

Meeting the DemonDerek found me on the side of the street. It was cold and wet and of course raining. It was dark, all the streetlights where on and the soft amber glow shone off the pavement. I was curled up somewhere, dripping, soaking. It was early enough in the morning the bars had just closed. He was walking home, sober, thought maybe I was a drunk he could offer shelter to and was taken aback by my appearance when I looked up at him over me. He asked me if I was okay. I wasn't drunk; I wasn't old enough to drink. I nodded, he asked if I had a place to go and I shook my head. Papa had thrown me out. Papa who had given me the scars, Papa who said no one wMeeting the Demon
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