ERICK'S POV
I slowly opened my eyes and stared up at the luxurious ceiling in a daze. My back ached, and when I tried to move, a sharp pain shot through my leg, making me groan and sit back down on the bed. I lifted my leg onto the mattress and winced at the sight—ugly bruises, scratches, and cuts. At least they had stopped bleeding. My elbows weren't spared either, both scraped up pretty badly.
"Shit," I muttered.
Beside me, on the nightstand, sat a bottle of aspirin and a table water, next to my phone. I picked it up to check my messages and the date—Sunday. A few dozen texts from group chats and acquaintances, nothing from Damian. One missed call from my sister, Isabella.
I sighed and called her back. She picked up on the first ring—runs in the family, I guess.
"ERICK!" she squealed.
I winced. "Inside voice, Izzy. Inside voice."
"Oops, sorry."
"No problemo, kiddo. How are you?"
There was a rustling noise, then hurried footsteps before a door clicked shut. "I'm back! Now I can talk properly."
"Gossip?"
"Soon. A guy asked me out."
"Who? Toby?"
"Not Toby. There's this new guy who moved here from Italy. French-born, golden spoon, prestigious scholar. His name is Alexandre—Dre, not Der. And he refuses to let me call him Xander, so I call him Alex or Lexie instead." She huffed. "Anyway, we've been friends since he moved, and he's been giving me croissants, merendine, fromage blanc, and les danettes. Yes, I've been learning French since I plan to live in Paris when I grow up."
"Ouuu, rich and generous." I smirked, leaning back against the headboard.
"Well, yeah, but it's not like I like like him. I like him as a friend only."
"Is this the reason you called?"
"No! He asked me out the day Toby and I were supposed to go on a date, and now they both misunderstood everything and are enemies. It's so awkward."
"Seventeen, and you're already in a love triangle. I'm twenty-five, and my love life is nonexistent," I grumbled.
"So no advice for your bestest human in the whole world?" she coaxed sweetly.
"Second bestest."
"Who's first?"
"Damian."
"Simp."
I rolled my eyes. "Do you like like Toby?"
"Yes."
"You're seventeen."
"I know."
"Izzy, you're not allowed to go on romantic dates yet. Wait till you're nineteen."
"I know."
"Are you mad at them?"
"Yes."
"Alright, here's what you do. The next time they start acting awkward and childish, get mad. Tell them they're being ridiculous, like six-year-olds, and you don't hang out with six-year-olds. Make them call a truce, shake hands, and be friends. Platonic relationships are the most underrated but bestest kind of love out there. Then, when you're nineteen, we can make a list of eligible young men for you to traumatize romantically."
She gasped. "One, that's dumb. 22 at most. Two, that actually sounds perfect. You're so right! This is why you're my favorite person!"
The door opened, and Zariel stepped in, still in her human form. A first aid kit in her hand.
"When are you coming home?" Izzy asked.
"Probably for your graduation."
"Ouuuu, I better graduate quick then!"
"Yeah, you better."
"Maybe I should come visit instead."
I snorted. "Ain't no way Mum or Dad would let you."
"I can tots convince them."
"You don't even know where I am."
"I do too!"
"Okay, where?"
"Vegas?"
I laughed. "Nope! Anyways, I gotta go. Talk later?"
"I'll text you. Bye!"
"Bye." She hung up.
Zariel sat at the edge of the bed and started dabbing a wet cotton ball on my wounds. I hissed at the sting. She ignored me and kept working, cleaning and bandaging my legs and arms with quick, precise movements.
When she was done, she stood and tucked the first aid kit away.
"Thanks."
She nodded toward the living room setup. "There's food on the table. Eat, take that"—she gestured to the aspirin—"then rest."
Wow. She ignored me again. Rude.
"I'll be back in the evening," she added.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"None of your business, human."
"It's Erick, by the way."
No response.
I smirked. "So, I take it you're an angel?"
"What gave it away?" she deadpanned.
I blinked in surprise. Did she just make a joke?
"Let's reintroduce ourselves. I'm Erick, and you are…?" I trailed off, waiting.
She just stared at me, unimpressed.
I sighed. "Heaven's assassin. Got it."
She rolled her eyes, grabbed her sword from the bedside, and strapped it to her waist. My heart jumped a little—I'd almost forgotten about that dangerous thing.
That's when I really noticed her. She wore a fitted v-neck green jumpsuit that accentuated her curves, her long brown hair braided at the top while the rest cascaded in waves down her back. She looked… ethereal. Otherworldly.
I quickly averted my gaze to my bandaged hands.
"Don't pick at your wounds," she said as she opened the door. "Unless you want to render them useless. I could help with that."
"Goodbye to you too."
She walked out, shutting the door behind her.
I stayed in bed for an hour before finally limping into the bathroom. I took a careful shower, avoiding my bandages, brushed my teeth, and got dressed. After eating, I took the aspirin and drank some water. Then, deciding I hadn't been emotionally wrecked enough, I turned on Devilman Crybaby on the flat screen.
Big mistake.
I traumatized myself again before finally passing out.