“Please don’t make me break a promise,” Kyle pleaded. 

Too bad. This is punishment.

“For what?”

If you don’t know, I’m not telling.

“You didn’t just say that.” There was no reply. “Fine, then. Just not too late, please. I have those meetings tomorrow night at school.” 

Obviously, Ryka wasn’t talking to him, because he didn’t bother to respond. And before he even realized what was going on, Kyle found himself standing in front of the mirror, with no word of warning, or any of Ryka’s usual remarks about enjoying watching Kyle strip down. The transformation hadn’t begun yet,  but already an unholy growl was working its way out of Kyle’s throat. 

If that hadn’t been enough to convince Kyle something was upsetting the demon, the manner in which Ryka decided to undress was a dead giveaway. With nails that were growing out at an alarming rate, Kyle/Ryka literally tore off his shirt. Kyle watched with regret as shreds of the most expensive button-down he owned fluttered to the ground.

Though he wasn’t nearly as concerned about his clothes as he was about what Ryka did to his glasses. They were tossed in the general direction of the coffee table, but Kyle couldn’t track them to make sure they weren’t broken. Because he suddenly found himself staring down at the carpet. 

Ryka actually roared as his wings unfurled, and when he managed to lift his head to look at his reflection, blood was dribbling down the sides of his face. More crimson trails ran down his arms and sides from where his wings had sprouted. 

The blood, although awful, wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the look on Ryka’s face. Usually when he summoned himself this way, there was only spite and mischief in those red eyes. This time, Kyle saw pain, and he had a strong feeling it wasn’t just physical. As if to confirm, Ryka hissed through clenched teeth, dropping his gaze to where he had sunk his claws into the carpet. And into the floor underneath, judging by the splinters jutting up through the berber. 

Ryka? Are you okay? Hey, listen. Whatever I did, I’m really sorry.

After struggling to his feet, something the demon managed with no small amount of irritated grumbling, Ryka stared hard into the mirror. Kyle knew that angry glare - narrowed eyes alight with rage - was meant for him. “What kind of half-assed apology is that? Fuck you. I’m done with you for the night.”

Wait. Ryka? Come on ….

If the demon could still hear him, he was refusing to answer. For Kyle, there was no hiding from his parasite - Ryka could hear all his thoughts. Their contract didn’t work both ways, though. All Kyle could do now was watch; he was completely cut off from his other half, unable to tell what he was thinking. And that was how Ryka wanted it, Kyle realized with a pang. 

Now free to do as he pleased without interruption, Ryka grabbed a twelve-pack of beer out of the fridge, a gallon of “Death by Chocolate” ice cream from the freezer, and headed for the bathroom. While he watched the tub fill, he started in on the ice cream, shoveling heaping spoonfuls into his mouth. 

He carried his snack into the bath with him. Kyle watched the water turn red only seconds after Ryka had settled himself, and even as a passenger felt his stomach somersault at the sight. Not since the night he had become Ryka’s host had the transformation made either of them bleed. It didn’t seem to bother Ryka, though. His only concern now seemed to be eating his ice cream as fast as possible. 

Ryka? What’s the matter? Come on, tell me. Please?

Again, Ryka ignored him. At least, that was how it seemed at first. Then, with a tremendous sigh, Ryka set down the carton and leaned back in the tub. His wings didn’t fit – one was folded up against the wall, the other was half-crumpled on the floor. That was normal. What wasn’t was his tail curling around one of his legs. A sight which made Kyle think back to when he had first met Ryka. It was something the demon had done frequently right after they’d sealed their contract. Demon body language, Kyle had learned, for feeling insecure. 

I really screwed up, huh? You haven’t looked this miserable since the first time I met you.

For a moment, Kyle was sure Ryka was going to open up to him. But Ryka only shook his head and mumbled an unenthusiastic, “Fuck off.” 

***

Thanks to the rotating class schedule at school, Kyle had a free period first thing the next day. He used it to nap in his car. Ryka hadn’t been up late, but he had bled an awful lot. 

Kyle had come to overnight on the bathroom floor, covered in bloody bath water. Choking back vomit, he’d crawled to the shower and huddled under the spray for close to an hour. Even that hadn’t been enough time for him to feel clean, but he’d dried off, dressed, and forced himself to investigate the mess.

There had only been a few flecks of crimson in the kitchen, even fewer on the living room carpet. The bathroom was a different story. Aside from their bloody body-print on the floor, there was the tub.   

No doubt because he was still angry, Ryka hadn’t let the water out, and Kyle’d had to use a curtain rod to finagle the drain open - he couldn’t work up the nerve to actually stick his hand in. But it wasn’t just the sight of all that red that had made him dizzy. Ryka’s blood was his blood, and he was sure he was at least a few pints short.  

An angry rapping on the driver side window woke him from a dreamless sleep. It was Ms. Richardson. She always caught him at his worst. Though if she was out in the lot, it was more like she’d been determined to catch him that way. “Mr. Saunders, first period is almost over. And I think you have a freshman class second period, right?”

“Oh, thanks. I do.”

Stifling a yawn, he got out of the car and followed her back into the building. “If you don’t feel well, we can have someone else watch the class.”

“I’m fine. Besides, conferences are tonight. I can’t miss those.”

“True.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he felt his stomach drop to his feet. She definitely suspected something. “Are you sure you’re okay? You always seem so tired.”

“Insomnia,” he lied. “And I try not to take anything. I don’t need the side-effects.”

“I see.”

With that, she left him standing outside the door to his classroom. His freshman World Cultures class, the only ninth-grade class he taught, was well-behaved, and they were all sitting in their seats waiting for him. Normally, it would have been the meetings with their parents he would have been dreading. Freshmen didn’t always adjust well, and it showed in their grades. But he was far more worried about the first-period sophomore class. He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain their sudden vast improvement. 

It was a fear that nagged him most of the day. Though it still didn’t compare to how concerned he was about Ryka’s behavior the night before. There had been times when Ryka hadn’t had much to say to him, though those times were few and far between, but never had Ryka purposely ignored him for so long. Just as it had seemed too quiet in class the day before, it was now far too quiet in his head. 

Somehow, he made it through the day. He thought it would have been better with even one completely inappropriate remark from his other half, but it was starting to seem like that may never happen again. He knew that - unless they took a forbidden shortcut - only God or Satan had the power to separate them, but he wondered if Ryka could petition to be given his own body back sooner. 

“So, how long are we going to be like this?” Kyle had asked early on. Their intertwined fates were one of the few things he had dared inquire about. And doing so had made him hesitate to learn more.

Hmm, well, let’s just say you’ll be around more than long enough to find out whether or not all that global warming stuff is total bullshit. Spoiler alert: it’s not. You’re all fucked.

Someone knocking on the classroom door pulled Kyle’s attention back to the present. He glanced at his watch and was shocked to find it was already five o’clock. He had fallen asleep at his desk. “Come on in,” he called, trying to fix his hair.

Mr. and Mrs. Holt, Nick’s parents, walked into the room. Behind them, he could see the parents of Nick’s classmates forming a line. And none of them looked happy. But he plastered on a smile, and hoped that he’d survive until nine o’clock.