Chapter One
I'm nothing unusual.
Sadly enough, that last sentence is basically my defining feature. I am extraordinarily ordinary. I accept my normality. I embrace it, even. Being average isn't such a bad thing. I live on a quiet street in a quiet town on the outskirts of Los Angeles. I have a younger brother. I am a half-Pakistani and a sort-of Muslim in a largely Caucasian area. My GPA is a 3.6 un-weighted. I hate seafood in all its forms.
This culmination of facts (although some may be unusual unto themselves) renders me completely and utterly average, and so:
My name is Lara.
Like most people who are unbearably average, I nurse a clandestine obsession. Like most girls my age, it's a boy.
He is of course above average in all of his endeavors. Tall, blond, athletic, intelligent, kind, funny, charming—who am I to argue with life's unoriginality (*)? I could soliloquize for days and nights. We've hardly conversed, but I've been watching him for an ungodly while, and I believe that my infatuation is verging on love.
Or something of that nature.
You know, it's almost painful. Unrequited love, I mean – it's like a head-ache, or maybe something in your gut. It's a sort of dull throb, always there, sometimes fading and sometimes rising but never really gone. Something that is soft and sharp and sour and sweet, all at once.
To be honest, it's kind of unpleasant.
Like right now. I'm in the girls' restroom on the second floor during fourth period, sobbing in the handicap stall. I'm missing out on—well—on AP Physics because of this, which really isn't such a chore, but it's the principle of the thing. I mean, I'd rather be bored out of my mind and dry-eyed than sniffling miserably on a school toilet while listening to someone pee in the stall beside me.
The cause is of course Tall, Blond, and Athletic: Emmerick Summers. The annual Generic Formal Dance coming up, and he asked—he asked someone else. Again. For the past three years, every dance I'm hoping it's me, and every dance it's not.
And I cry every time.
Currently my face is in my hands, my tears black with mascara, my knees pressed together. I'm pathetic for doing this—every fucking time!—but I can't seem to help myself.
A flush sounds from beside me and for a moment my sobs are muffled. With an effort, I pull myself together. I wait for the girl to wash her hands and leave and then emerge from my stall.
My reflection is dismal: red-rimmed and splotchy, with my clothes rumpled and my hair wild. I do my best to make it more tolerable: I dab at my eyes with damp paper towels, removing my smeared makeup, and then apply a fresh coat of eye-liner and gloss. My nose is still huge and unmistakably crimson, and my lips swollen in the worst way, but I can't miss more scintillating AP Physics for this.
Still, it'd be a lot easier going back if he wasn't there.
In true creeper fashion, my seat is just behind Emmerick's, providing me with a flawless view of his clean, smooth neck and fodder for endless fantasies. I spend the rest of the period idly tracing the contours of his back with my eyes and angsting and learning absolutely nothing. (Alas, I tried.) When the bell rings, I wait and watch him leave before going off to lunch.
Shit. This is pathetic.
I have friends—I promise I do—but I can't see them today. I can't see anyone today. It's stupid and trivial and cliché but I get into my car (maroon Land Rover, heck yes) and rest my head on the steering wheel while the other seniors drive off all around me. Soon the parking lot is empty, and I grab my lunch and walk.
I sit down on the softball fields. I take out my sandwich, glad to be alone—
—Almost alone. I've barely taken a bite or two when I hear it: a low, feminine giggle. It's… someone. A girl.
She's with Emmerick.
Shit. Shit. Shit. This is who he asked? This? This girl whose sickeningly petite? This girl with thick blonde hair? This girl with the soft laugh?
This?
God. Can't they leave me in peace—just a little bit of fucking piece? Even when I don't want to see him I see him. He's everywhere. He's under my lids when I close my eyes to sleep at night. I angst internally, irritated with myself but unable to stop. They haven't noticed me yet. I drop back to my elbows and stare up at the sky. Should I go—should I—?
"What to do?"
That wasn't me.
I glance over to the side. I blink. It's a boy, and a lovely one at that. He's windswept and swarthy and leaning back on his elbows like me.
"Um. Hello," I say uncomfortably.
He dips his head in acknowledgement and smiles faintly. "So what are you going to do?" he says softly.
"Pardon?"
He shrugs towards Emmerick and the girl, who I had—for just a moment—forgotten. "What to do—about him, I mean."
"I don't—who are you?" I ask rudely. "I mean—I'm sorry, but I've never seen you before." I pause. "How'd you get up here anyways? Unnoticed, I mean."
The boy breaks into a smile. He has the sort of smile that could bring a girl to her knees—slow and warm and easy. Old ladies probably faint dead at that smile. MILFs probably get hot flashes.
"Sorry—I guess I never formally introduced myself. Call me Sammy (**). I'm…" He looks at me thoughtfully, "I'm around."
I say, "I'm Lara." For lack of anything better, I add, "Nice to meet you."
Sammy nods his head politely. "Likewise." His gaze flickers back to Emmerick. "Now. What about him?"
"What about him?" I repeat blankly.
"You like him, don't you? A lot?" Sammy's gaze flickers from Emmerick onto the ground. "Too much, maybe," he adds, looking up at me through his lashes. They're long and dark. (I'm jealous.)
I narrow my eyes. "Wait, what? Who are you exactly?"
"I'm Sammy. I'm around," Sammy repeats enigmatically (and quite creepily). "Are you going to do anything about it—him?" He looks at Emmerick again. I follow his gaze.
"Erm. Yes. No. Maybe," I admit sheepishly. "I don't know. I want to. I wish I could." I bite my lip as the girl—Emmerick's girl—laughs again, softly. They still haven't seen us. I thank god for this as I watch Emmerick reach out and put his arm around her, leaning his head against hers.
I suddenly taste copper and salty-sweetness. I put my finger to my lips and it comes away with a tiny scarlet smear.
Sammy chuckles from beside me. I level him with an irritated glance.
Who the fuck are you?
"Listen, I don't know who you are, but—"
"I know who you are," Sammy cuts me off quietly. "You're Lara. You're seventeen. You believe in God. Maybe." He stops talking for a moment and holds eye contact. I squirm uncomfortably. "You're strangely intense."
I stare, my skin prickling. "And you're verging on creepy."
Sammy chuckles again, louder this time, and I glance uneasily at Emmerick. He and the girl are absorbed in one other. I look away. Sammy is staring at me.
"Lara, I told you—I'm around. You know me. Most people—most people—are very familiar with me. And everyone's heard of me."
He looks almost smug.
"Congrats?" I offer. Psycho. I make to stand—
"Lara, wait." His hand on my wrist stops me. His palm is warm, almost uncomfortably so. "Stay for a couple minutes. I just need you to listen."
His burning palm does somehow stills me. "Yes?" I snap, vaguely frightened and very wary.
"Like I said, I'm someone you know. I'm someone everyone knows. Please hear me out." He releases me, but I linger. "Look, you like that boy, right?" He glances at Emmerick again. "You like him a lot—maybe you even love him. I don't know. It's something like that." His eyes meet mine, and they're murky and confusing. "So I'd like to make you a deal."
I raise my eyebrows—a thin veneer of nonchalance, really, since my insides are bursting. "A deal?"
Sammy sort-of smiles again in a sardonic way. "Yes, a deal. They're kind of my specialty."
"What sort of deal?" I ask, incredulous but still inexplicably curious.
He looks up at me through his lashes again. "Well… this is going to sound crazy," he cuts himself off, looking away and moving his hand to his head nervously.
"Try me," I say tentatively.
"Erm, well, I—you see, I sort of—I'm…I'm kind of famous."
I raise an eyebrow. "Didn't we go over this already?"
He glares a little. "Yeah, but I'm trying to ease you into this." His slightly irritated expression melts into something indecipherable. "So. I'm famous. Like, really famous. I'm notorious, actually. I'm—well—I'm—" He drops his head into his palms and groans. "Ugh. This is even more difficult than usual."
"You're…?" I prompt impatiently.
"I'm. Um. The Devil. I'm kind of the Devil." He chuckles weakly though his hands. "Well, not kind of. I am the Devil."
I can't think of anything to say, so I don't say anything at all. I just get up and turn around and—
"Okay, come on, wait!" he cries again. "I'm—I'm not—I'm telling you the truth! I can prove it!"
I hesitate for a half-second, and then he's upon me, his palm hot against my arm.
"Listen. You want me to prove it? To show you? I can show you," he tells me, brushing a curl out of eyes, which are boring into mine.
"I…"
"Lara!"
It's Emmerick. He's waving. This is a monumental occasion for me—he's never really said my name before.
I wave awkwardly back. "Hello."
I guess that Sammy and I were loud enough to attract his attention, and thus his good-natured salutations. Whatever—he said my name. He smiles before turning back to the Girl, whose sitting beside him. And just like that, our exchange is over, but the excitement (and my enduring sense of awkwardness) remains.
"You want me to prove it?" Sammy's suddenly whispering in ear. "I can prove it right now."
I know he's crazy, but I can't bring myself to move away. "Okay," I say in a condescending, humoring kind of way, "Prove it."
I sneak a glance at him through my peripheral vision.
He's staring at the girl.
"So I can—I can induce emotion. Sort of. I can bring to mind bad things—I can bring your worst desires to the surface, enough to tempt you. I can't force anyone to do anything, but I can tempt them." He's talking quickly and quietly. "It's kind of like the Seven Deadly Sins; I can call them up, send them dancing beneath your skin." He's gesturing animatedly. "Right now I'm going to do Lust." Now we're both staring at Emmerick and the girl, me in bemusement and he in concentration. "Watch," he tells me. "Let's see if she'll give in to temptation… sometimes they don't. Girls don't with Lust, not as much as guys—"
The girl's suddenly running a hand up Emmerick's arm. He stops talking, his hands falling to his lap. She leans in and kisses him.
After a moment, he reciprocates.
"She took the bait." I take a step away and turn to stare at Sammy. He looks far too smug.
I glance back at Emmerick and the girl. They're entangled together.
"Yeah," I mutter finally. "I guess she did."
Sammy's arm is suddenly around me. "So… you wanna hear my proposition now?"
"No," I say shortly, and shrug his arm off.
"What?!" Sammy squeaks. "Why not?" He actually looks offended.
"You want me to make a deal with the devil? Do you even realize how sketch that sounds?" I say crossly, smarting at the sight of Emmerick and the girl in my peripheral vision and feeling faintly stupid for even having this conversation in the first place.
Sammy grimaces almost apologetically. "It's not that bad. Really. It doesn't mean you'll end up in eternal damnation or anything. It just means that I get to determine two things: when you'll die and where you'll go – Heaven or Hell. Basically God has to relinquish control of those two factors to me." He says it all very matter-of-factly.
"Where do you send most people?" I ask, curiosity momentarily overcoming good sense.
"Erm…Hell," he says sheepishly. "It's nothing personal. I just…I collect souls. It's kind of my hobby. But, you know," he looks defensive, "I have sent a couple up there. Back into God's territory and all."
"You have?" I say incredulously. "Why?"
Sammy crosses his arms defensively. "I don't know. They weren't bad people, really. Not to sound trite or anything, but you know the road to hell really is paved with good intentions."
"Huh," I say.
"Yeah." He rubs at his head again, fingers lost in thick loose curls. "So. The deal."
I stare at him, but say nothing.
He smirks and continues talking. "Basically, you want this guy—Emmerick. But you don't have him. I mean, you've tried in your own way. Tried talking to him, tried flirting with him. But you always say the wrong thing. The conversation's always short and stale. There are always all those other girls."
I wish he'd get to the point.
"So what I'm saying is… I'll give you Emmerick. Well, not give you exactly. Like, I'll help you get him—but it'll still be you. It'll be your thoughts, your ideas, your personality. I'll just be giving you a nudge. A hint or two. But the result will be his love, his adoration. He'll see only you. He'll be with you for as long as you like. Forever. All for the tiny little price of your soul."
He looks very self-satisfied. I feel dizzy. "And if you decide to kill me tomorrow? Then what? What's the point?"
Sammy shakes his head. "Oh no, I wouldn't do that. I rarely kill off any of my…er, clients. I'm more in it for the souls. Sometimes, if their death benefits another one of my transactions, I'll…" He seems to catch himself and coughs. "Well. It's not likely."
"I…" No. "I can't. I would be a fool to agree to this. Emmerick—he's just a boy. Nothing more." This is stupid, I remind myself. Horribly trivial.
"Just a boy?" Sammy repeats softly. "Then why are you so tempted?"
The sun's in his eyes, and they're glowing hazel. I can see his pupil, soot-black, ringed by reddish brown and finally outlined green. Green as sin; green as envy; green as want and desire and need. I notice that he's squinting against the afternoon sky. The light is slanting off his lashes, and I open my mouth to say—
The bell rings.
My mouth snaps shut.
The silence is pregnant. He looks so hopeful, so lovely, calling to me to give in. I want to give in.
"No," I mutter finally, and scurry off before I'm late.
TBC...
* - This line ("Who am I to argue with life's unoriginality?") isn't mine. It's from the magazine The Sun, in one of their essays.
** - Sammy comes from 'Samael' which is one of the Devil's many names, or at least the origin of one of them. According to Wikipedia, Samael is 'a figure who is an accuser, seducer, and destroyer.'
AN: AHH chapter one! I've been tweaking this baby for ages! I hope you all like - let me know! I haven't done original stuff much at all, let alone het, so feedback would be appreciated!