The Devil's Descent

Chapter 17: Party Time

"Party time!" is how Diane greets me in the clinic the next day. I just nod, not really in the mood to talk about parties. What I seem to be in the mood for is attacking myself with question after question asking about my character. And this may be fueling the fire that still burns somewhere near my heart but close enough to my stomach to cook it into a furious-nauseous roil. And I'm really starting to frustrate myself because I don't have any of the answers that I'm looking for. "You know, Paul's party?" Diane seems to find confusion in my silence, "It's today," she keeps waiting for my enthusiasm to show up, "Today's Thursday," she prompts again.

"Yes, I know, Diane. I'll be there," I tell her a little forcefully, and I mean it. The one thing I have decided on is to be myself—even if it garners me pain like this—and I wouldn't break a promise, even if I made it to Paul—who wouldn't mind if I cancelled—about something as inconsequential as a party.

"Aren't you excited?" Diane asks. Her face has fallen, and I'm a little sad to be the cause.

"Not really, Diane," I tell her truthfully, finding it hard to keep from talking to someone about my problems—from just letting it all out.

"Is it because you don't think it will be any fun?" she asks, honestly giving her best effort to find out why I'm not as excited as she is.

"That's not it," I try to assure her.

"Are you...not feeling well or something?"

"You could say that," I admit.

"Oh...well...," Diane doesn't seem to know what to say to this, "You're doing that wrong," she interjects suddenly, making me bristle. Doing what wrong? Everything? "Stop! Let me make the beds before you tear a sheet." I look down at my hands in surprise, not entirely aware that I even had been trying to change the sheets on the beds. I'm gripping a blanket in both hands, right now, as if I might rip it in two at any moment.

Diane takes the sheet out of my hands, having to pull a little to get me to let go—my brain's a bit slow today. "Do you want to talk about it?" Diane inquires Kindly as she sets about making the bed. I resist the urge to scream at her—she couldn't possibly know how unkind that sounds to me right about now. Instead of freaking out, I take a deep breath. I really need to reign in my feelings before I piss someone off.

"No, Diane. Can I maybe tell you later?" Diane reluctantly nods and lets the subject drop. I go back to being an angry zombie, hardly noticing what I'm doing, and she doesn't bother to speak to me again for the rest of our shift.

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Class reveals that the clinic may have set a dangerous precedent when Baal greets me with: "Party time! I get to see Diane, tonight. Oh, how was she this morning?" letting all of his words run together in excitement.

"She was fine," I have to try very hard to be even remotely civil. And because I seem to be cursed, Baal notices.

"What's wrong? What happened? Is Diane okay?" He's quite hyper today, and it's like a cheese grater to my nerves.

"I said she's fine!" I snap, grinding my teeth. Baal flinches, surprised at my vehemence, and just sits quietly beside me, after that. I feel bad about snapping at him but that only adds to my bad mood, fueling the burning fire that also rages in my head, now. My thoughts are an angry repetitive mess of questions. I'm not sure I even know myself anymore, which conjures up the same feelings as Anhel rejecting me yesterday. I think irritably of how I skipped the clinic and class, after that, but Gluttony didn't even bother to call me out on it. She probably has a good sense for when people are black-out—or more accurately: red-out—mad.