Chapter Text
Why me?
The question haunts her even in sleep.
Ashley’s mind is a battlefield, a chorus of prayers echoing in an endless loop as though repetition alone might purify her, might erase the rot that Spain planted in her bones.
Her lips move against the pillow, breathless fragments of Hail Mary, full of grace, words slurred and jumbled, a lullaby and a curse in one.
In the dream she’s bound again. Rope burns her wrists raw, her body jostled by invisible hands, dragged through stone corridors reeking of mildew and dried blood. Shadows move like wolves. She is not a girl anymore, not a person, just an offering, meat for their altar.
¡Gloria a las Plagas!
The cry splits through her head like an axe. She jerks in the dream, limbs thrashing, but the bindings only tighten. She sees the red lantern swinging, feels the shockwave pulsing inside her skull, worming into her marrow.
Her vision spins and for a sickening instant she feels it, the parasite she once had, the one she watched inside others, creeping up her own spine, eating, eating, eating.
Her body convulses. Her lips part to scream. No sound.
Then, him.
Always him.
Leon steps into her line of sight, boots scraping against stone, voice steady as iron. Careful. Just one word, yet it strikes through her fear like fire in wet wood. His back is to her, shoulders broad enough to eclipse everything behind him. His shotgun lifts, deafening thunder as the first cultist falls.
She wakes with a gasp.
The ceiling above her is smooth white, not dripping stone. The sheets are tangled around her body, damp with sweat. Her throat aches as if she had been screaming for hours though she made no sound at all. She pushes upright, clutching the sheets to her chest, staring at the faint silver glow of moonlight leaking through the blinds.
Her heart won’t slow.
Ashley presses trembling fingers to her forehead. It’s over. It’s done. You’re safe. But the words feel hollow. Her body doesn’t believe them. Her body still kneels in Spain, still shivers under the gaze of robed men chanting hymns to a god of worms.
Her phone glows faintly on the nightstand. A temptation. A lifeline. A wound.
His number is still there, of course. She never deleted it.
She whispers another prayer instead, trying to calm her pulse, but even her faith feels poisoned now.
An innocent would never have suffered. So maybe I was never innocent at all.
That’s the part that claws at her the most, how much she wants him. How much she craves the warmth of his voice, the weight of his presence, the shelter of his body against hers. He was her savior, her guardian, and yet her thoughts keep twisting into something darker, needier, shameful.
She tells herself it’s only because he kept her alive, that any girl would cling to the man who carried her through hell. But late at night, when her blood runs hot with the memory of his arms shielding her, she knows it’s more than gratitude. It’s desire. And that feels like a sin almost worse than the curse itself.
Morning punishes her.
The sun pours through the blinds too harsh, too golden, as though the world itself is mocking her sleepless night. Ashley drags herself out of bed, limbs heavy, throat tight, every movement thick with the residue of her nightmare.
She showers, brushes her hair until it snags, stares at herself in the mirror. The girl in the reflection looks almost normal, rosy cheeks from hot water, blond hair tucked into place, a sweater pulled over her frame. But the eyes betray her. They’re too wide, too guarded. They know what she’s seen.
On campus, the chatter of students fills the air. Coffee cups in hand, backpacks slung across shoulders, laughter bouncing between them like music. She blends in, she thinks. She smiles when expected, nods when someone talks to her. If she keeps moving, no one will see the cracks. But the cracks are there.
When a boy from her bio lab jogs to catch up beside her, she flinches before she can stop herself. He’s harmless, brown eyed, gentle voiced, the kind of boy her friends would call safe. He asks if she wants to grab coffee after class, casual, hopeful.
It should be simple. She should say yes.
But the thought of sitting across from him, pretending to be interested in stories about professors or parties, makes her stomach knot. Worse, the brush of his arm against hers floods her body with alarm, her nerves sparking like live wires. He doesn’t notice. He just keeps smiling.
And in that instant, guilt scalds her from the inside.
Because she knows why she can’t.
It isn’t only the trauma, it's him, Leon.
Always Leon. Every boy her age feels like a ghost compared to him. She remembers Leon’s hands, steady and strong, how they gripped his gun, how they gripped her arm when she faltered. She remembers his voice, calm in chaos, the kind of voice that made her believe survival was possible. And beneath all that, the heat in her veins when she thought of him too long, the way her breath caught at the sharpness in his blue eyes.
She forces herself to laugh, a brittle sound. “Sorry. I’m busy.”
The boy’s face flickers with confusion, then resignation. He shrugs and falls behind.
Ashley exhales, shame thick in her chest. Normal girls fall for safe boys, boys who smile and hold doors, not men who kill monsters and drown nightmares in whiskey.
She tells herself she’s broken, that her desire for Leon is only another symptom of the curse. But even as she hurries toward class, heart pounding, she knows the truth: she doesn’t want safe. She wants him.
Ashley exhales, shame thick in her chest. Normal girls fall for safe boys, boys who smile and hold doors, not men who kill monsters and drown nightmares in whiskey.
Only she doesn't feel normal. She’s tainted, she's cursed, she knows it.
Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Leon, not just his gun raised, not just his hand steady on her arm, but his mouth against hers, his body caging her against a wall, his weight pressing her down into something that feels nothing like salvation. Desire curls low in her belly, hot and frantic, until her skin prickles with sweat. She bites her lip hard enough to sting, appalled by herself.
Her thoughts lurch into prayer before she can stop them. The more she begs, the worse it gets.
Wanting him feels like proof of the curse, proof that she’s corrupted at the root. Why else would her savior make her pulse race with something so filthy? Why else would she beg heaven for deliverance and only find herself imagining his hands instead?
She quickens her pace toward class, clutching her books to her chest as though they could shield her from her own hunger. Her lips keep moving silently, Hail Mary, full of grace.
The words taste like ash.
She moves through the quad, but her steps feel heavy, weighted by a confession only she can hear. Her fingers clutch the strap of her bag as though it could anchor her to decency.
God, I have sinned. I have sinned in my heart. I have sinned in my thoughts. I desire him. I desire the man who saved me. I desire the man I should worship for saving me, and yet I want him to touch me in ways that feel profane. Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me for imagining his hands, his lips, his body pressed against mine when he should only ever be my savior, my protector.
Her eyes dart to the horizon, to the church spires rising above the campus. The bells toll, and her knees nearly buckle. It’s a simple sound, a harmless melody, but it slams into her chest like a hammer. Her mind spirals instantly. Spain, the cultists, the red glow, the parasite, the terror, the fear of death, Leon in front of her, the only shield, the only constant.
She drops to her knees on the sidewalk. Hands pressed against her ears, jaw trembling.
I am cursed. I am damned. I am wicked. Wash this from me, Lord, wash it away, take it, cleanse it. Take the shame, take the longing, take him from my mind, take him, take him.
The prayers do not work. The longing only sharpens.
Ashley’s hands are trembling against her head. Her knees press hard against the cold concrete of the quad, and the chime of the church bells rings again, like a hammer against bone.
Her breath catches in her throat. Vision swimming, limbs shaking. She wants to run, to disappear, but every step away from the bells feels like betrayal. Her body refuses to listen to reason.
A voice cuts through the chaos.
“Ashley? Hey?, hey! Are you okay?”
She blinks through tears to see one of her classmates crouching beside her. Concerned eyes, hands reaching out. Mortification claws at her chest. Only then she realizes the bells stopped chimming a while ago.
“I'm fine." she stammers, voice cracking. The words are useless. The trembling won’t stop. Her friend gently helps her to her feet, supporting her as if she weighs nothing but feels like she’s made of stone.
“Let’s get you to your dorm." her friend says, guiding her.
Ashley nods silently, burning with shame, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. No one must know. No one must see the chaos inside her, the blood, the fear, the way she still clings to the memory of being hunted, trapped, helpless.
She barely notices the walk, lungs heaving, hands shaking uncontrollably, until she bursts into her dorm. Door slams behind her. She throws herself onto her bed, curling up, clutching the sheets as if they could hold her together.
The panic consumes her.
Tears fall freely, hot and relentless. She can barely breathe. Her voice shakes as she whispers frantic prayers.
God, take it from me. Take this curse. Take this fear from my chest, from my mind. Kill me if you must, but let me rest. Let me be free of this terror. Let me wake without seeing the red glow. Let me breathe without seeing death at every turn. Please, make it end.
She sobs, clutching the pillow to her face, rocking slightly. Her muscles ache from tension, throat raw from screaming silently. She can’t stop, can’t pause, can’t reason herself out of the torrent of memories.
The guilt of her desire for Leon is there in the back of her mind, a whisper she pushes aside. For now, it is only the trauma that consumes her, the terror, the helplessness, the weight of survival pressing down on her chest like stone.
Slowly, breath by ragged breath, the sobs ease. The ache in her chest remains, but it no longer feels like the world is ending. She wipes her face with shaking hands, swallowing hard.
The phone on her desk catches her eye, glowing faintly in the darkened room. Her thumb hovers over his name. Heart still racing, tears still threatening, she tells herself she’s doing it for clarity, for grounding, for a thread to pull herself out of the darkness.
She presses the phone, dials.
Rings. Long, torturous seconds.
“Hello?” His voice, low, cautious, like a life raft she didn’t think she deserved.
“Leon." she whispers, voice trembling. “I- I just wanted to check on you.”
Silence stretches. Then, soft and clipped. "I’m fine.”
The line feels thick with unspoken words. She swallows. “Can I see you? Just to make sure I’m not-" Her voice catches. "-falling apart?”
There’s a pause. "Of course.”
Her chest lifts with relief and dread, all tangled together. She leans back against her pillow, whispering a final prayer, quiet and broken.
God forgive me. God, keep him near. God, help me survive this night.
And even as she grips the phone, a cold shiver crawling down her spine, she can’t shake the gnawing feeling that nothing good is coming out of this.