With a Vengeance

by Freydís Moon

How could someone rested understand their sleeplessness? How could someone satiated commiserate with their hunger?

“From what I’ve seen—and I’ve seen a lot—people who’re ready to die don’t typically free themselves.” “Yeah, and what if life’s the trap?” “God, who are you, My Chemical Romance? Christ, Kye, that’s dramatic.”

“I’m divine intervention,” he said, and disappeared.

“You prayed for deliverance. Begged God to send a message. Please, Lord, hear me.”

“How long do you plan on keepin’ this up, huh? Because we talked about it already. If I remember correctly—and I do—you tried to off yourself, I bit you, you cried, it was sexy—”

“I’m being realistic,” they countered. “Bullshit. You’re being, like, rich-white-woman-throwin’-a-tantrum-at-Bloomingdales dramatic.” “Don’t call me a woman.”

All that bullshit you’re carrying?” He leaned closer, inhaling inches from their chin. “All that rage? It tastes like Mary Magdalene’s fresh fuckin’ pussy—”

“Fuck you.” Kye’s entire body burned. “You’re obviously trying to.” He purred like a fire pyre, burning and snapping. “Now open your fucking mouth.”

But he was a fire burning in their twelve-month night. A terrible, wonderful thing. Kye Lovato hated him, and they loved him. Hated needing him, hated wanting him. Loved having him, loved being wanted by him.

“You need something? Ask me for it. I’ll give you what you want.”

Nostalgia was a fickle thing. Bitey and stubborn one minute, tempered and mournful in the next.

“Let me break you,” he whispered. “You’ll come back together better than you are now.”

“If you ever call me boss babe again, I’ll exorcise your fuckboy ass right out of—”

“So, I’ve got a lawyer now? That’s a thing? You. Like, you, Eligos, big shot in Hell, demon playboy—whatever.” They propped their hands on their hips. “You’re my fuckin’ lawyer?” Eli beamed.

“You asked what it’s like to fall from grace, but you already know the feeling. My father abandoned me—our father. But I could’ve stayed, could’ve been obedient. I chose to fall; you chose to leave. You asked me how that works, and it’s really fuckin’ simple. I saw the fault in something infallible—a lot of us did—and I thought I’d be better suited with the sinners. That’s all.”

“I could smell your heartbreak from a mile away, mi reina. Your suffering, your anger. It’s hard to explain, but you…” He laughed and inhaled the last of his stubby cigarette. “You were loud. Potent.”

“Then I found you, and you were a damn storm. All wreckage and rage.”

Depression was mean like that. It was the ultimate equalizer—a deadly separation device.

He’s rogue. Probably tryin’ to get back in the spotlight with whoever he reports to. If I had to guess, I’d say he probably won’t come back. But he’s white, so.” He shrugged. “So…?” “So, he’s not used to losing.”

“We’re magical fuckbuddies,” they snapped. Laughter barked from him. “Is that right?” “What the hell would you call it?” He crossed the room in a puff of smoke and placed his lips close to their ear. “The start of a really sexy cult.”

But accepting praise, or unearned pleasure, or gentleness made them uneasy. How could someone possibly mean it? That was always the question. For as long as Kye could remember, they’d never believed in their own desirability. Kye, who was cruel and soft and mangled. Kye, who was more man than woman, and somehow, neither.

They had never been devout, but when Eli took their chin between his fingers and forced their gaze, they knew religion.

They shot him a mean glare. “I’m nice.” “Super nice. Literally, the nicest person I’ve ever met.” “Fuck off, Eli.” “See? Peachy.”

“I didn’t need a Satanic coupon, Eli.”

“Should’ve known you’d be possessive.” “I’m literally possessing you. What’d you expect? Dinner and a show?” “Dinner would be nice.”

“How to make Kye sprout exactly one moral: soak them in hot water; bath bomb not required.”

Annoyance still needled them but picking a fight with Eli would lead to one of two places: being emotionally destroyed, or likely, bent over the kitchen table. Kye was too hungry to entertain either option.

Finally, Eli cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m not your father, but you can call me daddy,” he said under his breath, testing playfulness.

“Because he hurt something that belongs to me, and he deserved to pay for the damages with his worthless fucking life. I don’t know how to break it to you, but you’re owned, you get that? And our deal doesn’t come with boundaries, Kye. I do as I please.”

“No one touches you,” he snapped viciously. “And the only one who hurts you is me. I’m in charge of your pain. Understood?”

“You’re a monster,” they spat. “I’m your mons...

“Mi alma,” he seethed impatiently, speaking against their cheek. “You’re my temple.”

“Do you ever fuck like it’s not your job?”

“Is this how it’ll always be? Us fighting, you resisting, caving, coming, then relaxing? Or can we be normal?”

“You might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” they mumbled. Eli pressed his lips to their temple. “Can’t lie to me, sweetheart.” “I might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you,” they corrected. He laughed in his throat. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Eli narrowed his eyes and huffed out a laugh. “Pet,” he tested, tongue clicking. “Mi alma, you’re no one’s pet. But I always knew you’d be my conduit for greatness. My pride; my sustenance.”

Loving them had made him soft. Fuckin’ gross, he thought and tried not to laugh at himself.

Eligos had existed before Eden. He’d seen a billion different versions of beauty. And Kye Lovato was fucking gorgeous.

“I’m making cookies,” he said. “No, you’re not.” “They’re in the oven.” “Fuck off.”

Sometimes, most of the time, Eli thought Kye was an answer to his prayers. It was a dangerous secret. Embarrassing and juvenile. If they ever found out, he’d never hear the end of it.

Kye opened the pizza box and grabbed a slice. “Pineapple? Seriously?” Eli groaned. “Go to jail.”

Does your dick vibrate? Have you been holding out?

Watching them live after wanting to die was a thing he cherished. A thing he was careful not to fuck up.

“You’re adorable,” he said. They forced a mean smile. “I’ll cut your fucking throat.” “Adorable.”

“Te amo, mi reina,” as if he’d done so a thousand times, as if it hadn’t caused his chest to tighten, as if they’d said I love you like normal people, living normal lives, on an everyday basis.

“Is it, like, a fuckin’ Disney movie in there, Eli? Did you light candles and shit?” Eli grinned, shaking his head. “Yeah, I lit candles and shit, Kye.”