of it all hits me like a derailed train careening off the tracks, and it takes every ounce of strength in me to stop the tears that threaten to pour from my eyes like relentless rain.

I leave as fast as I can, not even bothering to lock my front door on my way out of the apartment. None of it matters anymore, since I can't take any of my possessions with me where I am planning to go. The most important thing I had was already taken from me, stolen away by the man that was threatening to come take whatever little life was left in my body. When your virginity and body autonomy have been robbed from you, you tend to lose your sense of value in material things. It's a byproduct of the affront to one's very soul.

I give my head a firm shake as I descend the small set of concrete steps outside of my apartment, trying desperately to rattle the strangely philosophical thoughts loose. Now is not the time to contemplate the reality of my trauma, or give my rapist the opportunity to find me before I can escape him once and for all. All I need now is to get to the one place I can be truly safe, a place where no one can ever reach me again. A place without thoughts, fear, or pain. Just sweet, gentle oblivion.

I didn't realize I was quietly crying until the cool breeze of summer's end caresses the lines of tears streaking down my pale face. I guess my valiant attempts to prevent the pain from leaking out of me failed, just like any attempt I had made to keep myself safe in life. I step out onto the sidewalk and begin walking towards Sunnybrook Park, my hand clutching the small plastic container where it sits in my pocket.

Sunnybrook Park is one of the biggest parks in Toronto, which will afford me the quiet and privacy I need for what I have planned. The sun is quickly setting over the city, which means people will be leaving the park to head back home before darkness falls. By the time anyone finds me in the woods, I'll be long gone.

Soon to be gone, like the painfully beautiful colours painting the darkening sky above me. Intricate, awe-inspiring tones I was gazing upon for the very last time. The warm orange was bleeding into vibrant tones of blue, streaked with pink and purple. The sky is so beautiful that it almost hurts to look at it. The sight of the setting sun fills my broken heart with a hint of rage, a pulsating anger over the fact that one evil man took this life and all of its potential away from me. Much like the colours bleeding through the cloudy skies overhead, I too would bleed out into the ground until nothing remained inside of me. Unlike the sun, I would never rise again.

It wasn't long before I was crossing into the park's expansive territory, stepping foot on the first trail in the park to make my way deeper into the woodland. The trees are just beginning to change colour, a few dying leaves spiraling down around me as the chilly breeze knocks them loose. They look like small yellow stars falling from the sea of emerald and brown surrounding me. As I step off the worn trail and into the dense bush, I realize that I have never appreciated the world around me quite like I am right now. Preparing to die changes your perception, making you see things for what they really are. The daily grind tends to dull your vision and numb you out. For some strange and unfair reason, experiencing the world for one final time feels like a kind of magic.

I reach out with my hand to touch the surrounding trees, my fingertips grazing over the rough bark as I pass them by. I don't go too far out from the trail, because I want to be found in the morning. I don't want to become food for gross creatures after I am gone. The grotesque images of what I will look like covered in bugs and moss make my stomach flip. What weird thoughts to have just moments before ending my own life.

It takes just a few moments for me to select the tree I want to die with. It is a big, healthy oak with gnarly branches twisting towards the sky. When I turn to rest my back against the trunk of it, a sense of peace washes over me. I slide down the mighty trunk until my backside hits the ground at its roots. I close my eyes and exhale deeply to clear my head of the chaotic thoughts trying to overwhelm me. The darkness of twilight is closing in around me, providing the illusion of safety and privacy. I know I am not too far from the trail, but I can likely remain unseen if one person was late getting to the parking lot before dark. I can hide here in the shadows of these big old trees. Only a few muted tones streak the sky now, and my eyes gaze upwards to appreciate them one last time through the canopy of trees.

I inhale sharply, fighting back the sudden rush of fear, then let it out on another deep exhale. In and out, nice and slow, I try to keep my breathing steady. Once I have better control of the air flowing through my lungs, I drop my eyes to my lap and slip my hand into my pocket, where my salvation patiently waits. In my mind's eye, I see the ruinous note that had been slipped under my front door. His threat was clear; he is coming back to either hurt me or kill me. I won't be around to find out either way. There is absolutely no way I can survive reliving that horror again. I'd rather die. At least this solution to my problem is entirely in my control.

Pulling out the small package from my pocket seems to be breaking whatever self-control I've maintained until now. I no longer have the strength to hold back the onslaught of deep, rushing sadness. It washes over me, and the tears begin to fall against my will. I take just one measly moment to mourn my life as my fingers work to open the razor blade from the packet. I never really had the chance to live before Mark ruined me, and that hurt the most. I have never known love, or deep connections with friends, and I have never seen the world beyond the province I live in. I lost my parents when I was a teenager, and the years I spent living under my uncle's roof were hollow and lonely.

It was only a year ago that my first real date turned out to be with a vile boy who took it upon himself to drag me out into the alley behind the bar and take what he wanted from me whether he had my consent or not. He didn't have my consent, and he was so obsessed with taking my virginity that he ignored my protests when I begged him to stop. He beat me and raped me, before leaving me hollow and bleeding with wounds that wouldn't heal. A hurt so deep that it couldn't heal, especially without anyone to believe me when I tried to talk about what happened. My uncle didn't want to hear it, and my only friend at the time told me to get over it. Without support, those soul-deep wounds festered. It wasn't long before everything inside of me was infected from my trauma, rotting and damaged beyond repair. I am constantly anxious about everyone around me, and nowhere I go feels safe. I couldn't even afford to move across the city, working my job at the local library. Mark always knows where to find me. I live a life that feels like I am constantly bleeding out in shark-infested waters.

I carefully peel back the thin plastic with trembling fingers, pulling the replacement razor free. My shaking hands work as carefully as I can manage to pry a small, thin razor free from the cartridge. Little cuts erupt on the tips of my fingers as I fumble to get one out, but I ignore the sharp sting. Once I have one loose, I hold the instrument of my impending freedom up against the darkening sky – blanketing the shiny silver blade in the dying light from above.

My head grows foggy as I roll the sleeve covering my left forearm up to the elbow, exposing my pale skin to the cool September breeze. I don't dwell on the thoughts and images colliding like a hurricane in my head, knowing I had no more time to think about anything at all. Mark would find me, and I had to be gone before he did. My fingers grip the blade as I bring it down to kiss my skin, letting one long breath escape me shakily as I seal my fate.

I drag the razor down the length of my left forearm, watching the colour red bloom in a miserable path down my arm. Pain explodes across my flesh, leaving a trail of sharp burning in the wake of the thin silver blade. I gasp at the intensity of it, watching my frail skin split open before my eyes. Red continues to flood my vision as tendrils of thick blood begin to erupt from the wound I've made, winding down around my arm to gather underneath it and drip on to the cool Earth beneath me. The agony causes ugly sobs to bubble up from my chest, my breath quickening as fear, anger and pain collide within me and rage against each other.

It's so damn unfair that this is how my story ends. I want to toss my head back and scream my rage towards the sky until everything around me is shaking and trembling from the force of my suffering. If only I could shatter the entire world around me and let go of some of the bleak misery trapped in my head. I wish someone had listened to me and believed me; I wish someone out there could have given me justice. Nothing could undo the damage done to my mind, but watching that son of a bitch pay for all he has done to me would make for such a bittersweet end. Instead of screaming, I let the rage sink down into the black pit of my broken spirit.

Several long moments pass as I watch the blood pool on the dirt beside me. I blink rapidly through the tears, trying desperately to slow my breathing. It's then that I feel as though death himself has turned to look at me, his empty eyes suddenly recognizing his next acquisition. I even hear the crunch of leaves beneath his heavy feet as he starts to walk in my direction. This is it, the pinnacle of my tragedy. As I slowly bleed out from my arm, I nervously welcome death's relentless approach. A strange, mad smile slowly spreading across my face.

“Fuck you, Mark. You'll never touch me again.” I speak those words into the dark woods around me, my voice trembling brokenly as the sharp pain eases into a warm, throbbing agony. The cold from the ground I am sitting on begins to seep into me, embracing me more with each rivulet of blood that falls from my arm. It's a macabre exchange, as heat drains out of me into the ground below, and cold rises to claim the empty places inside of me. It feels as though all the pain trapped in me is beginning to empty around me, just as a great dark ocean begins rising from below. My eyes become blurry as my vision begins to darken around the edges, and yet the sound of my weakening pulse still feels strong in my ears. My head, suddenly feeling heavy, drops back against the tree just as my eyes start to drift closed. As I listen to the steady footfalls from death's imminent approach, a strange calm spreads over me and replaces the panic with an eerie acceptance.

“Time to go.” I whisper, feeling that warm, dark ocean rise higher to swallow me whole. If I had any power here at all anymore, I would gladly sink into it willingly. However, I had hit the point of no return. The darkness bloomed around me, sucking me in whether I wanted to fight it or not.