Page 78 of Not Today, Satan
Then I met Nate. And the shell I’d crafted so carefully around my heart cracked, bit by bit. I blamed my human side. But it was him. It was how he looked at me and touched me and listened to me. How he gave me permission to be myself without apologies.
And now he’s gone, and my heart’s broken without anyone to teach me how to shove the pieces back together. I hiccup and sniffle against my knees.
My life would’ve been easier if he’d never stumbled into my welcome line. I’d still be in Dominus, in classes I hate and spending my evenings by myself in my room. Sure, I’d be unhappy, but I wouldn’t be alone on a bench in a world I don’t know, hunted by demons who were once my friends.
By the time I raise my head, it’s almost nightfall, the skies bursting with yellows and pinks. I tug down my glasses and gasp. I’ve read dozens of books that tried to describe sunsets, but none of them did justice to the golden hues melding with the blushing undertones. It’s enough to stop my breath in my chest.
As the sun sets, strangers come and go around me on the benches.
I can’t help but study them. They are all soalive. So different from how they appear before me in Hell. There’s a carefree way in how they carry themselves on Earth.
They step lighter, somehow.
Arriving solo or in pairs or in groups, with varying shades of skin and speaking a myriad of languages, almost all of them have those strange rectangular boxes that bathe their faces in light as the night grows darker.
Most ignore me.
Some try to start conversations about the weather, but I pretend I don’t speak any of their languages, despite knowing them all. I have to, in Hell.
Exhaustion settles over me as the sky darkens. I eventually have the bench to myself, so I lie across it and wrap my wings around me like a blanket. The moon replaces the sun, and stars splatter the sky with light. There aren’t as many as on my ceiling back home, but they’re there.
I breathe deeply as one last tear trickles from the corner of my eye.
Unlike the painting in my room, the sky above is endless. There are no walls cutting off its beauty. No screaming permeating my ears. The only sounds are chirping insects and the rustling of the trees in the gentle breeze that tousles my feathers. There’s nothing between me and its vastness.
My lungs fill as I inhale again, the sweet scents of the grass and trees tickling my nose.
I made it.
I’m under the open sky like I always dreamed. Closing my eyes, I press myself deeper into the bench.
I’ve nodded off when a hand nudges my shoulder, startling me from a nightmare where I’m back on the bridge with Ferus and he’s holding me back from jumping after Nate.
“No,” I murmur. “I have to save him.”
“Devica?” The feminine voice pierces my dream, and Ferus vanishes in a cloud of red smoke. “It’s time to wake up, Devica.”
I yawn and open my eyes, the shape above me slowly coming into focus. Pulling the sunglasses off my face, I sit up and study the figure. My throat closes, and my body goes numb.
I’ve never met her, but I’d know her anywhere, even if I’d never seen her photo.
She has my nose. My lips. My hair.
Or, actually, I have hers.
I rub my eyes, unsure if I’m still dreaming. She smiles at me, a grin that could light the night sky.
My voice comes out as barely a whisper from my tightened throat. “Mom?”
XXXVII.
My mother lives in a modest white house with a clay tiled roof, not far from the park where she found me. We walk in tandem without saying a word, my stomach in knots as I sneak glances her way.
She doesn’t seem angry like I’d expected. She’d cried when I’d awoken, then held me so tightly I thought my bones would shatter. Then she’d insisted on taking me to her house, where we could talk without the distraction of the chattering humans and more of those odd, furry animals streaming into the park to start their day.
My breath catches when I step through the door. Her home draws me in like her hug—calming and suffocating at the same time. The walls are washed in pastel blues and yellows, nothing like the grays and reds of Lapis. The scents of citrus and florals hang in the air as she guides me into her living room.
Mom hands me a mug filled with an amber liquid and takes the chair across from me. The seat is plush and softer than the carved stone chairs of Dominus. Between that and the warm mug in my hand, I’m tempted to close my eyes and continue sleeping off the journey.
