The Devil - Rewritten

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO: MISTRESS

People who cease to believe in God or goodness altogether still believe in the devil... 
-Anne Rice

The fact that Emma was right about Jessamine wanting to drag her to a party kinda pissed her off.

People at parties liked to drink and dance and listen to ear-shattering music and play games and act like they're in love. It was annoying. A lot of them weren't even having fun, they weren't actually in love.

And to pretend otherwise just to impress someone who might not even remember you on Monday, let alone in a year was just bullshit.

Emma never bothered with it.

But Jessie did.

Jessie 'falls in love' a lot and Emma doesn't tells her she's wrong for it, the crazy girl is a teenager, it's what teenagers do. If she was being honest, Emma wants someone to pretend to love too. She knows love isn't found. It's built, over time, with work, even if it doesn't feel like work, it is.

How many perfectly decorated temples did their ancestors stumble upon? None.

They found a good spot, cleared the ground and decided there. There they were going to build something, and it was going to be grand. It reminded her that she had to look for a clearing in a forest, not a hidden city of gold.

And it frustrated her endlessly that when thinking of that, Xavier fucking Wolf's face came to mind.

Yet she decided long ago that loving her was a task that was too fucking hard and she doesn't want to put anyone through the attempt of trying when all she knows can be summed up into one thing—

She'll die alone.

For now though, Emma was surrounded by people.

The party she's at is hosted by a boy named Chandler, who's parents were so rich it was stupid. He had a giant house that was big enough that it made Emma question whether or not she should call it a mansion.

Chandler went all out, beer at every corner, speakers in every room, great lighting, a pool with countless floaties and security guards around so if something goes wrong, at least he couldn't get sued.

Rich people were stupid, Emma decided.

Jessie's hand is wrapped around her wrist, pulling her through the crowd as the blonde expertly made her way through the party without stumbling in her five inch heels.

It was like her best friend had a mental compass labeled Boy Toy that was able to send her giggling straight into the already shirtless Calum Hilton. Cal was talking excitedly to his best friend, smelling like beer and something strangely fruity as they stood in the doorway to the second floor living room.

The Devil looked like he could care less.

Honestly, he looked the same as every day—jeans, combat boots, classical black hair tousled and hanging a bit in his ultramarine blue eyes, leather jacket snug on his massive frame, a tight-lipped scowl on his face.

He didn't try at all—and didn't even change for the party—and he still looked like the sexiest person there (that was including the shirtless, six foot two, grinning Angel at his side, who's green eyes lit up as they landed on Jessamine).

"Hey, Jess!" Cal kisses her, arms wrapping around her waist. "You ready to play this game?"

Jessie giggles, "Of course, babe. But what game is it?"