[PART ONE: Alex]

Dear Bec, don’t waste time being afraid to scratch your eardrums.

Because the whispers hiding in sunsets breed deafening theorems.

They will sing to you more than they weigh,

But don’t you listen to a fucking word they say.

Sometime after my eight birthday, I realized I was the only one who could see the devil. Or, “Lucifer Heart”, as he likes to be called (he often equates “Morningstar” to the n-word). It would take me another four years before I realized I wasn’t completely bat shit crazy, and Lucifer was as unfortunately real as Jaden Smith’s music.

Now I’ll be honest, I’m not a fan of the way Lucifer proved he was real, but if slapping the shit out of Rachel Panabaker was the only way he could prove it, I’m not one to judge. Rachel had a bad habit of smelling like something somewhere between an old bible and a sweaty uncle, anyway.

That aside, the story of Rachel Panabaker’s boob-sweat is unfortunately not one I’m here to tell. The reason for this, for all of this, the reason that I even I bring up Lucifer Heart in the first place, is because on the last day of eighth grade, he gave me perhaps the greatest gift I’ve ever received: a chance to kill his bitch ass.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a violent person. But to call Lucifer a walking, talking, laughing bag of dicks would be a to call a tank a gun. He’s annoying, short, unnecessarily edgy, short, mean, stupid, smart, under 5 feet, unironically likes Sword Art Online, short, and when the bastard laughs… bad things happen. Things that can only be buried by alcohol, sleep, and photos of Alison Brie. Preferably in that order.

Also, he’s short.

My point is, the day that Lucifer told me I could fold his corny ass is the day I used to think was the best of my life, but looking back on it now, the opposite might have held true.

The details aren’t as clear as they used to be, but the earliest part of that day I remember was hanging out in the girl’s bathroom (I should preface the rest of this by stating that I am indeed a male) with Alex Monroe, my then best friend, and coincidentally, woman of my dreams. I was down horrendous back then, I’ll be honest. The woes of being dry-dicked still haunt me till today, but I suppose that’s irrelevant.

“Tobe, does this sweater make me look fat?” She asked, from what I guessed to be in front of the mirror.

“Absolutely.” I said, scrolling through Reddit, “You look like that one fat bitch from that one movie with the one fat bitch.”

“What?”

“I’m busy, shutup.”

“Busy doing what?”

“Your dad.”

“Really?” Deadpan dripped off of her voice like syrup.

“Okay fine, I’m bullying incels on Reddit. Sue me. Your dad does have a fat ass, though.”

“Aren’t you an incel?”

“Only on Reddit, why?”

“Ughhh!” I could hear her rolling her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m listening to you, you can’t even see me.”

She might have had a slight semblance of a point there. Although the bathroom was empty save for us, she had made me hide in a stall and plant my feet on the door. That last one was so that no one would ask any questions about my“ugly mankles”. Which I suppose was fair enough, but I’ve unironically developed a complex over my stupid mankles. I still never wear shorts.

“Look Alex,” I said, “It’s my sweater, and I’m an adonis, I’m sure you look great in it.”

“Ugh, but what if I don’t?”

“Then that’s what you get for spilling apple juice on yourself like a five year old.”

“YOU SPILLED IT ON ME!”

“Mhm. Hey, do you think DMing a celibate porn links counts as targeted harassment?”

“Gah.” She replied, completely ignoring my incredibly valid question, “I’m coming in there, I need a genuine opinion of this sweater.”

“Hey, I asked a-”

She stomped over and knocked on the stall door. “Come on, jack ass. Let me in.”

“Answer my question first.”

She sighed. “Tobe, has the incel you were bullying just been a celibate this whole time?”

“Uh… I don’t know.”

“What’s the name of the subreddit you guys met?”

I brought my feet to the ground. “r/Catholicism.”

Another sigh. “Yes he has. And either way it’s still targeted harassment.”

“Bet. I’ll send it right now.”

“What? No, you’re supposed to-” She let out another sigh. Then I heard her forehead land on the door. “Just let me in, Tobe, please. Please just let me in.”

I let her in.

She turned to lock the door then spun back to face me awkwardly. Her cheeks reddened slightly, and when I realized she was technically in between my legs, my heart began to pump out blood faster than Nigerian women pump out babies. It might seem like an extreme reaction, but you have to understand that the minute I fell in love with Alex Monroe, she stopped being a human being with thoughts bouncing around her brain and blood coursing through her veins. She became a religion. Or maybe a science. Either way, it’s embarrassing to admit, but that’s just how I loved back then… and for a good while longer.

“So?” She asked, fidgeting with the hem of my very sexy black sweater,“do I?”

In truth, Alex was on the chubby side at that time, and I loved that about her. Truly, I did. I don’t think there was an aspect of her I didn’t love. Or was able to not love.

The issue was it that it took so much out of me to care this much, and I could only just barely afford it. I thought that the only way to get her to eventually love me back was to lower my prices to the point where she might as well be able to come in and take whatever she wanted and I would just give it to her for free. So no, I didn’t tell her the truth, that she was fat and beautiful for it, I told her what she wanted to hear.

“You’re a lot of things.” I said. “Crazy, short, loud, and short? Yes. Fat? No. And no sweater could lie well enough to change that, especially not a garment as anointed as one that’s been worn by an adonis such as myself.”

She gave me the brightest grin.

“Yeah I know,” she said, “that was a test.”

“Did I pass?”

Her grin dropped. “That’s a stupid question. You’re stupid for asking me that.” She karate-chopped my head.

“What? How?”

“I literally agreed with you! Why would I do that if you were wrong?!”

I glared at her because I knew she was right, then I blew her a raspberry because smart asses deserve nothing less.

Alex rolled her eyes before grabbing my hands and pulling me to my feet. Then, to my dismay, she let go and turned to open the door.

Just as we exited the stall, we were met with some girl walking into the bathroom. She didn’t see us at first, but then Alex’s dumbass bumped into the trashcan, and the girl’s head shot to our direction.

Silence became the soundtrack to our silence.

A moment passed.

And then another.

One more.

“Hi.” I finally said.

“Hi.”

“There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.”

Her fist went to her hip and her eyebrow went up. “Oh, really?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m waiting.”

More silence snaked it’s way around the bathroom.

A moment passed.

And then another.

One more.

I nodded. “Thanks for understanding. Have a great summer.”

I grabbed Alex by the hand, sending tiny little bolts of lightning into my chest, and sped-walked out of the bathroom. The girl just managed to let out a “wh-hey!”, before she got a face-full of door.

Alex and I dashed down the halls, giggling like the little shits we were. We knew the girl might report us, but that didn’t make it any less funny. We just kept power-walking, too drunk on the promise of summer break to cough up any fucks to give. Too giddy and too infinite to be human. Back then, consequences would run off of our backs like water on a duck.

Lucifer would be the one to change that.

We reached the room for our next class, and I was purposefully still holding Alex’s hand, which is why it kinda hurt when she let go and walked ahead of me. Alex was a stickler for sitting in the front, and I, despite obviously being one of the smart kids, was not. So we often split off when we entered classrooms. Unlike me, Alex had other friends, and they didn’t mind sitting at the front with her, so I knew she wouldn’t mind being alone.

As I walked towards my seat in the back, I pulled out my phone, reveling in those few minutes before the teacher walked in.

Okay, before I continue there are two things you need to know:

1)Despite being her best friend since 6th grade, I fell in love with Alex in the beginning of 8th. And in that time of me being down bad, I’d been writing these anonymous love poems to her and leaving it in her books or some shit. Her other friends found them a few months ago, and since then the whole class had known about it. It was a big deal, and was honestly kinda thrilling at times, to hear them chattering about somebody, sometimes to that somebody.

Here’s the issue, though. These poems were some actual ass. And not the good kind, too. These love poems of mine were the stinky kind. The kind of ass that became redundant because it couldn’t even be good at being an ass; the kind of ass that was so ass-less that the cheeks inverted into themselves. Believe it or not, despite my unparalleled eloquence, the poems I wrote back then made Jaden Smith’s lyrics look like Robert Frost.

Oh, and 2) Jemma Greene is a bitch-faced, buck-toothed, pimple ridden bitch, who is so stupid and so ass-less that her ass cheeks for sure invert into themselves.

I’ll be honest, that might not me entirely true, but talking about her triggers me, so I’d argue it’s justified.

“Hey, Tobe!” The bitch-faced, buck-toothed, pimple ridden bitch called.

I didn’t look up from my phone. “Your name was a typo and you’re parents are too afraid to tell you. Also what?”

She looked around with a shit-eating grin, as if gathering the snickers and giggles required to reach the final form of bitch-faced, buck-toothed, pimple ridden bitches.

“Are you the one who wrote the love letters?!” She asked.

Iremembermyhear-

Gah.

Okay Tobe, breathe. We’re long past those days. Relax. Relax. Tell the story accurately.

I remember my heart ceased to exist for a second, and the fear of god landing in my chest like a fist of thunder stopped me from evening considering looking at Alex. Then my heart grew sick of the silence and began to beat against my rib cage with the venom of rabid wolf. I couldn’t breathe. I could talk, and my lungs were pumping air in and out, but I swear to God almighty I couldn’t breathe.

“Yes.” I said. Because what else could I say? I built that house and even if they held the match, I’d rather it be me who lit it. It’s a fickle man’s last ditch effort, fooling our egos into thinking they can handle the oncoming onslaught if we can somehow get ahead of the situation. As if there’s a difference in the outcome of being stabbed and stabbing yourself.

Just when I thought my heart couldn’t get any louder, the entire fucking class burst into laughter, and it all went to shit. I looked around the classroom, most were laughing, some were chuckling, some were whispering and looking at me, other’s pretending not to care. It was too much. Too much. Their cackles rose from the ground like hands from hell, ripping at my clothes, digging into my flesh and dragging me down to them, where it was easier, where I would be too busy burning do dumb shit and still be surprised when I faced dumb consequences.

Then I made the mistake of looking at Alex.

Oh God. Oh, God she was crying. My heart broke through it’s prison, blood crawling into my ear canals until suddenly, I couldn’t hear the laughter anymore. I couldn’t hear anything over the ba-dum, ba-dum getting louder and louder and angrier and angrier with each thump. I’d resisted the urge to cry, but after a few moments it it all went up in flames.

Because somehow, through the pounding of my heart, I heard the laughter of Lucifer Heart.

His cackles dug into my ears, meeting up with the wolf in my chest and setting everything on fire. My stomach twisted into itself, trying to shove everything out. I couldn’t hear everyone’s laughter over Lucifer’s and my heartbeat, but I could feel it. On my skin, in my lungs, in my stomach, in the sweat on my forehead, and on my neck, and on my back, I swear I could feel it on and in every inch of me.

Then the first tear drop spilled out of my right eye, and that’s when knew I couldn’t do it anymore, and ran out of the classroom.

My legs, despite their length, aren’t exactly known for their competence, but I don’t think I cared. I sprinted, haul-assing through the hallways with the fear of god, no, Lucifer plastered on my face. Because even as I left, I could still hear the bastard laughing at me. His voice was nothing like you’d expect, frankly it’s the opposite of a traditionally haunting voice, but Lucifer Heart could laugh at me for not listening to Jaden Smith, and I would. No questions asked.

I ran out of the building, making my way to the soccer field. I’d just reached there when my legs decided that they needed to be paid for their minutes and stopped doing that legs do. I tripped forward, rolling on the grass like a black-ass tumbleweed.

I landed on my back with a thud, before draping my right arm over my eyes, and unsuccessfully trying to calm my breathing. I knew what was coming next. I’d been there before.

“Do you ever just stop, and think about dicks?” He said to me.

“Fuck off, Lucifer.”

“Like, their just like, weird, dangly antennas and some how men managed to equate that to masculinity.”

“Ugh.” Ugh. I started crying.

“They’re attached to glorified balls of glass too, so fucking delicate. If anything isn’t that feminine?”

“Go away.” I said, through the gaps in my sobs.

“Is that sexist? I think that sexist.”

It burned. He burned.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?!” I screamed, spittle flying out of my mouth.

“Yep. Definitely sexist.”

I said nothing in response. I just kept crying and crying and crying, the soaked spirals of self-loathing tightening with each sob.

“So,” he said, “you made quite a mess, didn’t ya?”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Get in line, you should see the hate mail I get from Jesus.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“How are you feeling right now?

I almost laughed. “Like I wanna kill myself, now fucking LEAVE!”

“I see, I see. Well I’m not sure about the latter, but the former can definitely be arranged.”

I felt something cold and metallic land in my left hand.

“Jesus fucking Christ. It was a joke, dumbass.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Well, kinda. You see the funny thing about humans is that given enough time, all of them want to die. The only problem is that none of them want to be dead.” He tapped his head like he had said something.

“You’re a corny-ass motherfucker, you know that?” I croaked, sniffling.

“Me? Corny? Have you read your poetry?” He said. I could hear his grin through his words, and it made me fucking mad.

“Get the fuck out of here, Lucifer.” I said through clenched teeth. “Before I use this stupid knife on you.”

“Funny you should mention, that can also be arranged.” He whispered.

I stopped sniffling and let the snot run down my lips.

I removed my arm from my eyes and turned to him.

The sight of Lucifer still makes me mad to this day. When I was a kid, he was so intimidating, he towered over me and had a grin that could make me piss myself. Except I started growing, and he didn’t. Years later, I tower over him, and physically, he’s still a boy who looks about ten years old, with white hair, pale skin, stupid fangs and stupid red horns, wearing an SAO t-shirt with jean shorts and untied Timberland boots. I could crumple this kid up into a ball and Kobe him into a trashcan if I wanted to, the only problem was that even now he has a grin that can make me piss myself. He’s physically a snot-nosed brat, but make no mistake. Lucifer Heart is the Devil. Through and through.

I watched him as he floated on his back beside me, grinning at the fact that I had showed interest.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Still floating, he spun so he was upright, before crossing his legs and balancing on nothing.

“Well, I’ll be honest, this episode is pretty much on you, blame wise, I only played back up.”

“Get to the point.” I said through my teeth.

“Well kiddo, I was supposed to let you kill me years ago, I’m the “Devil under your bed”, after all. You’re not supposed to be looking down to talk to me.”

“So why the fuck are you-”

“Because you’re entertaining Tobe, I got invested. You know how it goes.”

“No.”

Lucifer started doing air-cartwheels. “My point is, I’m supposed to give you conditions you have to complete so you can kill me. And although I’m late as home, I think it’s time.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. No more Lucifer. No more Lucifer!

“What do I have to do?” I asked urgently.

Lucifer seemed unphased by my eagerness to murder him, as he picked his stupid Lucifer-nose indifferently.

“Basically, if you can get your dick wet before you graduate from highschool, I’ll let you put that knife in me. Woah, that came out way wrong.”

I looked at him.

I looked at the knife.

Back at him.

Back at the knife.

“This is stupid. Why can’t I just stab you right now?”

Lucifer flicked his booger at me (best believe I dodged that shit) before breaking into another grin.

“Why haven’t you killed me in all this time that we’ve known each other?”

I had no response for him.

“It’s because you’re scared, Tobe. I’m your Devil! Hell, not just your Devil, the Devil! The Jesus-Tempting, Yahweh betraying Lucifer Morning-ugh. I hate that name. Either way, sometimes we both forget who I am, but the bottom line is, you’re not gonna be scared of me until you tap some ass, kiddo. And it has to be human ass, remember that. I had one kid a couple decades ago who managed to get by me by fucking a snowman. Don’t ask.”

“I literally wasn’t going to-”

“Oh! And you can’t go hire a hooker. And it can’t be a one night stand, it has to be genuine romance. Even if you don’t end up fucking, if there’s genuine romance, I’ll let you stick that knife in- dammnit, Lucy, stop saying that.”

I looked at the knife once more.

“You’re kidding.” I said.

“Nope. Say what you want about me, but I’m a true romantic. If you can get a girlfriend who likes you for you, you can kill me. No more random ass panic attacks in the middle of the night, no more anger, no more fear, no more tears, nothing. Everything, everything will fall into place. And all you have to do is get yourself some ass.”

“The way you talk about women is disconcerting.” I said. Like I was one to talk.

“Bitch, I’m the Devil. I’ve done way worse. I’m the one who convinced Jaden Smith he had musical talent, you know.”

“I KNEW IT!”

“Hehe, so what do you say, Tobechukwu Debare Nwigwe?” He outstretched his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

I looked at him.

I looked at the knife.

Back at him.

Back at the knife.

With one more sniffle, I took the bastard’s hand, shaking it firmly.

“I’m going to make it hurt.” I promised.

Lucifer laughed, and I can’t lie, it freaked me out. But that was standard shit, I would walk into his challenge head first. Love was all I knew how to do, after all.

That was the mindset that made me let Lucifer Heart ruin the next three years of my life.

Dear Bec, the sun doesn’t fly, you’ll soon find.

It floats on the lazy rivers of fog in your mind.

Still, make no mistake, your skin is a liar.

The sun might be fog, but you are still pyre.