LUST, NOT LOVE.

"ASMODEUS!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, febrile eyes scanning the piercing darkness of my cell. "COME OUT!"

Silence. Better yet — grand silence.

And then there's me…just casually shouting demon's name in a convent full of sleeping nuns.

"Asmodeus! Asmodeus! ASMODEUS!!!"

My back slammed against the door.

"Please, please…" I pleaded. "I need you. Please. Asmodeus. Come out. Take all of my time, as much as you want, but please come…" I closed my eyes and just stood there for a while, back against the door, heart booming furiously.

Warmth saturated the air.

I sighed with great relief. "…thank you…"

"𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔, 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚎𝚛."

My eyes opened to the sound of a comforting growl, and I stared at the glowing eyes that swam beautifully in the dark sea of the room. When I began to walk towards them, like a mirage they melted and reappeared in the other corner.

I frowned, sat on the bed and watched them now float above the concrete bench. We took our usual spots once again, and as usual, took each other in.

"I need you to tell me who my mother is." I inquired.

"𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗."

Replied Asmodeus.

"No. I need you to tell me about her like you'd done about Edgar Serre. From A to Z. Whatever you know. Who she was, who she is. What had happened to her. So on and so forth."

"𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎."

"Have it," I replied forthwith. "Just tell me what you know."

There was it again, the way his eyes marked my words.

[music recommendation: Deuce, Pt. 1: Prologue by Berend Salverda]

"𝚆𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕."

It growled.

"𝚅𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚎 𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚁𝚘𝚜𝚕𝚢𝚗, 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚋𝚢 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚗𝚎. 𝙴𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗. 𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗. 𝚂𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚟𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚢'𝚜 𝙰𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚁𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚗 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚘𝚗."

"I already know all of this…" I said.

"𝙿𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚗𝚞𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞."

"Suffered?"

The eyes continued to glow beautifully, their light — a swirl of sinfulness and amusement.

"𝙳𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎, 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚖𝚎?"

Gawking into the fire of Asmodeus's laughing eyes, I think I whispered why. Uneasiness pulled my heart down to my feet. I didn't like the feeling, that suspense. I really, really didn't like it.

"𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚝, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎."

"What are you saying? What lust?"

"𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚍."

Was its simple, cold answer.

"Wha—" My body slacked like a sack of rotten potatoes, or like I were some invertebrate, some useless, pitiful, incapable thing. "I don't…believe you…"

"𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘."

Another simple reply.

And it was true. I did believe him. I believed him more than I believed myself, but I tried to repel the truth for how terrible it was.

"She said they were close…" I mumbled. "Is this what she calls r͏a͏p͏e͏…being close…?" A feeble sound escaped my throat. "I am——I'm——a r͏a͏p͏e͏ baby…I am a r͏a͏p͏e͏ baby."

Tears ran immediately, flooded my cheeks like lush rivers. Unstoppable tears. Tears of undiluted affliction. I wailed uncontrollably, cried like I'd never cried before, shook like an autumn leaf in the wind.

And Asmodeus watched, untouched by another's grief. Tranquil like that darkness in which he dwelled. Which he was.

At some point, my eyes swelled and burned so much there was no water left for tears, so I sniveled emptiness until even the sound ceased. So I just sat there, on that old bed, drooping like a spineless creature, staring into black space through black spirit, sniffing and hiccuping from stress and distress.

"𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚍, 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍."

The voice bounced from wall to wall and into my ears. But I registered it a few moments later, deafened by the emotional turmoil.

"More like a weed…" I wheezed out. "I'm a fucking weed..."

"𝙿𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑. 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙴𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍."

"Thanks," I sniffed, wiping my runny nose with a sleeve. "I feel much better now that you've shitted on me more than I've already been shitted on…wait what?" I was like a giraffe, I had found. His words reached me only several moments later. "A fraction of truth? Excuse me, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦?"

"Plenty."

I only wilted further, completely mortified. "I am a r͏a͏p͏e͏ baby. If there is 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 worse than this…"

"𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜."

I gawked stupidly at the glowing eyes for a long, long minute.

"What. What else did she hide from me…"

"𝚈𝚘𝚞, 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚝𝚑, 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚎, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗."

We scrutinized each other awhile, and around us: 𝘩𝘶𝘶𝘶𝘶𝘶𝘶𝘶𝘶𝘴𝘩...

The silence, I had noticed, possessed its own uniqueness. It was quiet, but it still buzzed in my ears. It was peaceful, yet it agitated me. It was soft, but it prickled my skin. It was achromatic and still I saw too much color.

Pictures formed in my head, imagination blending with what I'd already seen. Sounds played, voices spoke, and again, all in that polluted head of mine.

Involuntarily I made up scenarios of what else vicious could have had possibly happened to that Vivian whose ordeal was, apparently, my existence. What else was there that would make blood curdle in fear? Did I want to know? Was I ready? Or was she right and…I wasn't?

Asmodeus's eyes were ever-patient, and no rushing time with its seasons, its light of day or dark of night could disturb their calmness. That was the first time I had thought of why the demon always asked for time. To always be this impossibly calm, perhaps...

"Tell me, what really happened to my mother the night I was born?" I demanded.