Page 78 of My Roommate from Hell
Zarmenus is here, finally. He’s standing by the doors.
“Hey,” he says. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I say. I offer him the flowers. “I thought you might like these, but you don’t have to keep them if you don’t want to.”
“Are you kidding?” he says as he brings them to his nose. “The flowers in Hell normally try and eat your face. I definitely prefer the Earth ones. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “The Lyft driver turned out to be a witch who wanted to steal my blood, it was a whole thing. Ready to bowl?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, you know me, I can handle witches. My treat, by the way. Only the best for my boyfriend.”
He practically shouts the word “boyfriend,” projecting his voice so anyone around can hear, and my smile falters. I can’t forget that this isn’t real. I can still enjoy it and it can still be fun, but it’ll be too easy to be swept up in all this to the point that I start to think of us as actually dating. Which we’re unequivocally not.
He dashes past me to get to the register. I can tell the people working there are taking note of him. One girl lifts her phone and snaps a picture.
“Two rounds, please,” says Zarmenus. “Oh, and shoes for both of us.”
“Oh hey, you’re the demon, right?” The worker offers Zarmenus a fist bump, which Zarmenus obliges.
“Obviously he’s the demon,” says the other worker. “How many people do you know called Zarmenus?”
“Good point. You two on a date?”
“We are,” says Zarmenus, who slings his arm over my shoulder. “Speaking of, can I get two Cokes and a thing of cheese fries? And I’ll take any discounts you’ll give me, I have no shame.”
He pays, after getting a 20 percent staff discount applied, tapping his bank card against the card reader. We each get a pair of shoes, then walk over to the bench in front of our lane.
“We should get a picture,” he says. He takes his phone from his pocket, and moves in close. He throws his arm over his shoulder, and pulls me to him. His warmth is nearly overwhelming, and I hate how much I like being here, this close. I give my best smile as he snaps the picture. He takes a few more, then checks the results, turning his phone screen so I can check.
I love the pictures. I think I look cute, and so does he. Thepurple lights from the arcade are quite effective lighting, as well as aesthetically pleasing.
Alarm pulses through me at the thought of Zarmenus posting it. He has millions of followers. I’ve read his comments a few times and they always seem like a war between those in favor of him and those opposed. If I’m included I could easily get caught in the crossfire.
I do trust him, though. He won’t post without asking me.
I finish lacing up my shoes, and I stand to test them out. Then I go and search for the perfect bowling ball. By the time I’ve found it, Zarmenus is sitting at our bench, munching on some cheese fries. He’s already entered our details into the machine, picking my nickname asGREENE!!!!!!!For his own, he just writesZar.
“By the way,” I say, “do you prefer Zarmenus or Zar?”
“I don’t really mind. What about you? Any nicknames?”
“None I’m willing to share.”
He laughs. “You’ll crack eventually. You’re up first, by the way.”
I bowl, and watch with baited breath as the ball rolls down the lane. It seems to be going perfectly straight, only curving an inch or so at the end. Still, I knock over nine pins. When my ball returns, I make swift work of the final pin. A spare on the first round is shockingly good for me. Not that I’m going to let Zarmenus know that.
“You didn’t tell me you’re good at this,” he says.
“I did say I love bowling,” I say. “My parents and I go pretty much every school break.”
It’s now his turn to bowl. He knocks over seven pins, then gets a gutter ball. It’s my turn, and I score a nine. I quickly develop a sizable lead, and I’m sure it’s taking a lot of self-control for him to not use his abilities to win. I appreciate it.
He comes back after another gutter ball, and slumps down. “Can I ask you a question?”
