Page 46 of Bargain with the Demon King
"No one knows. Maybe they're trying to wash themselves clean."
"Can souls be dirty?"
"All souls are dirty. That's what makes them interesting." He settles across from me with that inhuman grace, long legs folding without effort. "Yours particularly."
"My soul is broken, not dirty."
"Your soul is free." The words slip out flat, matter-of-fact.
I freeze mid-chew. "What?"
"Free to be broken. Free to be dirty. Free to make terrible decisions about men named Chad." He selects a piece of fruit that glows faintly purple. "Freedom and brokenness aren't mutually exclusive."
"Profound. Did you read that in a demon self-help book? 'Chicken Soup for the Soulless Soul'?"
"Chapter three. Right after 'How to Gaslight Your Mortal Effectively.'"
A sound escapes me—not quite a laugh, but adjacent to one. "You made a joke."
"I make jokes frequently. You're usually too busy defending Chad's honor to notice."
"Chad has no honor to defend. Chad has the honor of a wet sock that's been left in the sun too long and developed suspicious stains."
"Specific."
"I've had time to workshop the metaphor." I tear apart bread that bleeds something golden when broken. "YesterdayI decided he has the moral fortitude of room-temperature mayonnaise."
"And his romantic prowess?"
"Like being seduced by a nervous accountant who's only seen breasts in medical textbooks."
Azzaron actually chokes on his wine. "That's the first honest thing you've said about him."
"Honesty is easier when you're dead inside." I watch soul-lights drift beneath the surface. "Did you know he used to close his eyes? During sex. Every time. Said it was because he was 'overwhelmed by emotion.'"
"Was he?"
"He was overwhelmed by my thighs. Apparently they exceeded his grip capacity."
"His loss."
"His relief, actually. Probably celebrating right now. Finally gets to fuck someone who doesn't require both hands and a running start to properly grab."
"Adraya."
"What? It's true. I heard him say it. 'So much tighter than her. So much better.' Direct quote while balls-deep in my replacement." I shred another piece of bread with mechanical precision. "Do you know what the worst part is?"
"Tell me."
"I made excuses for him. Every time. He forgot my birthday? He's distracted by work. He finished in thirty seconds? He's just so attracted to me. He pushed me toward a sword? He was creating a distraction." I laugh, sharp and bitter. "I was so good at lying to myself, I should have charged admission."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why make excuses for someone who clearly didn't deserve them?"
I consider lying, then realize I don't have the energy. "Because if he wasn't worth it, then I wasn't worth it. If no one could love me properly, maybe I was unlovable. Easier to pretend he was wonderful than admit I settled for scraps and called it a feast."
