Devils' Day Party

by C.M. Stunich

even though it's too wet to be sure, I'm almost positive that I'm crying.

Goodnight, little devil, I tell myself as I start to drift further from consciousness. And good luck in the next life.

I failed them, I think, knowing that I'm going to have to try again at some point, not realizing how much I didn't just want to live, but how much I wanted to live this life, right here and now. I don’t think I’ll be able to do it, even though I know I should. I’m both heartbroken and elated at the same time.

“Everything will be different tomorrow, I promise.” He holds me close, and I sob harder, hearing the tears in his own words, and wondering why I can’t just have this, why I can’t live to see tomorrow.

Seeing the boys be so tender with me, so caring … it’s going to fucking break me.

“Oh well,” Calix says casually, taking another sip of the beer and then reaching up to pull the crown of thorns from his head. “There are worse things than having the world see you fuck the girl you love.”

Raz has flaws. Barron has flaws. Fuck, Calix definitely has flaws.

All three of them are dick-bags, but damn it if I don't like it. They're never going to be nice per se, but maybe they can be nice to me, and I can make an effort to not kick them in the balls and we'll live happily ever after.

“That's one of the … cutest things I've ever had anyone say to me,” I murmur, completely and utterly shocked. “Où est passée ta langue de pute tête de gland?” In essence, have you forgotten how to have an acidic tongue, dickhead?

“I want to make art, and art appreciates experience. I'll go wherever the fuck you go, Karma; you are an experience.”

Either way, it doesn't matter. Because he does. And so does Raz. So does Barron. I know because they told me. I know because they showed me.

Each moment we have here on this earth is worth being thankful for because it's more than we're owed.

Just … life. Unscripted. Raw. Real. Mine.