In Love with a Jackal

3.

My new paranormal companion waited patiently next to me as I searched my bag for the keys to my apartment. I had tried to ditch him about five times on the way here, but there was only so often you could watch yourself disintegrate before you gave up. In the end I had no other choice but to take him home with me.

The stares we'd gotten on the way here had been too many to count. By the time we'd gotten on the metro it was so bad, I'd forced the guy to put on my pale pink raincoat.

He couldn't even zip it up.

Worst of all, he hadn't even been the slightest bit embarrassed about it either. Instead he'd just smiled like an idiot and continued to spread golden dust everywhere as I maneuvered him through public transportation.

I fumbled the right key into the lock, turned it, and then pushed all my weight against the front door of my apartment. The mechanism was new and the door was reinforced, making the whole thing hard for me to move. When it finally gave way, I stumbled forward and tripped over the ledge, falling flat on my face in middle of my own hallway.

And then for the third time this evening, I heard someone laugh from behind me. It seemed body gags were to be my running theme of tonight.

With all the effort I could muster, I sat up and found the self-identifying God standing in the door frame, with a big smile on his face. I could already tell he had no intention of helping me.

Completely defeated, I waved a hand in his direction and muttered, "Please, come in."

He laughed once again and obliged, carefully stepping around me before walking on down the short hallway in his thin leather sandals. He came to a stop at what was the center of my open kitchen and living room, glancing around in awe.

Initially I thought because he kind of reminded me of the Tutankhamun exhibit, this ancient magical entity was marveling at modern technology or something, but as I crouched on my knees and slowly got myself upright again, he quickly proved me otherwise.
Wiping a finger on my kitchen bar and checking it for dust, he told me happily,
"You know I've seen this century on Netflix multiple times, but it truly is more depressing in real life."

I blinked twice.

There was-  I had-

I had no reply for that.

Closing the front door, I struggled out of my sneakers, not even bothering to undo the laces. I kicked them to the side and then walked into kitchen after him.

Observing my behavior with an interested look on his face, he pointed at his own feet and asked me,
"Would you like me to take these off? I'm not familiar with the customs here."

I ignored him and opened the fridge, grabbing the bottle of holy water my deeply religious grandma forced me to keep in all of the apartments I had lived in and without hesitation, I gulped the whole thing down in one go.

Then I quickly turned to check-

Damn.

He was still here.

"Are you sure I can keep them on?" he asked me again as I crushed the plastic bottle in dissapointment before dumping it in the recycling bin.

"Yes."

"Well then," he said still smiling, and I was starting to find that smile annoying, "Now that we have reached what I assume you'd meant with that 'private setting', you can go ahead and ask me all those questions you had. "

He paused for a moment to sit himself down at the kitchen bar and then pulled out a second stool, offering it to me. His tall frame looked very awkward perched on the small seat and he now sat so high that I was eye level with his glittery naked chest in my pale pink raincoat. It was uhm... distracting.