Lovers & Devils [BxB]

Out & About

      Day five.
I frittered yesterday away in the vintage lobby of the dark tattoo shop, cross-legged on the chesterfield brown couch. Siobhan took the rest of the day off, so in courtesy, the raven-haired did her appointments. Pop music in the lobby scratched the vinyl of my ears. I scrolled mindlessly on my phone, bombarded by each swipe and panel of icons. Yet, the raven-haired lived in my mind like some brain-eating amoeba, and eat away at my sensibility he did. I thought we made progress in his car, but then I was left feeling like the victim of an academy prank.
I made use of my time, however. Once I understood search engines and search bars, I typed in the town name for good measure. I pressed on news, inspecting the light blue headlines. I frowned. It was an odd mix—like the town had pregnancy cravings for crime and sugary sentiments. Garda stabbed on scene, drug seizures, local partnerships. I felt bad for the mortals. There was sin on every road and crook. How could you avoid it?
I was in the bathroom, wingless in a warm cloud of vapour and muted body wash, its suffocating hands on my muscles. I felt the scruff of the orange towel as I rubbed myself dry. The mirror above the sink bowl was steamed. Drops of water plopped from rubber nozzles on the shower head unstable in the metal hook. The ceiling light felt heavy and too did my damp hair. I gave it a quick dry, then slung the highlighter towel over the ladder-like rack to put on my clothes. Elastic slap, and fluff from fleecy black joggers sticking to my legs as I swayed out like a well-oiled machine. I yawned, the towel a nun veil over my head. I peeped at his door just when it clicked opened.
God, not again.
A woman with dirty blonde hair framing her face, watery eyes shimmering but nothing caught attention like the inked heart below her left eye. She glared at me. She bunched the knitted pink jumper to her chest, black straps dangling off her hunched shoulders. Her skirt was on the wrong way. I sighed quietly and looked away as she stormed past. The apartment door slammed and rattled the walls with her spleen. I had felt another presence in the apartment, but I didn't prepare for this to happen again. It wasn't looking good for him—it couldn't look good for me either. I had been here not even a week, and the sins exceeded the countable creases on my fingers.
      Mammon came out moments later with his nose up, tying the flimsy strands of his sweatpants but still they fell, exposing the waistband of his boxers. His muscle-bound body was slick with sweat, tacky lipstick marks tinting his dark tattoos. I screwed up my face. It seriously was a mosquito tattoo on his abs. Our eyes locked, and I realised how stupid I must have looked with the towel on my head.

He leaned on his doorframe, looking bored. "You better not have wasted the hot water, freak."

How creative.

"I shower with cold water." I rolled my eyes. "Something you should do, and think about your actions while you're at it."

He scoffed and mockingly clapped his hands in prayer. "Please, don't strike me down for having fun. I didn' mean to have sex with a maiden!"

I grimaced, clenching the citrus towel. "It's immoral what you're doing. This isn't just about fun, you're reducing those women to tools of pleasure."

"Fightin' for women won't get you pussy."

It was times like this where I hated having new emotions, and my dearth of powers only added.

"Do you always do this?" I crossed my arm and sandwiched the towel with my forearms. Steam from the unlit bathroom flapped out as moths, fluttering in a ball between our conflict. "Always just...brush off anything critical people say to you."

"Critical people criticise people more than 'emselves. I know what the fuck I am, you don't have to nor do you need to!"

"That's where you're wrong, damn it! I'm tied to you in ways I despise! Your every action affects me!" I shouted and guilt spat in my face. I felt that horrible rumble in the cords of my throat. An actual outburst. I looked away, instantly fidgeting. I hated this. I hated that a demon reduced me to this, churned my core like bile in the stomach. God, Elise, what would you have done? I wasn't made for this.