Page 19 of Heathens
“You tell me, Lilith.”
I shake my head slowly. “You’re the enlightened one. You’re supposed to be the one guiding me to eternal righteousness.” His eyebrows quirk up and he cocks his head. “Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not wrong. But I believe in personal choice. We all have the capacity for good and evil, and we all make the choice to follow one or the other. So, is hell a real place? I couldn’t answer that, but you can.” His cadence is confident, smooth, wise. He’s an old soul, an eternal wanderer.
“I chose to run, to flee,” I whisper, pulling back and crossing my arms. “I chose to leave her there. If that doesn’t damn me for all eternity, then I don’t know what will.”
Except I am going to hell, and leaving Evelyn won’t be the only reason why.
“No, you didn’t. You chose to get help. You chose to be the hero of your own story.”
I laugh. “Well, that backfired.”
He studies me for a few seconds. “I can help you find her.”
Before I have the chance to reply, the waitress walks over and takes our order. I decide on the richest, thickest hot chocolate they offer, and Salem orders the same, along with two chocolate croissants. Just like he promised last week.
“I’ll help you,” he repeats.
I only nod, too afraid to voice my fear. Too terrified that he’ll see how truly dark I really am. That my photos are only a glimpse at what lives in my heart. That I will corrupt him. Because that’s what I do. I corrupt everyone, eventually.
He’s too good for what I have planned.
Spinning
Salem
Present
Watching her eat the chocolate croissant—regarding her as she lifts the golden pastry to her lips and takes a bit, licking the melted chocolate off of her lips...
I adjust my trousers and say a silent prayer.
Hell.
Eternal damnation.
So help me, God. She is going to drag me down into the inferno herself, and I’m not sure I would even put up a fight.
“This is incredible,” she says between bites, her mouth full and her words muffled.
“Chocolate can cure just about anything,” I remark, my voice lower than I intended. I take a sip of the hot chocolate. It’s sinfully sweet. And then I think of gluttony—one of the cardinal sins—and I don’t care.
I. Don’t. Care.
“So,” I continue, setting my cup down and leaning back. “How’s it going with Benedict?”
She’d mentioned his name a couple of times on the walk over here, and I had to bite my tongue. The man she was with at L’As du Falafel. The man who takes her on dates to the Louvre, according to her. The man whocanpossess and consume her, whocandevour everything about her.
Envy. Another cardinal sin.
If I keep it up, maybe I can hit all seven today.
“It’s going well,” she says matter-of-factly, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden. Shifting in her chair, she sets her croissant down and looks at me, her eyes wide.
I can’t help but admire her beauty—the way her long, golden brown hair falls over her left shoulder, the way her white blouse clings to her porcelain skin—how the neckline barely grazes her collarbones. Her lashes are long and dark, and her full lips... “There’s no spark, though. He’s a nice enough guy, but...” she trails off, biting her lower lip. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about my dating woes.”
I sit up straighter.Oh, but I do.“It’s okay. Tell me. What were you going to say?”
