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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Sci-fi · #2193232
One night stand's don't usually come to this...
She turned around and stared at me, her canvas backpack already slung over her back, all packed and ready to go. But it seemed like she was waiting for me to say something. Anything.

“Where are you going,” I ask her, rubbing the back of my neck in embarrassment, feeling the muscles rippling in my back. Yeah, that probably wasn't the right thing to say, based on her scowl as her bright blue eyes looked straight into my cerulean ones. Then, the hottie in front of me just looked away, making for the door.

“Most likely Hell,” she answers, shrugging her shoulders as if she hadn't just said something completely insane.

Usually when I woke up the morning after I got rip-roaring drunk, I was hungover, and whichever girl I had gotten into the pants of was gone, or was still asleep, and then left when they woke up. This was kind of new territory for me.

The blond babe was walking to the door, her clothes from last night clinging tightly to her curves. How the hell had I managed to score that? I mean, I was built like a god, and one of my previous one night stands had described me as “a perfect gentlemen except in the bedroom” going so far as to say “but that’s how I like them” to her friends. She had been one of the ones who thought it had meant anything. But I digress.

Even with all that, plus my sheer awesomeness, no way a girl like that would have come home with me. With the looks of her, which I was getting a full view of as her hips swayed while she walked to the door, she could have scored anyone from that club.

But it didn't matter. If she was a psycho, I didn't want her under me. “You’re not the religious type that thinks sex is a sin are you?” I ask, hoping to God the answer was no. I might want to hit that again if she was just being sarcastic about going to Hell.

“Ha! That’s hilarious,” she laughs, turning to look at me from under her lashes. “Although I’m sure some would call me the ‘religious type’.”

That made me more confused than ever, but it was also hella hot. My head was pounding like a drum though, and I couldn't think about stuff like that until I had coffee and an advil in me.

“So. Hell?” I ask as the girl made no move to continue to the door. Not that I had any objection to that. I couldn't remember much of last night, but I wouldn't mind another go when I could remember it.

The girl smirked and nodded, backtracking into the room and taking a seat at one of the high stools next to the island. “Or maybe Purgatory. Possibly even Heaven. Wherever they send me today,” she explains. Damn. How could someone so gorgeous be so crazy?

Although… Harley Quinn…

But honestly, the best thing to do when you have a hangover is screw someone, so I went along with it, hoping to convince her that we should have another go.

“They?” I ask as I pull a shirt over my head, my muscles going taut over under my tanned skin. Hey, if she was into it, I could be into it or another hour, cause I was into her.

“God, Lucifer. I kind of play for both teams, just in the bibliological sense,” she said, grinning like the cheshire cat as she slung her backpack over the back of the stool.

Walking into the kitchen in my low hanging sweatpants and newly put on shirt, I reached for the bottle of advil I permanently left out on the counter. This girl was crazy as crap. Lucifer? Really?

“You know Satan? Do you think you can get me off his list?” I ask, joking, while thinking about whether this chick was worth it as best as I could through the incessant pounding in my head.

“He actually doesn't go by Satan, he prefers Lucifer, and I’ll see what I can do for you,” she informs me, winking seductively.

I shook my head, a small smile gracing my full lips. This girl was loco. Lucifer. Pst. I started up the coffee maker, the smell of ground coffee means already wafting from the black machine.

“You need a cup?” I ask the girl, who is watching me brew my must have morning drink.

She smiles softly, almost sadly, her mood swinging again in front of my eyes as she goes from charming and sexy to sad and haunting. “It wouldn't do much for someone like me. I need something much stronger.”

Completely ignoring the first half of what she said, I turn to her, my curiosity peaked as I consider that she might not be kidding, or insane. That maybe, just maybe… she’s telling the truth.

Nah. Must be the alcohol talking.

But still, I pose her a question as I study her almost ethereal face, that seems to glow with a unnatural light… but somehow it seems dimmed. Like a part of her is missing. “Someone like you?” I ask her, raising my eyebrows at her.

“A fallen angel. Duh,” she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Oh,” she lets out a sigh a moment later. “You don't believe me,” she comments. She looked so crestfallen I would have told her that she was wrong, and I did believe her but… did I?

“Here, let me show you,” the knockout sitting at my kitchen counter says, hopping down from the stool and sashaying over to me. As she comes closer, the tension in the room builds, but I can't tell if it's from anticipation of what she is going to do, or fear that she was completely off her rocker and was about to use me as a sacrifice to Lucifer.

But she did neither of the things that I had expected of her. Instead, she grabbed my wrist and dragged me over to the large windows that filled up one wall of my Manhattan apartment, giving me a great view of the city.

When I was able to see the entire city, the girl placed her palm on my forehead.

And the world seemed to explode.

Everything got brighter, and yet darker somehow too. And the things. Monsters. Beasts. Demons roamed about aimlessly, and I could see them, down to the venom dripping off of their fangs.

Then I fainted.

But before I faded completely into oblivion, I heard a mysterious voice calling out to the girl. “Liekiel. I have an assignment for you,” the voice called.

And the girl answered, “Yes, commander.”

So I guess she wasn't insane after all.
© Copyright 2019 Lauren M. Alagna (amillionmaybes at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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