Angel

They met in 2004, when they were both members of an Internet forum, there were still no Facebook then and other social media sites. They didn’t know each other, but one day, he received a private message from her. I always see you in the politics and rock music threads, it’s where I hang out, too, and we have the same fave rock bands, she told him. After that, they regularly sent each other messages, and after a few weeks of being friends online, she asked him to meet her.

They met inside a mall. Her real name was Angel, a very curious name for him. She was twenty-five, pretty, had smooth white skin and a voluptuous figure.  She was taking up culinary arts but she stopped due to an unwanted pregnancy. She was a single mom and had a two-year old daughter. And she was currently in a little financial strait. She was broke and could she borrow some cash from him? Her daughter needed milk and diapers and other stuff. Her middle-class family abandoned her when she got pregnant by a married man who quickly left her as soon as he learned that she was pregnant. She didn't know he was married. She had a job but her salary’s not enough for her to make ends meet.

He immediately smelled a scam. Was he talking to a hustler? “No, I’m not scamming you,” she told him like she could read his mind while they were inside a fast food restaurant. “Promise, I will pay you.” He loaned her some cash and their friendship online continued.

And indeed, after two months, she asked to meet him again.

“What happened to your hand?” she asked him when they met inside a mall again and saw that his left hand was wrapped in a bandage.

“Just a minor injury,” he told her. Having your pinkie cut off was definitely not a small injury, but he wouldn’t tell and show her that.

She met him that day so she could pay him.

After a few months, she borrowed money from him again. He offered to just deposit the money to her bank account, but she insisted on meeting him. He thought she got prettier when he saw her again. “I don’t want to take your money without giving you something in return, Demmy,” she told him. “You can have me.”

It would be taking advantage of her, he thought. “No, you won’t be taking advantage of me,” she told him like she could read his mind again. “I like you, and I think you like me, too. We can be friends with benefits.” She chuckled and he saw no remorse in her eyes and heard no compunction in her voice.

Inside the motel, she left the bathroom door open while she was taking a shower, and he was tempted to watch her. She turned around so she was facing him while she showered. She really had nice skin, except for a barely-visible C-section scar, and she got a nice figure and perfect ample breasts. “I shaved,” she chuckled when she noticed him looking at the gap between her thighs.

He stepped inside the bathroom as she was drying herself with the towel. He kissed her on the lips; her breath smelled fresh, her saliva tasted sweet. His lips traveled down to her neck, then to her breasts, and he suckled on both nipples. “Eat me, please,” she said as she panted and spread her legs wider.

And he obliged and knelt in front of her—and she equally smelled and tasted good down there.

“Did you buy a condom?” she asked while she squirmed delightfully on top of him.

“I bought eight.”

She snickered, and then, she trembled when he licked her clit. “Oh, God!” she moaned, which burned and hurt his ears a bit.

And she was moaning so hard and loud when he entered her on top of the bed that he had to remind her to be quiet as the room wasn’t soundproofed.

They met again after a month so she could pay him.

“What happened to your eye?” she asked while they were inside a coffee shop.

He touched the black eye patch on his left eye. “Just a slight infection,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.”

And as they cuddled on the bed inside a motel after making love, he told her, “This is probably the last time we’d do this.”

“Why?” she asked, the disappointment in her eyes was almost tangible.

“I have a girlfriend now,” he said. “I don’t want to cheat on her.”

The disappointment turned into sadness. “But we could still be friends?”

“Of course,” he said before kissing her on the forehead.

And she got good news for him—her family had forgiven and accepted her and the child.

When he reached his apartment that night, he stood in front of the mirror and removed his eye patch and looked at the horrid hollowed spot where his eye used to be.

“Why aren’t you scared of doing good, Demus?”

Demus glanced over his shoulder and saw Bar-el standing at one corner of the room, playing with his long tail, twirling it near his chest.

“You refused to make love to Angel because you think you’re taking advantage of her, that’s an act of kindness, which deserves another punishment, which is ironic, because you’re here to punish men, Bar-el said. “You’ve been told not to make friends with humans but you disobey it. Men are nothing but sources of sins and omissions. You can stick to your Internet addiction, we can tolerate that, but don’t get intimate with humans.” Bar-el exhaled hard. “Come here.”

He walked towards Bar-el and suddenly, Bar-el was holding a sharp sword which he used to slice Demus’ right ear. The ear fell to the floor, convulsing a little. Demus knelt to the floor, writhing in pain, holding the bleeding part where his ear used to be. An injury or wound inflicted by a fellow demon was the most excruciating pain a demon could feel.

He and Bar-el were both demons sent to earth. Their mission was to mess with the minds of humans and urge them to do bad, to make murderers, rapists, thieves and sacrilegious out of them, and make sure they got caught and punished. They had rules and they were obligated to punish any fellow demon that violated it. 

Later that day, Demus asked to be sent back to hell and be given his old task of punishing hellbound souls. 

He never went back to the world of the living again.