Chapter Fifteen
At ten minutes before one, I leave my room to give Zarmenus some space.
It’s turned into a rainy day, and the sky is filled with thick gray storm clouds.
I put my headphone in and start listening to my playlist. Given the weather, it seems like most people have decided to stay inside.
I was going to go to the dining hall, but I’m not hungry yet, so I’m going straight to the library.
I walk past the coffee shop, and the sign out front has a hot chocolate drawn on it in chalk. Whoever the artist is, they’re incredibly talented—now the thing I want the most in the world is a hot chocolate.
Screw it.
I go into the coffee shop. The bell above the door rings as I go in. The shop is toasty and warm; a lot of the tables are filled with people talking to friends or working on their computers.
I go up to the counter and survey the baked goods on offer.
I probably shouldn’t buy anything, because it’s all expensive, but I’m honestly not feeling great, and drowning those feelings in chocolate is a tried-and-true method of fixing things in the Greene household.
We must’ve gone through a year’s worth of chocolate ice cream in the few weeks after Dad lost his job.
“What can I get for you?” asks the barista. He’s cute, with amazing hair and a sleeve of tattoos.
“Can I get a hot chocolate, and one of those cookies?”
He grabs the cookie and hands it over. “Hey, you’re Owen, right?”
“Yeah?”
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be creepy,” he says. He picks up a stack of magazines by my left, and I’m shocked to see I’m on the cover of a tabloid magazine, alongside Zarmenus. The headline reads: DEMON ON CAMPUS. Even though the focus is on Zarmenus, I’m clearly visible.
I’m on the cover of a magazine. It’s so wild.
“So, what’s it like?” he asks. “Sharing a room with a demon?”
“It’s great,” I say, mustering up as much enthusiasm as I can.
“Lucky you, my freshman roommate was the worst.” He hands over my cookie, and the hot chocolate his coworker has finished making. “Enjoy.”
I just stop myself from saying “you too,” then go over to the door.
Outside, it’s started to rain. I guess that means I’ll be staying in here for a while.
I go over to one of the tables by the window and take a sip of my hot chocolate.
At least the sign outside wasn’t misleading advertising, as it’s rich and sweet and just chocolatey enough.
I take out my phone and decide to load Tyrell’s TikTok.
I watch the newest posts in order. He’s kept his word, and hasn’t mentioned me once.
My phone buzzes.
I have a new follower request. It’s Zarmenus himself.
I didn’t know he used social media. In fact, he didn’t the last time I googled him, which was only a day or so ago.
I click on his profile, and it’s clearly new.
He only has three pictures. In the first, he’s flexing his arms in front of the Point University campus sign.
It was posted this morning, and it already has nearly half a million likes, as well as a ridiculous number of comments.
The next is a selfie of him sitting at his desk in our room.
Our bunk bed and Mr. Turts are visible in the background.
Last is a gym selfie, a clear thirst trap of him pulling a serious face while showing off his triceps, visible as he’s only wearing a tank top.
His follower count makes my eyes widen. It’s up to seven million. Already.
I’ve known this whole time he’s extremely famous, and the whole world is watching him.
And yet, I am shocked, I can’t help it. I check, and he made the account last night.
Seven million followers in less than a day.
It shouldn’t be that surprising considering how popular Tyrell’s account is, which is just the experiences of someone going to college with him.
But still. It hits me that he truly is one of the most famous people on Earth.
And I share a room with him.
I go to follow him back, but stop at the last minute.
Do I really want more Zarmenus in my life?
I have about enough as it is, and if his three posts in the last ten hours are indicative, he’s going to be posting a lot.
I could always pretend I didn’t see it, but that’s rude.
I accept the request, knowing I can always mute him if I have to.
I notice he’s only following six people: three massive celebrities, me, his frat brother Adam, and a satirical God account, which makes me smile.
I scroll through the comments on his first post while I drink my hot chocolate and eat the cookie.
The comments are a mixed bag. A lot of them are simple ones telling him how hot he is, most using either the fire or purple devil emoji.
On the flip side, there’s also a lot of hate, and a bunch of mentions of the Order of the Golden Sun, who are apparently plotting revenge for his “attack” on one of their members.
There’s a lot of support, too, with people often fighting with the commentors who are telling Zarmenus to go back to Hell.
Once I’m finished with my hot chocolate, I check the time. It’s only 1:27, so I need to distract myself for another half hour. I wonder what Zarmenus is up to. Oh great, now I’m picturing him making out with a random guy. Bleh.
Thankfully it’s stopped raining, so I go outside and make my way to the library.
It’s a towering building on the north side of campus. I go inside and marvel at it. They’ve decorated it so there are books attached to the ceiling, creating an incredible display.
It’s got the same sense of comfort I always feel whenever I go into a library.
Maybe it’s the warm smell of paper, or the general air of one of the few spaces on Earth that isn’t about extracting money from me.
It’s peaceful and nice. This building is also clearly new, everything gleaming and polished, and there are a lot of big empty spaces.
Glass cabinets house pieces of artwork by former students.
They, too, clearly have been inspired by Zarmenus and the discovery of Hell.
A lot of the art depicts both Heaven and Hell as the images we have all seen throughout pop culture.
Heaven is all billowy clouds and rays of golden sunshine, occupied by winged beings who always look serenely peaceful.
Hell is fire and brimstone, with maniacally grinning figures delighting in the suffering of human souls.
There have been a lot of theories about the reasons why Hell imagery has been so prolific in human society.
Some think travelers from Hell have visited earth before and spread stories.
Others believe some extremely rare humans can perceive other dimensions, and they passed on that information.
Still others think it has something to do with dreams, with some arguing that people are able to get glimpses into these other nearby dimensions while they are asleep.
I myself am not sure, and think it might be a combination of all those things.
If the dimension now called Hell does overlap with ours, then it makes sense that parts of that world have bled through.
My phone starts to ring. It’s Ashley.
I swipe to answer her call.
“Hey!” I say. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she says. “Just checking in, I want to know how things are going!”
“They’re okay,” I say. I think about venting to her about Zarmenus, but something stops me. I think it has to do with not wanting to voice how frustrated I am with him, in fear of making it real.
“Still hanging out with Tyrell?”
“Yeah, he’s cool.”
“And how are things with Zarmenus?”
“They’re really good,” I say. “No complaints.”
“You’re lying.”
Curse her and her ability to immediately tell when I’m telling the truth.
“Fine, they’re a little rough.” I start picking at my fingernail. “But it’s fine.”
“Rough how?”
I tell her everything, including the séance, the mess, the ghost in the bathroom, his loud video games, Bell nearly burning down the room, and his nightly hookups.
“That’s a lot,” she says.
“I know,” I say. “Trust me, I know. But I talked to him, and I think we smoothed things over about the hookups, at least. We came to an agreement. If he wants to use the room, then he can just ask me and I’ll let him use it.”
“Ah, okay.”
“What? Was that a bad idea?”
“No, not at all. It’s just, well, it’s your room, too.”
“I know.”
“You have a right to be annoyed. You know that, right?”
I look at the painting in front of me. It’s of a human figure screaming in agony surrounded by swirling orange and yellow flames. It’s certainly striking, and I can’t fault the art, but I also can’t think of anyone who would want to hang something like this in their house.
“I know. But enough about me, how are you?”
“Well, pregnancy isn’t exactly buckets of fun,” she says. “Shocking, I know. But I’m good. Jackson has been so nice. Like yesterday I was craving chicken nuggets, and he went to McDonald’s and got them for me even though it was three in the morning.”
“Aww, that’s sweet.”
“Yeah. To be honest I think all of this is changing him more than me. Like, I feel the same. But him, I don’t know. I’m not even sure you’d recognize him.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” I say.
“I know. It feels like it, though. It’s all real now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re there and I’m here.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s one of the things that feels like a fine line to walk, and one where a misstep could severely damage our relationship.
I know she isn’t the biggest fan of still living where she grew up while a lot of people from our grade, including me, are out in the world now.
But I also know that she is trying to be positive.
I don’t think her new life is bad or anything—in fact, she seems to be having a great time.
I just feel weird sometimes that I’m here and she’s not, and I don’t know how to address that.
“But anyway,” she says. “I think I’m going to have a nap. Talk later?”
“Okay, love you.”
“Love you, too.”
She hangs up. I give myself a second to miss her.
In that time, I envision what it would be like if she were at Point.
Maybe she’d come to the library with me, and I would complain about Zarmenus and she would tell me about her roommate, who I’m sure would be amazing and super fun to live with because things always seem to work out for her.
I really wish she was here.
The moment passes, and I force it all down, then go farther into the library to find somewhere to wait until I can go back to my room.