Page 17 of My Saintly Demon

But I can’t.

With a sigh, I take a seat on the couch and spot the half-smoked joint on the table nearby. Charles is travelling down a self destructive road if the empty liquor bottles in the closet are any sign. Thank god he doesn’t have a pet. I’d never make it back home if he had some adorable dog wagging around.

But the lack of an animal wouldn’t matter, anyway. I’m compelled to be with Charles in a weird way that I don’t even understand. I only want to comfort him from the troubles he’s clearly having issues coping with. Maybe even protect from more if I can.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and when I read the name of the caller, a cold sweat covers my brow.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

I cringe at my choice of words. Already off to a bad start.

“What’s up? You ask me what’s up when I’ve sent my youngest son to earth for the biggest trial of his life?”

“Sorry, Dad.”

The sigh of a thousand regrets crosses the phone.

“Son. This is the only call I’m giving you. Ask anything. There’s no help after this.”

“I thought even you had to always be cruel. Why help me?”

“You’re still my son. But this is the only chance you have for another six days. Is there anything you need to know?”

My eyes flick to the bathroom door that’s still closed and if Dad is serious, now’s my chance to ask.

“What if I already broke a rule?”

“Dave, seriously?”

Pacing to the kitchen, I pluck theKiss the Cookapron off the chair where Charles tossed it. He’s totally kissable.

“Well Dad, you sent me to a church, and I was hungry and it sort of just happened.”

“What happened exactly?”

“I ate blessed food and had sex with a priest.”

The silence drags on so long I almost think he’s hung up on me until he speaks again.

“You realize you’ve been there a full twenty-four hours, right?”

“Yeah, but I was hungry, and he’s really cute. You should see how pretty his eyes are. They’re kind of greenish? And he’s blonde with these adorable curls. And that thing I can do where I see what they’re thinking happened! So, I, ah… we had a drink and stuff.”

“Listen, Dave. I don’t think me checking in or prolonging this conversation is going to change anything. But I’m texting you the contact number of a guy I made a deal with once. If you need anything while you’re there, call him.”

“Okay. So, about the rule thing. Do I get to appeal or whatever the book says?”

Another long pause.

“Call me when your days are up. Goodbye, Dave.”

The line goes silent in my hand and a moment later, a text comes through from my dad with the number for someone named Mike. I save it to my contacts and wonder when I should call him. If Dad’s tone was anything to go by, my chance of returning home is slim. And I only just got here.

The bathroom door is still closed, and a weird ache fills my chest. Why do I care so much if he’s okay? This is worse than the guy with the pet rabbit.

Decision made, I rap my knuckles on the door.

“Charles? Are you okay?”

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