Page 31 of Pain

“O-of course,” Omaera stammered, sliding off my lap to her feet. “Th-thank you, Mr. Jol.”

“Call me Kenvin,” he grunted, wandering behind the bar to pour himself another drink. “You lot need to shower. You stink.” Then he took his liquor and silently wandered away down the hall, leaving us all sitting there, sniffingthe air—and our pits.

Kenvin’s place was enormous. Definitely not what we expected when we saw the crumbling stucco and concrete structure from the outside encasing the dark-blue door.

Then again, Hell was all kinds of fucked up. We really shouldn’t have been surprised.

We made our way across the courtyard like he told us to, finding several doors, all different shades of blue. Maxar opened the light-blue door to reveal a bedroom. “Guess I’ll take this one?” He looked longingly at Omaera. “What’s your plan, My Queen?”

“I …” She glanced up at me. “I really want to shower.”

The mage nodded and stepped toward her, cupping her face with both hands and taking her mouth in a long, slow, deep kiss. “Come find me if you get cold.” Then he winked at her and ducked into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Drak didn’t bother to ask her what her plan was. He simply opened the cobalt-blue door, nodded at Omaera, wished her good night, and stepped inside.

“And then there were two,” I said, taking her by the hand and leading her to the navy-blue door. I turned the knob and opened the door to reveal a third bedroom with a bathroom attached. “You go shower, Little One. I’m starving. I’m gonna see if I can find some food.”

Nodding, she stepped into the bedroom, dropping the backpack to the tile floor. “Don’t be long.”

“From you? Never.” I flashed her a big smile, then followed my nose to the kitchen. Kenvin said there was no ice in Hell, but did they at least haverefrigerators? Did the food here taste good? Or would it give me the shits until we went back through the portal? I wasn’t keen on going out hunting for food either, considering there were genetic abominations out there that would love to shish kebab my ass and eat me for dinner.

That thought gave me pause for a moment. I’d never been thepreybefore. I’d always been the predator. The hunter. The one in search of his next meal, whether it be from a pizza box, or a rabbit warren. The feeling of being prey, of always having to be on the lookout, sat uncomfortably in my stomach. I didn’t like it one bit.

All the more reason to get the fuck out of this place ASAP.

As I feared, I couldn’t find a fucking fridge in the kitchen. Not even a door to a cold storage or cellar. Probably because nothingcoldexisted in this godforsaken wasteland. Did that mean they drank warm beer at the tavern? That seemed sacrilegious.

After exploring several cupboards, I found some food. Mostly dried crackers and biscuits, some canned meat—though I couldn’t read demon, so fuck if I knew what animal it was—and what appeared to be cereal. No milk though. Who the hell ate cereal without milk? Or did they just eat it with warm milk? And from what animal?

I stopped asking myself those questions in fear of the answers, grabbed a box of crackers and a can of the mystery meat, and opened it all up on the counter. The meat didn’t smell too terrible, and I was too fucking hungry to really give much of a care.

Tomorrow, I’d ask Kenvin about getting some proper food up in this place and get him to translate some words for me too.

Using a knife, I smeared some of the mystery meat—which was more of a spread than anything—onto some crackers and shoveled them into my mouth.

If I wasn’t so fucking hungry and being eaten alive by my own body from the inside out, I would have spat out the food. The crackers were stale and too salty, and the meat was … it was a cross between tuna, pork, and … dirt. I’ve eaten a lot of dirt, and this wasn’t even good dirt.

Gagging as I chewed, I plugged my nose so I wouldn’t have to taste it as much,but it did very little to mask the flavor.

“What do you expect when you come to Hell? Gourmet meals?” came the gravelly voice of Kenvin as he wandered into the kitchen. “I mean, it’s not all inedible. You just happened to choose a very undesirable combination.” He opened up a different cupboard and brought out a jar of something, along with a sleeve of what looked like cookies.

I swallowed the culinary atrocity and turned on the tap at the sink, hanging my head beneath the faucet and guzzling. Even the water tasted off.

“I have a filtration system I use, hence why the tap water tastes so much worse than the water you drank earlier. Here.” He opened up the pantry door and brought out a glass bottle of water. “Drink this.”

I twisted off the cap and chugged, trying to rid my mouth of that horrific taste. He watched me with veiled amusement as he grabbed another knife from the drawer, opened the jar and cookies, and proceeded to smear a generous amount of the black paste onto the cookie.

“Why does everything in Hell have to be so … terrible?” I asked, wanting to literally scrape the first layer of my tongue off with a razor blade.

“It’sHell. It’s not supposed to be an enjoyable place to live.”

“And yet, so many demons choose to live here.”

He handed me a cookie. “Yeah, well, we learn to adapt and make the best of a situation. Don’t you often wonder why humans choose to live in certain places on Earth? The desert, the fault lines, hurricane and tornado alley? Places with dictators, or creatures that can kill you with the smallest of bites?”

I suppose. I nodded and hesitated before taking a bite as I sniffed the cookie and paste. It didn’t smell like the mystery meat. It didn’t really smell like anything.

“It doesn’t taste bad,” he said with an eye roll. “I promise.”

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