The Devil's Match

Chapter 4: It's Raining Men

The morning found me sitting in my car with the fat cat in my passenger's seat. I named her Thing out of affection. Thing, because I couldn't be bothered to give her a name. If people asked, though, I'd say it was because I'm a fan of The Addams Family. I would not name her and get all attached. If she got taken away from me, it might just break my heart.

"Hang on tight, little Thing, because we are going to a place you will not like," I snickered and watched as the poor innocent cat laid on her back, oblivious to where I'm going to take her.

"First thing's first, coffee!"

I drove to a coffee shop a little way from my home, blasting music inside and driving Thing insane. Nothing like a little joyride with a stray cat to brighten my morning. I drove past familiar houses. Saw young children playing in their yards. The older ones were off to school. I stopped at a red light once. The morning rush of commuters and people going to work created decent traffic on the road. I wondered, and then pondered about each of them, leading lives as complex as mine. I was certain, though, that they didn't stumble upon the devil like I did. Or I hoped they didn't. I reached my destination within twenty minutes, as what I timed. When I got out of my car, I looked back and decided on if I should bring Thing with me. Or whether leaving an animal inside a vehicle was illegal—a much more pressing issue. Synapses fired in my brain before deciding that there was a high probability I was going to Hell anyway, so why bother?

Outside, I turned left, crossed ninth, and made my way inside my favorite local coffee shop, Beelzebub's Beans.

The sun blazed, and the pavement sweated. I lived in a coastal part of the town, but it still surprised me how humid most days went by. I gripped my wallet with my hand and pushed the heavy oak door. Espresso and fresh-baked croissants greeted me, making my sinuses tingle. Why was it that every coffee shop in existence smelled the same in the morning?

Beelzebub's Beans. The name was hilarious, which was what brought me inside the shop. After meeting the devil, I realized the name of the shop was of poor taste.

People always think misfortune is funny until it happens to them.

I got in line. There were about six, seven people in front of me. All on their phones. The patrons having their coffees inside minded their own business. A few were busy typing on their laptops, nose almost kissing their screens. College students. I recognize the dark bags and the three-day-old shirts. Uncombed hair. The existential dread. Then the line shifted, and I moved forward. It took almost thirty minutes for me to get to order. How unbelievable.

My regular order comprised a dirty chai latte, instructing the red-faced barista to make it as dirty as a catholic school girl on the inside. I did like it a little dirty; mouth pursed to conceal a snicker as I muttered to myself. I paid for my order and waited. My eyes bounced from one person to the other, not staying long enough to be creepy, but enough to observe. All complex lives. I bet not one of them, though, had the literal devil hounding on their ass. Just when I was walking out of the little coffee place, a person bumped into me and made me spill my chai all over my shirt and my hands.

Complex lives, huh?

"What the hell?!"

"Oh! I'm so sorry!"

The gruff voice made me look up, way up, to smoky gray eyes and admire the guy who owed me $6.49. I raised an eyebrow at seeing the leather jacket, the stylish hair with the matching fades and the boyish grin.

This one was ghosting about ten girls right at that very moment.

"I'm sorry about your coffee, beautiful," the guy pulled a little napkin out of nowhere and started wiping my hands and dabbing at my now chai-stained blouse. Jet-black hair, shiny to the point of being greasy. Bountiful beard on his cheeks and above his mouth, framing his rosy lips. Beautifully groomed. His body, large and towering, was almost obscenely cut. The handsome stranger pulled me aside because we were causing a backlog of pedestrians behind us, rolling their eyes at the meet-cute moment straight out of a cheesy movie.