I, Devil (a love story)

Chapter Twenty Four: Azazel

I had been rifling through her life carelessly. I went through her dreams and her thoughts and examined them, one by one, and tossed them aside like clothes from a closet. I felt betrayed. How could he? How could he have an affair with one of them? Meat sack water monkeys. Pigs. Souls in flesh suits. Disgusting. Disappointing, too. What did he see in her? He never took this much interest in a human before. I'd confirmed this with my other brothers (though, some are known to lie and some didn't answer.)

I had to see what he was seeing and to do that I had to see like him. I had to look at her, up close. Very up close. I was going to have to choose a time when he wasn't there oppressing her, obviously. I absolutely did not want him to know I was looking at his so-called girlfriend. I had to find a moment in time where she was alone-- entirely alone. No other ghost of a family member bothering her. No Meresin stalking her. I wanted to see what he saw, Wendy in her own element. I wanted to see what made her tick. Pure Wendy, so to speak.

In her youth, Wendy liked to go to the club. At 19, Wendy was an angsty, horny, teenager she rebelled against her parents by wearing a lot of black and eyeliner, smoking clove cigarettes, and eyeing long-haired boys. There was nothing special about her at all.

I love clubs. I love the music. I love the dancing. I love the energy. I love the shitty, stupid youths making bad decisions and wearing god awful cologne. I love that absolutely nothing changes. They had these clubs in ancient Babylon. They had these clubs in Tokyo, and they have these clubs in backwater Michigan.

I know for a fact Meresin hates clubs, so it shocks me that he'd sleep with a slutty club girl. As far as I know, he hates music in general. The question never ends-- what drives him to pursue her? As I slipped in to material reality like it was an old shoe, I dressed myself in my brown suit. It was like a piece of art, my suit. I took care to manifest every thread and every stitch. I wanted to pass as human. I wanted to pass to badly. Passing was important to me each time I transubstantiated spirit energy into 'flesh.'

It was no monkey suit. It has taken me centuries to perfect my brown jacket and trousers. As far as I know, I'm the only angel able to do it regularly. I know not everything about my avatar 'passes' perfectly. My eyes come across as a light, whiskey amber and my hair likely looked like a box dye red. I manifested in the shadows near the bathroom, and acted like I had just slipped into the club. I looked like a young twenty-something and I wasn't a goth. I didn't put effort, time, or energy into a new outfit for the occasion, And even in the cover of the dark club, I didn't want anyone to notice that I wasn't a human-- or even made of material reality.

My all occasion brown suit would have to do. I could feel her energy here. I knew, without looking around or trying, exactly where she was. Her energy signature was distinct. She was intoxicated-- some kind of fabricated drug, and a little drunk.

Then, she talked to me. She saw me and shouted at me across the room.

"That's an ugly fucking suit!"

I was a bit stunned because I wasn't even sure if she COULD see me. It takes a certain ability. The receiver (the human) needs to accept that we are real, that I am real. Reality is a two way street. She was able to see me, communicate with me. She existed on a strong enough wave length where I existed, and she accepted I was even there. I smiled.

"Oh yeah, why don't you come say that to my face," I coaxed her. I wanted her in the shadows, away from prying eyes. I wanted where no one else saw us.

I stood back aways in a little nook near the bathroom. The music was low and thumping. The lights were dim and not a bit of it touched me, so I didn't have to waste as much energy manifesting the smallest details to my suit or body.