Page 3 of Drag You Down
“He needs help, boy,” he says.
For a few heartbeats, I don’t breathe.
All I can do is stare at him.
I finally shake off the spell he’s cast on me. “What… what do I do?” I ask. “I don’t know how to help. I’m not a doctor.”
The man hums. “Then talk to him. Hold his hand.” His brown eyes are intent upon mine as he takes a few steps closer to me. “Don’t you want his final moments to be peaceful?” He tilts his head. “Comforting?” He smiles at me.
I wonder what those lips would taste like, a thought that fills me with shame and makes my cheeks flush with humiliation.
I still want to know.
The fact that I want to know iswrong, but I can’t get rid of the thought now that I’ve had it.
“Doesn’t every man deserve kindness in the face of death?” he prompts.
I swallow and nod.
The Devil wants me to comfort a dying man.
I’m too terrified to disobey. I step around my groceries and go to the man. There’s a puddle of blood around him, and blood splatter on the wall. I crouch down, and with trepidation, take his hand into my own.
It’s already cold and clammy, and the blood sticks to me immediately.
“He… hel…” The man repeats, his eyes on me.
“You’re dying,” I tell him dumbly, as if he doesn’t already know. “Only God can decide whether you go to Heaven or Hell.”
“Ahh,” the man behind me says. “So you wouldn’t pass judgement on someone? What if I told you he made others’ lives a living hell?” I hear footsteps, and I canfeelhim hovering behind me.
“If… if it’s God’s will…” The words are thick on my tongue. “It isn’t my place. I am one of God’s flock. I follow where He leads. I don’t presume to understand.”
These are the same words from Father Zachariah’s sermons. I remind myself of this truth whenever my thoughts go to dark places, whenever I get angry at the world full of sinners.
God will judge.
I need only live my life obediently.
“No. Sheep generally don’t.” There’s disdain in the man’s voice now.
Heat creeps up on my cheeks again as his words suffuse me with anger. He’s not the first one to dismiss me based on my beliefs.
But sometimes… Sometimes I wonder what it would be like not to hold them so closely.
That’s not a thought I’m willing to entertain, least of all when the Devil stands there watching me hold the hand of a dying man.
The man’s eyes close, and his hand gets heavy. I set it down on his chest.
The smell of blood still lingers, consuming me. I take another breath, inhale that scent, and my eyes flutter shut.
Without meaning to, I raise my hand to my lips and lick the man’s blood from my fingers.
This is what sin tastes like.
There’s a sharp sound from behind me, an abrupt inhalation of breath, and the Devil moves until he’s standing right beside me. He reaches down, touching my chin and urging my face up until he locks eyes with me again. “Aren’t you the least bit worried about tasting the blood of a demon?” His smile is dark, deadly, and it goes straight to my cock.
I should be terrified, but I feel surprisingly bold instead. “A demon?” I repeat. “And you’re the Devil, who led him here to bleed out?”
