Page 56 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

It’s been nearly a year. I should be better by now. I should—

Luke’s warm palm against my skin shocks my thoughts still. He rubs soothing circles on my bare lower back, exposed from my shirt riding up. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he says, voice low and calming. “Let yourself be afraid. Fear keeps you human, remember? It’s a good thing.”

I nod against my arms, willing my racing heart to slow. I focus on the radius of the circles, the roughness of his palm, the steadiness of his own breaths. It’s almost like he’s over-accentuating them to encourage me to match mine to his.

It works. I finally get my breathing under control enough to lift my head. His hand falls from my back and an unwelcome chill fills its place.

We stare at each other over the center console. His eyes are bright in the dark, but not unkind.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, voice hoarse.

“Don’t be.” He pushes my hair out of my face and behind my ear so there’s no way to miss the sincerity in his gaze. His fingers graze my cheek. I lean into his touch against my own volition. But then it’s gone, like it was never there at all. He exits the car and opens my door: an invitation. “Let’s eat.”

• • •

The dimness inside of the tavern is so similar to every other one I’ve ever been in that comfort washes over me. At the chipped wooden bar, a few people sip tall glasses of dark liquid, as regular bar patrons would. Even the menu isn’t that bizarre, save the fact that it largely caters to carnivores with mostly meat entrees. The place isn’t a vegan’s paradise, that’s for sure.

“One ribeye, rare, and one burger, medium,” the waitress says, setting my burger in front of me. Her auburn hair is in a messy knot on the top of her head with tendrils cascading down to frame her face. Dark red lipstick stands out against her pale skin and her amber eyes are rimmed in smudged black liner. “You sure you want that medium, sweetheart? Cook says it’s barely bleeding.”

“Looks great to me,” I say.

She shrugs, as if to say, to each their own, and saunters off.

I take a bite of the burger and literally moan at how delicious it is, washing it down with a handful of fries. Luke’s amused gaze latches on to me as he cuts into his steak.

“This is really good,” I say around a mouthful. “So— Wait, this tastes good. I’m hungry again!”

I look down at my plate, half my fries already gone.

“You felt fear over driving in the dark, and it connected you to your humanity,” Luke explains. “Fear is a hungry emotion itself, feeding off you. Why do you think so many hell beings down here feast on it? It’s very satiating.”

“So being afraid keeps me hungry?” I take another chomp.

“True fear. Deep fear. Not just momentary fear, like running away from the Night Market. Fear that festers is best.”

“What’s your festering fear?”

The question shoots out of me. As if it really was a bullet, Luke flinches. When his eyes finally meet mine again, I’m taken aback by the weariness in them. Krystal and I could never guess his age because he seemed older than his body. Now knowing how he grew up—where he grew up—it all makes sense. But something else is there that I’ve never seen before. A maelstrom of emotion he keeps carefully guarded, but feels close enough to touch if only I could reach inside him and pull them out, one by one.

The door to the tavern flies open, slamming against the wall. The bartender—a man with long dreads in a half-up, half-down style—scolds the offender to be more careful. A chill cuts the room, dropping the temperature as the newcomer strides in. Luke tenses, our brief connection broken.

“Shit, sorry, boss,” the bartender apologizes. His hands start making a drink though his eyes never leave the face of the approaching stranger. “The usual?”

“Please.”

The voice is feminine with a husky, seductive edge. Her entire body is swallowed by a giant black fur coat and her face is hidden by a matching cowboy hat tugged low. Since night fell, the temperature has dipped to the point where I shrugged my denim jacket on before coming in, but the fur still seems excessive.

“Check, please,” Luke says to our waitress. She slaps down a bill and before he even reads it, Luke scatters a handful of soul jars on top of it. Looking at me, he says, “Let’s see if the room’s ready.”

I still have a fistful of fries on my plate, but he’s already out of the booth. Since being ladylike isn’t one of my strong suits, I shove the remaining fries into my mouth and follow him.

We’re nearly out the door when the woman’s voice slides over the room, hushing every other. “Now, Luke, don’t tell me you’re running away from me. Care to chat with an old friend?”

Luke’s eyes flutter shut as if he longs for the ground to open up and devour him. It doesn’t, though given hell’s bizarre track record, I’m not sure how much that would surprise me.

“Get the room,” he tells me, passing our bags over. “I’ll meet you there.”

I glance past him at the woman leaning against the bar, hat now off and on the wood. She’s breathtaking, with tumbling black waves, high cheekbones, and light brown skin. Her lips quirk in a smirk, catching my gaze. She waggles long ring-studded fingers in a wave.