Original Fic: Share Your Soul
Share Your Soul
I had lunch with the Devil today. He had the Mandarin Chicken Salad, and I had a burger. I couldn’t help but feel that he was judging me. That didn’t stop him from asking for a bite when it arrived.
He asked me how I was doing. When I said fine, he tilted his head to the side and said, “No, seriously.” And the Devil can be awfully hard to resist.
I told him I’d been tired, and he said I looked it. When I asked what that was supposed to mean, he just laughed and wiped some of the sesame ginger dressing from the corner of his mouth. “Listen,” he told me. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since…well, let’s just say last time I felt rested, it was because I had just been slumbering in the primordial placenta of the universe.”
Suddenly, having to get up for work at eight seemed insignificant, even if I had excused myself to the restroom earlier that day to take a five-minute nap on the toilet. I was so exhausted that I didn’t even care that people probably assumed I had gone to do number two.
“Whatever,” the Devil said. “Like you don’t poop at work.”
He pressed me for further details of my life, and I ventured into the safe territory of work. Everyone loves bitching about their jobs-why would the Prince of Darkness be any different?
“I guess I’m starting to feel a little, oh, I don’t know…overlooked...at work.”
“What is it that you do again?” the Devil asked.
“I’m an Office Administrator.”
The Devil promptly snorted, choking spectacularly on his Shirley Temple. Flames shot briefly from his nostrils. I was prepared to helpfully pat him on the back, despite my unease over his scales, but I realize he had moved on from blocked airways to full, throaty, and somewhat unsettling laughter.
“What? What are you laughing at?” I demanded of the Devil.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Well, let’s put it this way,” the Devil said, stirring his drink. “Downstairs, I used to whip them with the spinal cords of their loved ones. Now I just make them call customer support when our PCs crash and answer incoming calls.”
“It’s not that bad,” I yelled. “They value me.”
“Oh, of course they do! And I value the damned! I love it when they get the catering order right for our staff holiday parties. I mean, how hard is it to ask for the cheese to be cut into miniature sacrificial virgins instead of squares?" He sighed and reached across the table to hold my hand. "I'm sure you’re very valuable.”
“Well, someone has to find me vaiuable,” I grumbled.
“Uh-oh,” said the Devil. “Is this about-“
“No, it’s not about him. You always think it’s about him. Listen, I can be lonely all by myself without his help, did you ever consider that? It's not about him.” I waved over the waiter and ordered a whiskey ginger. It was wrong, of course, to drink on my lunch break--but the Devil surely wouldn’t tell. Secrets were his specialty. “But he does want me to meet his new girlfriend. That’ll happen when-“
“When my place freezes over?” the Devil joked. That one never got old, as far as he was concerned. I decided against telling him otherwise. “No, but seriously, I completely get it. I had to split with my last lover, Garzebrial, the three-head dog monkey man, and it was such a relief. We were just not compatible at all. But then one of the heads wouldn’t stop calling me. And you know, I still had some feelings for Garzie, so it was really tough.”
“What did you do?” I asked around a french fry.
“Well, I split him open and ate his heart. Obviously.”
I sighed. “I don’t think that will help me.”
The Devil rolled his fiery red eyes. “Well, sure, nothing helps when you do nothing.”
At this point, I had become weary of the Devil’s attitude. “Listen, you’re the King of the fucking Underworld. You run HELL. You are respected, feared and worshipped.”
“Yes, I am kind of a big deal,” the Devil replied, leaning leisurely back in his chair and crossing his goat legs.
“Do you know what I’m Queen of? I’m Queen of Ordering the Post-It Notes, and I even fuck that up constantly. I’m the Queen of a country where guilt is the currency, and the national past-time is competitive forgetting-your-keys at home. If my country had an export, it would be poor life decisions. If we had a flag, emblazoned on it would be me, smacking myself in the forehead and in impressive scroll underneath it would read in Latin, ‘Oh, for FUCK’S sake.’”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” the Devil said. “You feel overwhelmed.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I replied, feeling the edge of hysteria in my throat. I leaned forward and looked the Devil in the eye. “It’s more than feeling overwhelmed, it’s feeling…incapacitated. Like you’re moving through life, but you’re not moving at all. It’s like someone filled your chest with fog and your head with storm clouds. It’s like you’re a shadow cast by everyone around you. It’s like you’re sinking. I feel like I’m sinking.”
“Oh, honey, I know,” The Devil said, taking my hand and squeezing.
“No, seriously, I feel like I’m sinking,” I said.
“Right. I know. You are,” the Devil said.
I look around me and noticed the waiter had cleared the plates. And the whole damn restaurant, while he was at it. And he replaced it with an elevator. An elevator going down.
“Oh,” I said. “I should have seen this coming.”
“Well, I picked up the tab at lunch,” the Devil said rationally. “You do owe me. And besides, don't the past few weeks look much better now?”
I nodded and swallowed. And of course, The Devil had a point. And even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t much matter. It had been too long a day to argue. The elevator came to an abrupt halt and dinged cheerfully. The Devil turned and winked at me.
"You see," The Devil said. "Sometimes you have to share."