Chapter 2

This chapter contains a very brief suicide scene that is not explicitly described. If you wish to skip it, go to the next line break (***).

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Clara sniffed and held in the tears that were starting to fall. She wasn’t going to cry in a place where someone from the school could still see her. She would bottle it up like she normally did. 

The bus ride was a complete blur and soon she was outside the front door of her home. It wasn’t big or attractive, but it was the only place she could call home. The scent of mac and cheese hit her senses as she unlocked the door and she groaned. It was her least favorite meal. It would be the topping on a shitty day at school. 

She took off her shoes and continued on her way to her room. As the oldest foster child, she had been granted her own room. It was small, but it was all hers. She would change into her most comfortable clothes, read her favourite book and put on a cooling eye mask to relax. Her allowance for the past six months had been spent on the mask and so far it had been helping her destress from her school day. 

Her own homework and Beckah’s could wait until after dinner. Clara opened her bedroom door and was greeted with a complete mess. That was odd. She was obsessively tidy at all times. 

She looked around with an evaluating eye. Her bed covers were askew and she straightened them first. Then she reached for her eye mask and couldn’t find it. Her mind panicked for the third time that day and she began to take a mental note of what was wrong. 

Her set of drawing pencils were lying cracked in the corner, her precious paint set was in pieces next to it, her used sketchbooks were torn up. The few photo frames that she owned were smashed. 

“Clara!”  

The call was followed by a set of rushing footsteps and her foster mother Laura came rushing in holding a wooden spoon covered in mac and cheese. Her hair was askew as usual and she had a guilty smile on her face. 

“Ryan got in here earlier and made quite a mess before I noticed he was being too quiet.” 

Ryan was her youngest foster brother. He was a round cheeked and innocent looking five-year-old who rivaled the four bullies in hating her. Ryan had entered the foster family the year before and had always had it out for her despite her attempts at friendliness. 

“Oh,” was all she could manage to say. 

Laura patted her shoulder.  

“Don’t be mean to him over it. He’s very young and sensitive. You shouldn’t have left all that stuff in reach anyway.” 

That was another jab to her already bleeding heart. 

Laura waggled the mac and cheese covered spoon at her and Clara fought back a retch from the smell. To add to the insult, a blob of her least favourite meal splattered onto her floor on top of remnants of one of her best paintings. 

“Oops,” Laura said. “‘I’ll help you tidy up after dinner. I’ve got to put it in the oven now.” 

She was gone in an instant and Clara immediately closed the door so she could break down in peace. 

Her day had gone to pieces. Her school life was ruined beyond repair. No one would be able to forget her supposed infatuation with Xavier that had been documented over social media and she was going to be bullied even more because of it. Her one place of sanctuary was now gone. What did she have left to look forward to? 

Clara took a very deep breath and took off her school jacket and opened her closet. Then she closed it again. Ryan must have found her scissors or the blades she used in art projects. He had torn up her favourite sweater and jeans. 

She didn’t own much and everything she had bought was the result of saving up her meager allowancee. Ryan had destroyed almost 18 years of savings. Clara focused on trying to tidy up her room and had to keep stopping to cry when she saw what he had ruined. 

There was nothing to look forward to now. Even the image of graduating from Trinity Academy that normally kept her going wasn’t working. It would probably never work again. 

She soon stumbled onto her eye mask. It had been torn into tatters and staring down at the sad remains of something she had been looking forward to broke her even further. She chucked it into the throw out pile that was rapidly growing and found something else under her bed.  

When she was 10, she had won an art competition. The certificate was her most prized possession and had ignited her passion to become a professional artist. It was torn into tiny pieces now.  

Clara’s vision blurred as the final part of her heart that had managed to survive this far, shred itself. She couldn’t go downstairs and eat her least favourite food, look into Ryan’s evil eyes and not say something nasty, go upstairs and draw for one of her bullies. She couldn’t wake up to go to school the next day and face hell. 

She couldn’t do it anymore.  

Her hand scrabbled under the bed to see what else was hiding under there and she flinched and pulled her finger back. It was bleeding. She had found her razor blade that she used to trim down her pastels.  

Clara picked it up and stared at her bleeding finger.  

The bathroom in the house had a lock and a bathtub. That was all she needed to escape her hell.  

She was in the bathroom with the door locked before she had even processed her desire to die properly.  

Clara Kennedy’s heart ceased to beat a short time later. She died wishing that she had at least got revenge on everyone who had hurt her at least once. 

Clara opened her eyes. She felt refreshed like she had slept well with no worries. As soon as she processed what was around her, she knew something was very wrong. 

She was lying outside Trinity Academy. It was the familiar school building, but it didn’t feel right. The sky was dark grey and the air was still. She couldn’t hear any other noise or see anyone. There was a feeling of emptiness to everything. 

She got up and looked down at herself. Instead of her poorly fitting Trinity Academy uniform, she was wearing a simple white dress. That was odd. 

Her most recent memory came back to her and she flinched. She had killed herself. 

Was this some sort of purgatory then? 

It couldn’t be reality, nothing felt right. 

“Clara Kennedy.” 

Clara turned around quickly at the sound of someone saying her name. 

Standing behind her was a man. He didn’t look much older than her and if she wasn’t so desperate for answers, she could have found him good looking. He had tanned skin and long black hair. He was wearing a black cloak and she noticed the horns on his head.  Clara began to fear the worst. 

“Have you come to take me somewhere?” she asked. 

“I’ve come to make you an offer,” he said. “My name is Caiden. I’m a demon.” 

If the person meeting her in purgatory was a demon, that had to mean she was going to hell. Was that how everything ended for her? Her living life was hell and then after she died, she went to hell. She wanted to cry, but she had no tears left to give. 

“What is your offer?” she enquired. 

If his offer meant not going to hell, she was willing to take it. However, she couldn’t see that she had anything he would want. 

“As you died, you wished revenge on those who brought you to death, I heard that call and I came to see you before your soul could get out of reach. Clara, you were gifted with intelligence and artistic talent, but you lived a miserable life. I thought it was all a waste so I came to offer you something.” 

Clara knew she should feel sore about someone judging her pitiful 18 years of life as a waste of intelligence and artistic skills, but again she just didn’t care. She just didn’t want go to hell. 

She looked the demon coolly in the eyes. “What do you have to offer me then?” 

“I can offer you an opportunity for revenge,” the demon informed her. “I can help you get even with those who tormented you.” 

That was a very tempting offer. Now that she thought it about it more, it was really what she desired. However, despite her desire for revenge, she was reluctant to accept an offer from a demon without asking about the price. 

“Nothing comes for free,” she replied. “What would I have to give you in return?” 

Caiden reached out and gripped her chin. 

“I will take your soul when you have achieved revenge to your heart’s desires if you agree to my offer. Just know that without your soul, you will never be reincarnated.” 

Clara coldly moved the demon’s hand from her chin and thought it over. The offer sounded fair. The demon would help her get what she wanted, then he would get what he wanted. As for never being reincarnated, it might be for the best, her luck was probably bad enough that all of her reincarnations would live doomed lives. 

“I am willing to take your offer,” she answered a moment later. “It sounds fair.” 

The demon grinned. “I knew you would accept. We need to bond and make a contract now. Would losing some blood bother you?” 

“I died because I slit my wrists,” Clara pointed out with a glare. 

Caiden had the grace to look guilty. “I didn’t consider that. Sorry. Please hold out your arm.” 

Clara held out her left arm. It was perfectly unscathed, with no cut marks. The old cigarette burns from her bullies weren’t there either. It was a nice sight. She looked up to see the demon pulling out a knife from his cloak and knew her arm wasn’t going to be unscathed for long. 

He slashed his arm and held it over her arm with the blood dripping down. 

“I’m going to cut your arm now, you can close your eyes if you like,” he announced. “This part is the bonding ritual.” 

Clara didn’t close her eyes and the knife came down. The pain was brief and blood was flowing out of her arm too. Caiden’s eyes glowed a fiery red and she knew something supernatural was going to happen. 

“I promise to assist Clara Kennedy in achieving her desire for revenge in any way she requires. In return she will hand over her soul when the time is right,” he said.  

He took her hand and raised her arm. A glowing pentagram appeared above them. Clara watched it with trepidation, it was a reminder that she was making a deal with something otherworldly. 

“Clara, you need to agree to this,” he told her. “This is the contract ceremony.” 

“I, Clara Kennedy promise to hand over my soul to Caiden in return for revenge when the time is right,” she declared. 

The pentagram glowed purple and then disappeared. It was like it had never been there. 

Caiden released her hand and the full gravity of what she had done hit her. She had made a binding contract with a demon for her soul. There was no going back now.