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“Give him space.”
“He needs help.”
“Don’t touch him! I said he needs space.”
Metal clanged as Darien banged his knee against the corner of an overflowing dumpster. He staggered into the wall beside it, cracking his forehead and knuckles against the brick.
The bolt of pain that accompanied the hit managed to push the Surge away. He was able to blink away the black, able to slow his breathing, able to stand still for several minutes, leaning against that wall like he was cowering, forehead digging into the brick.
But he was a coward, wasn’t he? This was what cowards did. His whole body was shaking, head spinning, but he was starting to get a hold on the Surge, thank gods.
Garbage crunched under boots as someone stepped up to his side.
“Stay,” Darien bit out, swallowing heavily, lungs shaking, “away.”
“Shit, man.” It was Malakai. There was empathy in his words. “I know what this feels like. You got this though—”
Darien pushed off the wall and spun around to face him. “Does it look like I fucking got this?” he seethed, nostrils flaring. He grabbed Malakai by the collar, knuckles oozing blood. “Does it, Malakai? Because it doesn’t fucking feel like it!”
Malakai didn’t flinch or pull away, but he didn’t say anything either, he only watched him. There was understanding in his gaze. Understanding, and maybe compassion—two things Darien loathed at a time like this.
Darien let him go with a shove and buried his hands in his jacket pockets. The Surge was aching to return, the edges of his vision blurring with a mist of gray and black.
It was Valen who said, “How long has this been going on?”
“Since my mom died.” The truth was out before he could stop it. He’d had Surges while she was alive, but back then she had taught him how to handle them, how to cope. The day she died was the day they’d taken over his life, and he’d barely been able to catch a break since.
He started pacing, hating himself for showing these three men—barely allies, and certainly not friends, at least not anymore—this horrible weakness. Until tonight, Malakai was the only Reaper who’d known about this. Darien had been friends with him for years, and because of this they’d handled Surges around each other often, had done drugs together to numb the pain. But they’d always kept it to themselves, never speaking of the shit they felt, not to anyone.
“It’s fine,” Malakai said, waving away the hints of fear on Valen and Sylvan’s auras. “We’re not going to speak of this, are we, boys?” They murmured their agreements. “Dare, man. It’s alright, I understand—"
“You can’t understand!” he barked, lurching up to where Malakai stood, barely an inch separating the Reaper’s face from his own. Malakai lifted his chin as Darien spat, “No one understands what it’s like inside my head. This—” He tapped his own temple hard. “This is hell. It’s hell in here, and no one can save me from this fucking breaking.” His voice shook on the last word, and he started pacing again.
Suddenly, his vision buzzed and flickered, like static on a television turned to the wrong channel. The alley jerked and bounced, colors bleeding out of it, leaving nothing in its place but a monochrome mess that left him staring in confusion.
At the end of the alley, squatting on its haunches, was a horned creature. Its body was skeletal, most of its bones laid bare for all to see. Bits of rotting flesh draped off a ribcage that was cracked in several places. A dark heart beat within that cage of bone, black oil dripping out of it with every thump. A teal blue light shone from inside the heart.
The creature was consuming something. The wet crunch of bone and flesh raised a chill on the back of Darien’s neck.
Slowly, it turned to face him. Its horns ended in sharp points, shallow grooves running from base to tip. Those grooves were oozing with the same black substance dripping from its heart.
“What the hell?” Darien panted. He stumbled back, nearly losing his footing as he slammed into something hard.
“Darien?” Malakai’s voice sounded far away.
Someone stepped in front of him, concealing the creature with the glowing eyes as it stood from its crouch, something dead and decaying hanging limp in its sharp claws, blood dripping to the cobblestones.
“What’s he looking at?” Valen’s voice floated to him, distant and concerned.
Darien tried to point around Valen. “Do you see that?”
The grayscale of the alley shuddered back into full color, the mercury-vapor lights washing everything in a fresh coat of lime-green.
When Valen stepped out of his way, and the three Reapers turned to look at where Darien gestured, there was nothing there but cobblestones and puddles of muck. No hint of teal light, no smell of the blood Darien swore he’d seen dripping to the ground, no oily black substance secreted from a pounding heart.
Malakai’s boots splashed through mud as he came around to face Darien, his expression severe. “Are you okay?” he demanded. “I fucking mean it this time, are you okay?”
Darien thought he might puke. “You didn’t see it?”
