In League With The Devil

I see him from across the room. He won’t look at me. He won’t even talk to me. And I know why – he thinks that if he doesn’t talk to me, then he can pretend like none of it happened. I might disappear if he manages to look away from me for the next three hours.

I sit here and grin. I’m not going anywhere. He thinks that just because he doesn’t want to be in league with the devil that I am just going to go away. But that’s not how the devil works. I will always have the piece of his soul in my back pocket, and he will always feel me, fondling it affectionately as he pretends like there isn’t a piece of him that he sold to me. For a cheap price, too.

I watch him, as he pretends to be good. As he pretends that he never did all those things that I watched him do, as I stood over him in the dark, telling him, “You will always be bad, and there is no getting rid of me, so you might as well enjoy it.” He enjoyed it. I watched him smile, with knife in hand, as I sat on the sidelines and made sure he knew that I know exactly who he is: in league with the devil.

He is trying to run away from me, but there is no running to be done. I am standing outside, smoking a cigarette, as he kneels inside, supplicating, begging forgiveness. He can’t stay in there forever. And as soon as he leaves, he will see me, holding a piece of his soul and wondering what I’m going to make him do next.

There’s no getting rid of me. Once you’re in league with the devil, you’re here forever. And I am going to have my fun with it.

He needs me, because without me he is incomplete.