I'd Rather Go Blind

30th August 1958

Please excuse the marks on this page. I have been crying for an hour, but at last I have the will to write.

Tonight Alastor was here, for dinner -- I had passed up the event of Lucifer's to be with him. Alastor has been ingratiating me into the world of dangerously-seasoned Southern food, in hopes that my tongue will adapt to it. By doing so, he has illuminated me to a contrast in our characters: where Alastor is easy-breezy, I am fastidious. His approach to gumbo, jambalaya and the like is to throw everything together until it works, and he never consults a book, nor measures a thing!! As for me, I think too much, dear diary. I struggle without the recipe, and the dish suffers for it. The irrational thought even occurs that it can sense my anxiety. Like a predator smells the fear of its victim.

Soon enough, we had it made, and I tried once again to make it appeal to my systems of gustation and digestion. (Perhaps my body is just too old to change.) Anyway, it was nice to see him so happy. "I have a fork like this at home!" Alastor presently remarked. I only smiled and nodded. There is a certain glee to be had in giving Alastor his own utensil back, without him knowing!

"When am I going to see your home?" I asked, stifling another coughing fit.

"I told you, it's no place for a lady. Besides, what if you have cause to be mad at me someday? You'll kick my door down!" Then he winked and went on eating. Today he was wearing a plain dress-shirt and another stunning bowtie. I love to see him in a shirt only! His are always well-fitted, both hiding and hinting at the lean, flawless body underneath. More importantly, I can see his lovely throat -- that thing he always goes for when he's bloodthirsty. The part of him which contains his voice, his radio, and it deserves to have hundreds of my kisses rained upon it.

Tonight, in light of his recent confession to me, I had decided to risk it all and make my move, as they say. We have known each other long enough, and I have found little to discourage me from going forward. I felt it must fall to me. He remained so careful -- for my sake, I thought, for it did not compare to his usual easygoing nature. His consideration would've been heartening, if it did not frustrate me so! If Alastor knew how ready I was for him: the number of times I have written his name next to mine... the number of times I have imagined treacherous scenarios and broken out every power I have to save his life... the number of times I have made love to him in effigy!

Had he noticed the change in our environment? The lights were dimmer, and the air was warm... and as we retired to the sitting room as always, I was overly generous with pouring his wine. I'd been trying all evening to be cozy with him -- just a little sultry in that clean-scrubbed way. Even the most stolid man in the world would be comfortable with what I was selling.

I saw him pull his bow tie tighter.

"Rosie, dear, are you trying to get me drunk?" he said.

"You don't trust me enough to be drunk in my presence?" I said, filling his glass. "Darling, I would never try to hurt you. You must know by now!"

He shuffled out of his restful position and closer to me, as though he had something else to confide. (I held my breath.) "I do know it," he said. "You know what, Rosie? I think most people would call us unusual... just because we're not a pair of thugs, or hypes or deviants. Why, aside from our eating habits, we're the most well-adjusted people in Hell, and we may stay that way!"

"Yes," I joked, "the way the world is going!"

"Well, nuts to them!" he declared. "Me and you, Rosie. The fastest of friends! We're going to be just fine." And the way he smiled at me, dear diary, the way it creased around his beautiful eyes, I knew he spoke the truth. So I took the moment in hand. I put my hand very gently on his shoulder and leaned in for a kiss.