Rabbit Blood

Chapter 44 - Another Confession To Make

Leslie peered around the corner of the hotel lobby, to check the fireplace for free seats. But sinners crowded the common area, many of them toasting marshmallows. There were more guests than ever this month. So she went again to the reception hall and grabbed a few drinks and a table.

Someone had gone nuts in here with the Hallowe'en decorations. The wallpaper, formerly cobalt blue, was now a tangy orange and covered in spiderwebs. Fake bats hung from the ceiling. In the corners, papier-mâché cauldrons vomited fog onto the floor. To be honest, it was a bit much; Leslie felt like she was in fucking Hogwarts.

She wondered what Christmas would be like: her first Christmas in Hell, circumstances permitting. Soon after that would be the anniversary of her death. God, it was hard to believe so much time-

"This seat taken?"

She looked up and saw Decider, in a new Foo Fighters band shirt, nervously fidgeting. He was such a stranger to her now, in every sense of the word. Leslie grimaced; but the man looked so pathetic, she couldn't turn him away.

"You're not meant to talk to me," she said, kicking the chair out.

"I know. Just five minutes," he bargained, sitting down. It was a round table, made to seat seven, and he respectfully left an empty chair between them, the one she'd kicked. "I knew I was going to Hell," he began, "actually saw those devils they tell you-"

"Karl."

"Right. Er..." He scrapped that whole story and moved to the crux of the matter. "First of all, I wanted to make sure you're OK. You were pretty upset last time I saw you."

"Yeah, well..." Leslie shrugged.

"You getting any help for it?" Decider asked. "They told me there's a hotel therapist. You should, y'know... talk some of this out with them."

As if it were that easy. Even without the non-disclosure clause in Alastor's contract, Leslie wasn't thrilled about seeing a therapist. To sit in a dark room, recounting all the things wrong with her life, didn't sound productive, and she told him so. "I made room for more dancing in my schedule," she added.

A ragged sigh. "We've been over this and over this. Fuck, if I'm getting help, you should be."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Les, please just... I don't wanna repeat of last time. I'm coming at you as an adult here. Hate me, whatever, but you have a really bad way of coping with things!"

Leslie sat straighter, about to throw it back in his face - the substance abuse, the infidelity - but she felt her ears raise. Bringing out her demon form was the last thing she wanted. She heard one of the last things Alastor said to her: Let go. Her anger faded, and the ears dropped.

Decider peered at her. Still fidgeting.

"OK, listen," she said calmly, "I'm dealing with this in my own way. You've got four more minutes."

"Right," he said, locking his fingers before him on the table, like a harried businessman broaching a deal. "I know I got a lot to say sorry for... It's like, where do you even start, y'know?" He looked at her, and Leslie wondered if he was sincerely asking how to apologize. "I've missed you, Lellybean. I've missed you so much."

A demon began to snigger at the next table, to Leslie's chagrin. Oh, how difficult it was to be alone. Mustering some dignity, she asked Decider how he'd been surviving the last year. "Living with Jordan?"

"Kinda," he admitted, then gave a bitter laugh. "'Love the one you're with', right? And maybe... y'know, I'm going to be honest with you, 'cause you'd be insulted otherwise. Here it is, straight-up. Maybe I did still love Jordan, like the tiniest leftover bit. I was trying to find the woman I promised myself to, years ago, and she wasn't there anymore. All we did was call on Marco and get wasted."