Devil Inside

let me hear your body talk

Jordan

Bodies twisting. That’s all I see. Men and women writhe about the floor, their limbs twining into themselves in fleshy knots.

Their skin glistens, basted in their own sweat, chests heaving, as each one of these people finds fresh directions for their

bones to bend.

The anxiety attack comes way too quick. I need to stop and let the dizzy spell sweep over. Otherwise, I’m going to collapse.

I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. Let the air settle into my lungs and—

Open my eyes again.

Just a gym. Just people exercising, that’s all. Exorcising. Their bodies are on the mats, testing their limits, finding the precipice of their pain and pushing just a little further.

Physical therapy, nothing else.

So this isn’t hell. Could’ve fooled me. Everyone here is dealing with some sort of injury, their bodies broken, now on the

mend. Men and women just like me. Normal people.

Shattered people.

Consider this a new leaf I’m hoping to turn. I woke up this morning and realized I . . . well, I had something to live for. First time I’ve felt motivated to make something out of myself. Keep this body intact long enough to live in it. Long enough, at least, to see Lilith again.

“Who will I see you in next?” I asked last night. Not when, who.

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

Wait and see. Skin is never a given with Lilith. She can show up in just about anybody. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it adds a dash of

spontaneity to our relationship.

Hold up. Pump the brakes. Did I really just throw the r-word out there? Already? Guess I did. Jesus, listen to me. Acting all giddy. A kid again. Sly little devil.

Lilith may be able to hop into whoever she wants, but unfortunately for me, I’m still stuck with just one body. Better start

taking care of it, or else she’ll run me into the ground.

So I’ve been skipping physio. That’s on me. I’ve been off and on—more off than on. I have to prove to my insurer that I actually

need PT for them to pay for it, which means showing up. Easier said than done. There are days when I don’t know if I’ll ever

fully heal again.

What’s left of me?

Two minutes. You want to talk about seeing a light? Hearing the voice of angels and all that? Darkness. That’s all I saw.

A palpable darkness, roiling over. A sea of bodies.

The long road to recovery has been endless. No turnoffs, no signposts. I don’t know when I’ll ever get off this path. If I

ever will. I don’t even know where I’m going anymore.

I just want to get back into my body. Sync up with myself. Realign with my spine. I want to root myself in these bones, strap

in this skin. Wrap myself up in muscle tissue that feels like my own and not someone else’s, so I can just feel . . . just

feel . . . like me again.

Where did I go?

Hell and back.

“There he is,” Gil says the second he sees me. “Mr. Mystery, back in action.”

“Good to see you, too . . .”

“I doubt it,” Gil laughs.

The clinic on Broad Street has been kind enough to open a tab for me. The therapists who work here are all saints. That includes

Gil.

“Been a hot minute,” he says. “I was wondering if you’d bailed.”

“Miss me that much?”

“Hardly.” Gil doesn’t talk much about himself. Most here don’t. What I’ve gotten out from him during our sessions is that

he was a combat medic, serving overseas on three different tours. His Humvee rolled over an IED, sending it spiraling through

the air, landing upside down. He survived. Barely. Had to drag himself thirty yards through the desert to avoid rifle fire.

Made his own tourniquet to stop the bleeding long enough for medevac to arrive hours later. Lost his left foot. Now he’s here,

working with soldiers and citizens alike, who need help recuperating. Reconnecting to the rest of the world.

Gil shows up. He makes the effort. The least I can do is match him. “Let’s see what we can do today,” he offers. “You been

doing your exercises like you promised?”

“Absolutely.”

He chuckles. Bullshit. “Nice try. I’m not gonna go easy on you today, you hear me?”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He gives me a once-over on the mat. It’s strange, being scrutinized like this. His hands are on me, lifting my arm. Squeezing

my bicep. “You got in a fight or something?”

“Chalk it up to a one-night stand with a Tasmanian devil.”

“Damn,” Gil says. “Hate to say it, but . . . I think the devil won.”

“Tell me about it.”

“This devil got a name?”

“I’ll ask next time.” There’s a part of me that wants to open up to Gil and spill, tell him all about it.

About her. What she does to me. Ever since Lilith slipped into my life, I’ve had these flare-ups, a brush fire in my muscles, singeing the sinew.

I feel like I’m burning without any flame.

A beacon, Lilith called me. A lighthouse. Maybe I am. For what, though?

What am I drawing in?

“Wanna tell me where you been?” Gil asks. “You ditching me for some new flame?”

“I didn’t think you’d take it so personally . . .”

“Just keeping an eye out on you.”

Gil sprawls me out on the mat for some stretching exercises. My body is a ball of rubber bands, just hundreds of muscles bound

together, all strapped into a single taut knot. There’s no unraveling it. I’m going to snap if I don’t relent on some of this

tension.

“Breathe much?” Gil asks.

“Been holding onto a lot lately.”

“Yeah, no shit . . . You’re all wadded up.”

“Is that your professional opinion?”

“Professional? Hell no. I’m just speaking from the heart, man . . . You want my professional opinion? Shit, I’d say your body is fucked ten different ways to Sunday.”

“Glad I asked.”

“Professionally speaking, that is.”

I laugh, only for it to hitch in my chest the second Gil stretches my hamstring. “Ow.”

“Crybaby. I barely touched you.”

“Says you . . .”

“Says me.” We start off simple, like always. I’m on my back for some straight leg raises. Gil kneels next to me while I lift

my leg six inches up from the mat and hold it there.

Gil counts down from ten, then I switch legs and start all over again.

“Not bad, not bad.” Gil’s not afraid to get in there, really grab hold of my body and find the tension points. He’ll find the very edge of his patient’s physical limits, walking right up to the line, and seeing if he can convince us to push ourselves a bit further. Go beyond.

“There you go,” he says. “Looking good . . .”

“You say that to all your patients.”

“Whoever this lady friend of yours is, she’s been giving you one hell of a workout . . .”

“She’s stepping on your turf,” I say, smirking.

“Damn. You got claw marks all over. Looks like you got in a knife fight with a jaguar.”

His chitchat is a distraction. I’m not supposed to notice he’s gently pressing my leg back, just to see how far it’ll flex

before I wince. “Don’t worry about me, doc.”

“Just give her my number, okay? Once she’s done chewing through you . . .”

“Yeah. Right.” I can’t help but laugh again, just a bit, as I strain through the stretches. I feel like a fleshy pretzel getting

torn apart by Gil. “I don’t even have her phone number . . .”

“This girl got a name, at least?”

I’m about to say it, her name right there at the tip of my tongue—Lilith—but for some reason, I think twice. Hold her back. “She’s not your type, trust me.”

“I’m every woman’s type,” Gil says, clucking his tongue.

“What a lady-killer.”

“I’ll throw you some pointers, if you’re interested . . . On the house.”

I hiss at a particular stretch. Now I’m feeling the sear in my muscles. The heat starts slight, an itch in the tissues, then

branches out and spreads.

“Let’s move on to the ankle alphabet.”

I’m supposed to imagine my big toe is a pencil and I’ve got to write out the alphabet—A through Z—all with my feet, rotating

the ankles on each foot.

Gil grips my knee. He pushes, just a bit, and I hiss again, wincing this time. Jesus, my body’s mangled. “You’re never going

to get your body back at the rate you’re going . . .”

“Thanks, doc,” I say, gritting my teeth. “Love the bedside manner.”

“Life is short, my friend. You survived. Not everybody does.”

“Should I have?”

“All this stress is doing your body no good,” he says. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack before you turn thirty from

all the weight you’re carrying around. Killing yourself. You need to let go, man . . . Or it’s really gonna drag you down.

To hell and back.”

My body locks. Pure reflex. “What was that?”

“What’s what?”

“You just said . . .”

“Look. You’re all tight! Here—stay on your back.”

Before I can protest, Gil takes my leg in both hands and leans in. He’s looking for the tension point, finding my muscles

won’t go much further, and gently applies pressure.

The pain is immediate. “Fuck.”

“That’s it.” Gil doesn’t pull back. He holds the line. “Count it down, then exhale.”

He makes me do this every goddamn time.

“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”

Everything burns.

“Seven . . . six . . . five . . .”

I’m covered in sweat.

“Four . . . three . . . two . . .”

I feel like my limbs are going to snap.

“One.”

Gil lets go. My leg drops to the mat. “There,” he says. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Fuck yoooooou, it wasn’t.”

“That’s the spirit.” He gives my knee a gentle pat. “Now . . . onto the other one.”

“You want to do that again? To hell with that.”

“You know you love it.” Gil lifts my right leg as high as it’ll stretch, which isn’t far at all. He leans into me, placing the back of my leg against his shoulder, then pressing forward, until I feel the tendons nearly rip. “How’s that? Feel it?”

“Fucking painful,” I say between gritted teeth.

“Good. Count it down for me.”

“I don’t know if I can.” There’s a heat in my muscles. It sears through the sinew, a single jet of flame climbing up my thigh.

Feels like Gil poured gasoline down my leg, then lit a match at my hip, the fire spreading so fast, greedy, chewing through

all the tissue.

“Come on, now,” Gil encourages me. “You got this.”

“I don’t think so . . . Not this time.”

“Sure you can. Just try.”

“You’re such a sadist.”

Gil presses in. He’s forcing me more today than normal, even by his standards. Something feels off. Not just my body, but

him. He’s pushing too hard.

“Think we can dial it down?” I ask. “Just a notch?”

“You backing down on me?”

“I can’t do it. I’m tapping out.”

“Not yet.”

“For real,” I insist, wincing as he continues to push. “I can’t. Not today.”

“Come on, man. You got this.”

“I’m serious, Gil.”

“Not taking no for an answer . . .”

“Gil. Please.”

“What’s the matter, Jordan? What’s a little more pain? Just a few more seconds?”

He’s staring at me, his chest barreling down. My leg is bent backward, slung up, my knee nearly reaching my own chest, while

Gil is on top of me, pressing my leg backward.

I feel like my hip is about to pop out of its socket. Snap back to my chest.

“Gil. Please. Stop.”

“Don’t back out on me now, Jordan. We’re just getting started . . .”

Something about the way Gil grins stops me. I take him in. The contours of his face.

His eyes. What’s behind his eyes? There’s something lingering within, isn’t there? I’m searching for something that I’m not quite sure is there, but still . . .

It’s not him. It can’t be. I have to ask: “Lilith?”

How can I trust the surface of things anymore? The skin? Something’s there, I know it. Hiding behind his eyes. Staring back

at me.

Gil hesitates, relents just a bit. The ease in my leg, even just a little, is such a relief.

There it is. This shift in his eyes. One second, it’s Gil. The next, he blinks and . . .

It’s not him anymore.

Not Gil at all. “Who’s Lilith, bro? That your new squeeeeze?” His lips curl up and it’s like he’s a completely different person. It’s still him, his skin, the face is all his, all Gil,

but underneath his face, that flesh, there’s someone—something—else writhing inside him.

“Who are you?”

Gil frowns. It’s a put-upon expression. He’s disappointed in me. Fucking with me.

“Why would you ever think there was just one?”

The room goes cold. For all the humidity in here, the heat manifested from all these bodies expending energy in such a tight

confined space, the temperature seems to drop.

Another. There’s another.

More than one.

Gil’s frown droops even further, lips dripping like melted wax, dribbling across his chin. The skin underneath his eyes sags,

then puckers, as if it’s about to blister.

“What’s the matter?” His features won’t sit still. His face begins to swirl, every last bit of it, his eyes, cheeks, lips, all eddying around the tip of his nose as it sinks and craters into his skull like a peach whirlpool, vortexing the fuck out of himself. “Did I push too hard?”

I try to pull free from Gil’s grip, but he only tightens his hands around me. He’s pinning me down against the mat so hard,

I can’t crawl out from under him. I can’t move.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I can’t escape. Can’t pull free.

“Such a squirmy little worm . . .”

I could say something. Shout. But that would just draw attention.

“Don’t fight,” Gil—

not him, something else

—says in a tone I’ve never heard from him before. He leans in, the full weight of his body pressing me against the mat. Crushing

me. His face is only inches away from mine. He tilts his head to take me in. A slender tendril of drool escapes his lips.

It extends, then snaps, the drip landing on my cheek. Is anyone seeing this? Why isn’t anyone helping me?

“Why did you have to say goodbye so soon, Jordan? We miss you . . .”

“Let go . . . of me.”

“Why should we?” he asks, his lips at our ear. To everyone else in the room, it’s just another stretching exercise. The pain.

The pressure. The sweat. Nothing out of the normal.

“We’re just getting started,” he says. “I want to taste you from the inside out—”

I bring my knee up into Gil’s groin. His grin only grows wider.

“Now, now . . . Play nice.”

More than one. There’s always been more than one.

“Why does Lilith get to have all the fun?” His breath spreads deep into my ear, over the lobe, as he whispers, “Why not share?

There’s plenty to go around.”

He laps the sweat off my cheek with the quickest lick.

“All you gotta do is open up and . . . let us in.”

And just like that . . .

Gil lets go, blinking back to the gym. He sits upright, releasing me. I quickly pull back, reeling my limbs in and crab walking

over the mat to put some distance between us.

“What’s up?” Gil seems genuinely perplexed. He takes in the rest of the gym, shaking the dizzy spell off. “Sorry, I blanked

out there. What’d you say?”

I glance around the room. At all the other people in the midst of their own private sessions. There have to be about twelve

people surrounding me, all told. Patients. Trainers. Each and every one of them is in the middle of their own workout, bending,

flexing.

There. That woman. Middle-aged. A webbing of varicose veins laces her legs, the purple network of arteries crawling across

her skin. She’s on her back, sprawled out on the mat, her head tilted toward me. Smiling. Something skulks within her eyes

as she winks.

Jesus, why did I think there would just be one?

It was never only Lilith. They can be anyone, everyone, anywhere, everyone.

Yeah, but . . . how many?

Legion.