Page 64 of A Match Made in Hell
‘Oh, what, did you miss me?’ I scoff.
Sath is silent. He stares at a groove in the wardrobe where the wood has chipped – probably when it came into contact with my head after gluttony – with a furrow in his brow. My pulse kicks up a notch.
‘Did you?’ A smile creeps over my face. ‘Did you miss me?’
He doesn’t answer, but the corners of his lips have upturned ever so slightly.
Hedid. The thought delights me more than it should. I crawl towards him.
‘Sathanas, King of Hell,’ I half sing. ‘Did you miss the lowly human beating you at board games?’
Sath faces me, mouth curling upwards even more. ‘You have never beaten me at Scrabble.’
‘No, but I kicked your ass at Monopoly.’ Realising I’m still on all fours after my less-than-sultry crawl, I drop into a position that doesn’t make my butt stick in the air, sitting cross-legged next to him. My knee brushes his thigh, and neither of us makes any attempt to shift apart. ‘Which we haven’t played since, by the way. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’
‘Ah, but we could have,’ Sath muses, ‘if only you weren’t avoiding me.’ His expression turns sombre. ‘I’m sorry you had to see me like that.’
‘Like what?’ I’ve never been sorry to see him. That is precisely the problem.
‘You’re right,’ he goes on, which would be delightful if I had any clue what it was I was right about. ‘I had to make a stand. I shouldn’t have let it get to me like that. I shouldn’t have –’
‘Wait,’ I interrupt. ‘Do you think I’m avoiding you because you were crying?’
‘At least you’re admitting to avoiding me.’ He frowns. ‘If not that, then why?’
I wince. Maybe I should have lied. Avoiding someone’s tears is a lot less embarrassing than admitting you keep picturing them naked. But I can’t let him think I spent the last week refusing to speak to him because I think less of him. ‘You’re allowed to admit when you’re upset. Pretending you’re not feeling certain feelings is just going to make things –’ I gulp – ‘worse.’
Ugh. Okay. I need a new plan. Because I’m right, and I’m also guilty of the exact same thing. What am I supposed to do instead – think of nothing but Sath naked and hope I get bored by the idea?
I’m not sure that’ll be possible. I have an extremely vivid imagination, and there are simply so many things I could do with him. I’m growing warm, causing me to blurt out the only solution I can think of. ‘We should speed up the tasks. I don’t want to wait another three weeks. I want out. Now.’
I expect him to argue, but he merely looks resigned. ‘I came to say the same thing.’ His hands twist in his lap. ‘You’ve been here long enough; the remaining sins will be a sufficient challenge. And you’re right. We both need this to be over.’
Something about the wordoverhits me like a missile coated in poison, the blow sharp and unexpected and painful. When I made the deal with him all I wanted was to return to what I’d left behind. To be the person I was supposed to be and fix everything I messed up. Now I’m leaving somethingelsebehind, a whole world full of infinite possibilities and paintball tournaments, and that comes with regrets of its own.
But I can’t stay dead. I’m twenty-one. Irefuse.
I’m going home, and I’m not going to miss him, or Harper, or anyone. Not one little bit.
I ignore the twinge in my chest telling me I’m lying, and say,bright and breezy and with zero cares in the world, ‘Perfect. So, we can do one right now?’
His throat bobs. ‘We can.’
He sounds almost hesitant. A small, foolish part of me hopes it’s because he’s had a taste of missing me and doesn’t want to watch me go – but then, with a resolute nod of his head, he gets to his feet and flashes me a smile. Despite the fact it doesn’t meet his eyes, the sight of it – along with a dimple in his cheek – causes a twinge in my chest, like he’s reached in and squeezed my heart with his bare hands. I wish I could tell him to put his goddamn dimple away, but instead I’m taking the hand he’s offered me, greedy for contact, for any piece of him I can get before I leave.
Sath pulls me to my feet, and winks. ‘Try not to get sick.’
Blackness envelops us.
It takes longer this time, that squeezing sensation worse than ever, Sath’s hand the only link to anything solid and real, and when we finally land it takes me a while to settle. I blink, dizzy, taking in the sights in front of me.
We’re in a side alley, litter and broken bottles at my feet and the smell of piss stinging my nostrils. Outside, though, on the main street . . . there’slife. People chatter and sing as they stroll down the road. Not a demon in sight. Twinkly red and green lights are strung between lampposts, and I move towards them, hypnotised, ignoring the biting cold nipping my ears. I wish Sath had told me to bring a jacket.
I wish he’d warned me we were cominghere.
Home. I’m home. My mouth waters as we near a stall selling hot doughnuts and spiced wine. I don’t think this is a memory or an illusion; those are Christmas lights above me, because December’s here – it would have been my first Christmas without Mum – and those are people, actual alive people, milling around me. It’s the reminder I needed why I’m doing this. So Ican be one of them once more. So I can walk with them, laugh like them, live with no daily threat of demons or Voids.
‘This is where the task of envy will take place,’ Sath says, but I’m barely listening, staring around open-mouthed at all the things I thought I’d never see again. He places a hand on my back and tries to push me forward.
