My Personal Demon

12:01

If someone told me a few months ago that I could lose my soul by falling for the wrong person, I would've laughed in their face. Especially since he felt far from wrong to me.

But losing my soul didn't seem so bad, considering that at any moment I could lose him. How long could he stay before I woke up to an empty bed again?

It helps not to think about it. I try to stay in the moment with him, running my hands through his hair. Only in the present am I guaranteed to hold him in my arms.

Yet all the signs of our future are here. I see the way his hands shake as he makes himself tea. He spends more time in bed, physically unable to get up some days. Did it hurt more seeing him waste away or knowing that he would be forced to leave me?

I knew what I had to do. It would take more courage than I had to do it, but there was nothing left to risk except my own life.

"I want you to have my soul."

He nearly drops the pan that he's holding. Regaining his composure, he sets it back on the stove, turning off the fire.

"You don't mean that. And you can't just say that out of nowhere."

"I mean it, but not in the way that you think," I replied. "I want you to take it when I die. That way, you can regain your strength when I no longer need it."

He shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. Once you surrender ownership of your soul, I will be summoned back to Hell. And after you die, you will be forced to endure eternal punishment."

"Does that mean I'll see you after death?" I couldn't keep the hope out of my voice.

"I think you're missing the point of what I told you. Surrendering your soul isn't a light matter."

I crossed my arms. "That doesn't answer the question."

"You will see me, but you will never go to Heaven. Think about the price you will have to pay. Don't make such a rash decision," he insisted.

"Do you care for me?" The question is out of my mouth before I can think.

His lips pressed together in a thin line. "You know the answer to that."

"I want to hear it from you."

Our eyes lock in defiance, my hazel fixed upon his amber. His gaze hardened, turning his irises into steely gems. Then, all at once, he softens.

"I love you."

When did he get so good at rendering me speechless? His smile is both sweet and ferocious. He knows his words have hit their mark.

"Then let me save you. Because I love you, too. And you deserve a better life than this."

He lets out a frustrated sigh. "I can't let you do that. You shouldn't have to make that sacrifice for me."

It couldn't be worse than losing him. "That's my choice to make. I'm going to give you my soul in exchange for seeing you after death."

"Yvette—"

"You're going to leave no matter what I do," I cut in. "Take my soul."

The air hums with a dangerous energy. I was suddenly aware of every atom of my being buzzing together, barely able to hold my form in a solid shape. My vision was shifting rapidly. At times, Jesper seemed far away but somehow simultaneously too close for comfort.

He grabbed my hand and the sensations spiraled. Reality splits open, with strange textures gracing my skin while odd smells wafted by. Colors that I've never seen before danced on the edges of my sight, pulsating as Jesper brought me closer to him.

During art school, I had experimented with a slew of drugs. None of them had an effect quite like this, eliciting a mixture of distress and wonder as my senses collided with each other. I tasted colors and smelled shapes all while hearing the cacophonic symphonies that came from their combinations. If I had any control of my body then, I would've tried to paint the scene. But the canvas alone wasn't enough to capture the experience.

But then my senses shut down. My vision is the first to go. Darkness washes over me. There's not even a single pinprick of light in the silky blackness. Then, all sound stops reaching my ears. I can no longer smell the room or feel the fabric of my clothes. Any food or drink that I ate recently vanishes from my mouth.

This was the closest that I've ever gotten to death, save for the car crash that took my husband's life. I was too aware of the bleak nothingness for this to feel like sleep. I longed for the comforts of my body, the blissful mundane of the living.

And then, I woke up.

Jesper isn't here anymore. That's the first thing that I notice. He isn't slumbering beside me in bed or cooking in the kitchen. The house is quiet, too quiet even. Maybe he's gone out for groceries, but somehow I know that's not the case.

He's not in this reality. That's the best way I can describe it. I could walk all over this house and I would never find him. Even if I ventured out into town, he wouldn't be there. I'm willing to bet that everyone's memories of him have been erased as well.

He was gone. It was a simple fact. Just like the great emptiness inside of my chest. I was hollow in the way the last matryoshka doll was: small and with nothing left in me.

Once again, I was alone. There was a piece of me missing this time and it wasn't my sanity. That, I had a firm grasp of. If anything, I saw the world more clearly than I did in years.

But I no longer had my soul. I wait for the dull pang of regret to settle over me, but it never comes. Perhaps I lost the ability to feel that emotion. No, it wasn't that. I was already missing him more with every second that passed.

Today was the first day of the rest of my life without him. My first normal twenty-four hours in months. But I close my eyes and one month passes. I blink again and another month goes by, lonely and beige. The months pile up, turning into years and decades. At some point, Jesper fades into a mirage, a thing I see only in my dreams.

I can't help but think that I made him up. After all, how likely was it that a handsome demon man would appear in my life when I needed him the most to become my lover? Even Charles could write a better story than that.

But what else could explain the invisible embraces I received at night? Despite what I thought, ever since he took my soul, I've never had a cold evening. Whenever my days were longer than usual, a hot plate of food would mysteriously appear on the dining room table.

Eventually, I moved out of that house. It was too big for a widow who painted for a living. I wanted a cozier space, one where I didn't feel small. He followed me, leaving food and warmth in his trail. I never saw him, save for a few glimpses in the mirror. I chalked them up to tricks of the light whenever I saw a pair of horns or a curly head of hair. But he was there, occasionally slipping into this reality.

Or so I thought. My imagination was quite colorful.

A revolving door of boyfriends entered my life, none of them staying long enough for a committed relationship or anything close to marriage. They approached me in bars, restaurants, grocery stores, and even my own tattoo shop. Not a single one of them could hold a candle to Jesper, but I allowed their company, letting them paint streaks of half-hearted romance on the canvas of my life. I don't know what drove them away, but if they stayed for too long, they were driven mad by nightmares, bloody visions that they blamed on me.

So much for having a love life. Over time, I grew content with my own company. If I felt too lonely, I would visit my sisters and take care of their children. My mother would try to convince me to remarry, teaming up with Charles's mother to find me a future husband. Despite my refusal, I was sent on countless blind dates with "eligible" bachelors.

Stay-at-home sons and jaded divorcés flocked to my doorstep. I don't know what my mother told them, but they were all under the misguided impression that I would be the solution to the problems in their lives. A few straight up asked me for sexual intercourse, thinking that my body was worth the price of a meal I paid half the check of. Others simply wanted a free maid. Lucky for me, they all left within a week.

Love would come for me after death.