Chapter Twenty-Nine
I’ve decided I’m not going to be nervous about this date.
It’s totally fake, after all. It’s literally for show, so no feelings need to be involved. If anything, they make everything harder. Way harder, really. The correct move is to treat this like it’s a regular roommate hangout. It will be fun and easy and I won’t overthink everything.
The only issue is Zarmenus isn’t here yet.
He had a class before the time I booked in at the bowling alley, so he said he would meet me here.
And he’s now ten minutes late. Leaving me loitering in the bowling alley’s entrance area, holding a bouquet of flowers.
I check my phone, and nothing. I look across the lobby and catch the guy working the desk watching me.
Oof. I’m sure he’s seen his fair share of horrific dates.
I wonder if they ever get bored of seeing them, or if they all gossip about what’s going on in the break room or a group chat.
Will they talk about the poor guy who got stood up as soon as I leave?
I breathe in, then exhale. He’s not that late yet. And even though he’s been better lately, he is still Zarmenus.
This bowling alley has leaned into Y2K nostalgia, with color combinations ripped from the nineties. There’s a big screen in the middle of the lanes playing throwback music videos: as I’ve waited I’ve seen Gwen Stefani, the Black Eyed Peas, and Nelly Furtado.
I’m still wearing Zarmenus’s hoodie, and it smells like him. Plus, even though it’s been a while since he gave it to me, it still feels supernaturally toasty. It shouldn’t be possible, but normal rules don’t apply to my roommate.
As I was hoping, this bowling alley is almost full, with only a few free lanes, and most of the people here look around our age.
There is one solitary man in a bowling shirt near the far end who I’d guess is in his sixties, but I think it’s a safe bet that everyone else is a Point student.
Or maybe he is, too. Maybe he’s decided to get a degree or get educated in a different field. If that’s the case, good for him.
I hear the double doors of the alley open, and I spin around, annoyingly hopeful that Zarmenus is here and I’m not being stood up for a fake date.
But it’s a pair of girls. By the way they are standing close to each other, I assume they’re on a date, and not only that: they’re a couple.
To be honest, I think having a relationship like that is the dream.
To be together and not have to worry about impressions or if they like you back.
I would love to not have to ask those questions all the time, because I’d know the answers.
How long does it take to build something like that, though?
Maybe I should just go. Ten minutes is enough time to wait.
First I need to get rid of these flowers.
Flowers? What was I thinking? I leave the entrance area and start looking around for a trash can.
There are none on the left side of the alley, so I go over to check the right, but stop in my tracks.
Zarmenus is here, finally. He’s standing by the doors.
“Hey,” he says. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I say. I offer him the flowers. “I thought you might like these, but you don’t have to keep them if you don’t want to.”
“Are you kidding?” he says as he brings them to his nose. “The flowers in Hell normally try and eat your face. I definitely prefer the Earth ones. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “The Lyft driver turned out to be a witch who wanted to steal my blood, it was a whole thing. Ready to bowl?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, you know me, I can handle witches. My treat, by the way. Only the best for my boyfriend.”
He practically shouts the word “boyfriend,” projecting his voice so anyone around can hear, and my smile falters.
I can’t forget that this isn’t real. I can still enjoy it and it can still be fun, but it’ll be too easy to be swept up in all this to the point that I start to think of us as actually dating. Which we’re unequivocally not.
He dashes past me to get to the register. I can tell the people working there are taking note of him. One girl lifts her phone and snaps a picture.
“Two rounds, please,” says Zarmenus. “Oh, and shoes for both of us.”
“Oh hey, you’re the demon, right?” The worker offers Zarmenus a fist bump, which Zarmenus obliges.
“Obviously he’s the demon,” says the other worker. “How many people do you know called Zarmenus?”
“Good point. You two on a date?”
“We are,” says Zarmenus, who slings his arm over my shoulder. “Speaking of, can I get two Cokes and a thing of cheese fries? And I’ll take any discounts you’ll give me, I have no shame.”
He pays, after getting a 20 percent staff discount applied, tapping his bank card against the card reader. We each get a pair of shoes, then walk over to the bench in front of our lane.
“We should get a picture,” he says. He takes his phone from his pocket, and moves in close.
He throws his arm over his shoulder, and pulls me to him.
His warmth is nearly overwhelming, and I hate how much I like being here, this close.
I give my best smile as he snaps the picture.
He takes a few more, then checks the results, turning his phone screen so I can check.
I love the pictures. I think I look cute, and so does he. The purple lights from the arcade are quite effective lighting, as well as aesthetically pleasing.
Alarm pulses through me at the thought of Zarmenus posting it. He has millions of followers. I’ve read his comments a few times and they always seem like a war between those in favor of him and those opposed. If I’m included I could easily get caught in the crossfire.
I do trust him, though. He won’t post without asking me.
I finish lacing up my shoes, and I stand to test them out.
Then I go and search for the perfect bowling ball.
By the time I’ve found it, Zarmenus is sitting at our bench, munching on some cheese fries.
He’s already entered our details into the machine, picking my nickname as GREENE! !!!!!! For his own, he just writes Zar.
“By the way,” I say, “do you prefer Zarmenus or Zar?”
“I don’t really mind. What about you? Any nicknames?”
“None I’m willing to share.”
He laughs. “You’ll crack eventually. You’re up first, by the way.”
I bowl, and watch with baited breath as the ball rolls down the lane.
It seems to be going perfectly straight, only curving an inch or so at the end.
Still, I knock over nine pins. When my ball returns, I make swift work of the final pin.
A spare on the first round is shockingly good for me.
Not that I’m going to let Zarmenus know that.
“You didn’t tell me you’re good at this,” he says.
“I did say I love bowling,” I say. “My parents and I go pretty much every school break.”
It’s now his turn to bowl. He knocks over seven pins, then gets a gutter ball. It’s my turn, and I score a nine. I quickly develop a sizable lead, and I’m sure it’s taking a lot of self-control for him to not use his abilities to win. I appreciate it.
He comes back after another gutter ball, and slumps down. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah?”
He scoots closer. He pauses, like he’s changing his mind. It makes me so curious to know what he’s thinking about.
“You can ask me anything you’d like,” I say. “Although I’m not giving you my soul, just FYI.”
He smiles, then it fades. “Something bad happened to you last year, didn’t it?”
I flinch. He picked up on that? And he’s choosing now to ask me about it?
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says. “But if you do, I’m here.”
It’s such an abrupt shift that I feel whiplash.
The thing that happened last year was so horrible, and I think about it so often that it feels deeply entwined with who I am.
It changed the very way I think about the world.
I never used to always expect the worst. I used to be able to expect things to work out.
“Seriously,” he says. “Forget I mentioned it.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say. “I’ll tell you. What happened is, my parents, um, for pretty much the whole time that I can remember, their dream was to open a coffee shop.
They talked about it all the time, and whenever they were struggling at work they’d always be like, one day, you know, we’ll actually do it and not have to deal with our shitty bosses or all the other nonsense anymore. ”
Zarmenus is quiet, just listening. A voice in my mind yells at me to stop, to hold back from revealing this because it’s too much.
Almost nobody knows about this, other than Ashley and Jackson and I guess a few kids at school who saw the carnage.
But now that the door is open, I want Zarmenus to know.
I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to truly know me without knowing what happened.
“Anyway, like, two years ago, they finally decided to do it. They put everything they had into all the start-up costs. They did everything they ever wanted, made the coffee shop of their dreams. Mom put some of her art up, and Dad bought the best coffee machine money could buy. And it was the best coffee shop our town has ever had. And I’m not biased in saying that—we got that comment all the time. ”
“Then something happened?”
“It wasn’t really one thing,” I say. “It was more a lot of little things. Running a business is expensive, and the rent went up every six months. Things broke all the time, and we got some negative reviews from some randoms because their iced coffee had too much ice in it. After the third rent increase Dad told me they needed to turn things around; otherwise they’d have to close. We didn’t make it to the fourth.”
“That’s so rough,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
“The worst part is Mom and Dad were heartbroken. Like, it changed them. Dad had to go back to his stupid boss and Mom couldn’t get a job anywhere for ages.
And the thing I always think about is they didn’t do anything wrong.
People love the whole ‘follow your dreams’ narrative but what happens when you do that and it doesn’t work out?
Sorry, this is a really depressing conversation for a date. ”
“No,” he says. “I’m glad you told me. And I’m so sorry that happened. It must’ve been really tough.”
“It was. It still is, honestly. But enough about me. How’d your parents mess you up?”
“Countless ways,” he says. “My parents are popular back in Hell. Like, the most popular rulers in centuries. And they expect me to exceed them in every way, which is tricky to do when they’re basically perfect.”
Someone clears their throat.
The older man I noticed before has made his way up to us, and is now standing just outside our booth. His cheeks are a shade of pink, and I don’t think it’s because he’s nervous. If anything, he looks enraged. Something tells me it’s not because he overheard our conversation.
“You’re the demon, aren’t you?” he asks.
He is shaking and a throbbing vein is visible on his neck. Something catches my eye. He’s wearing a necklace with a sun pendant.
Oh crap.
He’s not armed like the last order member we encountered, but he’s both taller and larger than I am. While he might not be able to hurt Zarmenus, he could still hurt me, and given how furious he is, him lashing out seems possible.
Zarmenus stands and steps between us.
“You don’t belong here,” says the man. He lifts a finger and jabs it into Zarmenus’s chest so hard I wince. “You should leave.”
I’m pretty sure his parents’ mission for him is the only thing keeping Zarmenus from kicking this guy’s ass so hard he never recovers. There are visible heat lines radiating off him, and I can feel the dry heat on my face even from here.
“Fine,” says Zarmenus. “We’ll go.”
Actually, no.
Screw that. And screw this guy.
“Why don’t you leave,” I say, getting to my feet and stepping between the two.
I don’t know where this bravery is coming from, but I think it’s because of how downcast Zarmenus looks.
When I was bullied in elementary school, I remember wishing that someone, anyone, would say something to stop it.
A lot of the time people never did, fearing that it would make them a target instead.
I don’t want Zarmenus to feel how I did for even a second.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“I’m his boyfriend,” I say. “I bet you’ve got an issue with that, too?”
“Impossible. He’s a demon. He’s evil.”
Zarmenus might’ve been a bad roommate, but he’s not a bad person. He’s not evil.
“He’s not the evil one here,” I say. “Trust me, I live with him. If he were evil, I’d know. So why don’t you just go back to your sad life and leave us alone?”
A guy in the lane across from us is filming us.
“Yeah!” calls one of the staff members. I turn around and see that the entire alley has stopped to watch.
“He’s right,” calls a man in his forties who recently arrived with his family. “He’s welcome here.”
“Don’t you see,” says the man, his voice rising to something close to a shout. “He’s an omen! These are the end times! You need to wake up!”
I try to sympathize. I can tell he really believes what he’s saying, and it’s rooted in both fear and concern for us. It doesn’t stop him from being wrong. Zarmenus may be a demon, but he’s not biblical. There’s a difference.
The two staff members approach us, their faces solemn. The waves of heat radiating off Zarmenus have faded to the point that they’re barely noticeable, and he keeps clenching and unclenching his left fist.
I don’t know what’s different this time. While he brushed off the attack by the crossbow-wielding demon hunter with a smile, now his gaze is fixed onto the ground and his jaw is clenched so tight I can see a muscle twitching.
“We’ll give you one chance,” says one of the staff members, putting on an authoritative voice. “Go back to your lane, or you can leave.”
Wait, he’s not talking to Zarmenus. He’s talking to the guy who interrupted us.
“I’ve been coming here for years,” he says. “I’m one of your most loyal customers. Are you really going to pick that thing over me?”
“Only if you make us,” says the worker. “You’re welcome to go back to your lane. We welcome all here.”
The man huffs, and spins around. He crosses the alley to collect his things.
As he goes to leave, a few people start a slow clap.
After he leaves, the alley mostly goes back to normal.
I get a sense that a lot of people are still curious about what just occurred, but they’re trying their hardest to give us space and to pretend that nothing happened.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” says Zarmenus, his voice quiet. He sounds hollow, distant. “It’s your turn.”