Human Spines

Friends-I

Hello readers! Before continuing, I'd like to explain that there are a few lines in this chapter that are both underlined and italicized because Wattpad doesn't allow writers to strike through words. As you read the underlined and italicized, please remember it's my makeshift version of striking through/crossing out the words.

Thanks!

Emmeline

        "I have an idea!" I place my hands on his shoulders. "We should be friends!"

        "But... that... that has nothing to do with Demon-filled churches," Dumaine stammers.

        "But it's a grand idea, isn't it?" I smile.

        "Well I guess, but I thought we were already friends...?"

        "Oh... yeah, right. You've been with me for a week now haven't you? I keep forgetting. For me it's been just over a day. Oops." I drop my arms.

        I've been having the most magnificent amount of fun these past two hours. Talking to Dumaine is getting easier. He's taught me a lot about normal human interactions and how to have a proper conversation instead of spewing everything all out at once. I just have to be careful not to get too excited, which gets kind of hard sometimes because, well, I'm actually conversing with someone! For the first time in so many years!

        "Yes, Emmeline, we can be friends." Dumaine grins and sighs at the same time, almost laughing at me.

        "Yes! Thank you!" I smile and clap, ecstatic that he's starting to understand me. That sometimes I'm still seven years old. That I don't hide my emotions. That I balance a thousand thoughts in my head at once and have a hard time choosing which one to focus on first. But that I love to make those choices. Those decisions. To pick the path I want to go on.

        We've still managed to get side-tracked though. I don't even know how we started talking about the church Demons. The only thing we've successfully planned is how we're getting to our next destination, whatever it may be.

        "How about New York?" I suggest, tossing him the map I dug out of my bag earlier.

        "What about New York?"

        "We're searching for someone, but we don't know who, so why not try somewhere people are easily accessible? A place with eight million people."

        He's smirking. "You know, you're smarter than you look."

        "You think I look dumb?" I raise an eyebrow.

        "No, you look..." He fidgets, pulling his hat onto his lap and threading his finger around the feather. "Nevermind." His face is red. Which reminds me.

        "Why do you look at your fingers when you play? And why weren't you in— no, why aren't you in school right now?" I scoot closer. He returns his hat and examines me. The expression on my face and how I'm sitting like a dropped teddy bear. He takes a deep breath like he's getting ready for something.

        "I lost my pencil. So I couldn't do my homework. So I didn't go to class." He shrugs.

        "I don't like that explanation. It isn't full and sounds like a lie. Give me a different one. One for who you are," I request.

        He stands, crouches down, reaches underneath his bed, and produces his accordion tucked safely in its case. "Shouldn't we be getting ready for New York? I can tell you some about me on the way there." He sets the only thing he seems to own on the bed and plops down next to it, watching me.

        "No." I shake my head. "You can tell me some about you now and all about you later. It's hard to be friends with someone you know nothing about. Plus, I probably won't be me during most of our journey to New York."

        "But it'll—"

        The phone is ringing.

Dumaine

        "Hello?" I get to the phone before Emmeline. She stands on her toes slightly too close behind me, trying to listen for a reply by pulling my shoulder down and shoving her face against mine, sandwiching the phone between our cheeks. I don't think she knows what personal space is.

        "Hey...? Hello?" I repeat after a few seconds of silence. This isn't right. I've never stayed at a hotel before, but I'm sure they don't give out rooms' phone numbers to let people prank call.

        "Hey! Anybody there?" Emmeline shouts in my ear before uttering something in that tongue again. It slips from her mouth so easily, the word short but commanding, and the caller obeys. They answer in the same language, sending volts of panicky fear through me. I step away from Emmeline and shove the phone at her, completely aware of the nausea painted on my face. My hand shakes as she gingerly slides the phone from it. She holds it to her ear, still watching me, eyebrows questioning.

        I turn, plugging my ears. Language shouldn't sound like this. It's quickly ruining me, my entire body trembling as she communicates with the caller. I crawl into my bed and curl up. No sound should sound like like like like. No sound should sound sound should not sound. I can't think it's it's it's too loud. My brains is is are sssssssk sk skipping. My arms have pulled the sack bag fluff pillow to my ear, one ear, two ears. I can still still still hear it. The girl is is is speaking it. The the the thing is speaking it to her. It's they it they should be dead for sp sp sp sp speaking.

        I open my eyes. And see the veins in my face in the mirror. They start at my ears. Until I rip them from my skull. The veins creep out, invade my skin drawing across my skin. Solid blue lines of blood bulging surfacing for me to see. They tear through my face and hook onto my eyes, injecting themselves into my corneas travel across my face, reaching my eyes and making them look blood shot. Disgustingly intricately as a weed tattoo they strangle me wind themselves around my neck choking me. I—I almost can't see anymore. There are spots in my vision and it's

                 all starting to

      look very

             pale.

        My eyes close for a moment and I can't breathe. They fly open and I still can't figure out how to breathe. I-I-I c can't breathe.

        What do I... what do I do?

        Suddenly it's clear. It's all from that demonic language Emmeline and the caller are speaking. It's not horrifying. It's powerfully lethal. Listening is too much for my human body. I'm not a Demon plaything like Emmeline. This sound is going to kill me.

        Unless I can't hear it.

        I fling the pillow and yank my accordion out, nearly break it. I start playing. Loudly. Not even a song. Just notes. I don't look at my pounding fingers, I look at Emmeline. She must've dropped the phone. Her body is tense, as if I frightened her when I began playing. Her eyes are wide, her nose is flared, her fingers are splayed, and I really don't care. I can hear the notes of my accordion and not the foul tones of that sound.

        And it's all I care about right now.

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