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I cringed as I got into my car and chucked the unopened brown envelope the high priest had given me onto the passenger seat. Then I sat behind the wheel unmoving for long seconds. My gaze cut to the side, up the hill to the big beige building resting on its brow. I worried my lower lip with my teeth. Was I total creep? Had I coerced her into it somehow? Had she been too scared to say no? She hadn’t seemed the slightest bit scared, and I’d meant what I said—I’d bring her back or help her find
somewhere else to live if she hated living with me, whether that was after a day or a year.
My gut clenched as I imagined having Beryl in my home for that long. I wasn’t sure whether to feel excited or terrified. What if I hated it? What if the idea of a roommate, of having someone else rattling around my big empty house, was better left as nothing more than a yearning dream. What if the reality was complete horseshit?
What if she… I don’t know, marked her territory by pissing in the corners of rooms? Did humans do that? I had no idea what they got up to at home. Or what if she went through all my stuff and found my embarrassingly vast collection of shit I’d ordered from late-night infomercials? Or, oh my god, my sex toys?
She could even just rob me and vanish into the night with all my expensive jewellery. I didn’t get that feeling from her, but what the fuck did I know about humans? It wasn’t like I’d been around many of them outside of shuffling past them in supermarkets or standing behind them in line at coffee shops.
Fuck me, what had I done? I started sweating again as I sat in the stifling heat of my car, frozen in place with my hands gripping the steering wheel. I’d just invited a total stranger to live with me. I’d gotten distracted by her unique backstory and her stupid green eyes and round, freckled cheeks and curly red hair. Her big, slightly feral grin and blunt white teeth that would probably feel really good biting down on my—
Stop! I screamed to myself, viciously twisting the key and turning on the engine. I was just overwhelmed. I didn’t interact with humans much, and I just… needed to decompress. I needed to get back to my dark, empty house, smoke a fat joint and gorge myself on whatever leftovers were in the fridge.
It would be my last night to do it alone, I realised with a little jolt in my stomach as I drove away from the park. As of tomorrow, Beryl would be in my house—my private space—for the indeterminate future.
Oh god, I was going to have to seem at least half normal. I wouldn’t be able to shuffle around in nothing but my blanket onesie, standing in front of the open fridge in the wee hours, shovelling whatever I could find into my mouth, my brain hazy and loose from shade.
I’d have to keep my TV turned down low so she didn’t overhear the embarrassing shows I watched. I’d have to keep the bickering to a minimum whenever my mother or siblings called. I’d have to be really, really quiet when I masturbated.
Did I snore? Agma had never mentioned it, but I hadn’t ever asked. She had complained about how much I fidgeted in my sleep, my foot constantly twitching and kicking her in the leg. Not that Beryl and I would be sleeping anywhere near each other. I’d put her in a bedroom as far away from mine as possible, for both of our privacy.
My leg bounced anxiously as I made my way back into the city. But as I drove, I tried to take it all in through new eyes—the eyes of someone who’d only ever had fleeting glimpses of a normal life, who’d been looking in from the outside.
Would Beryl like it? Would she like the tall, cramped buildings and busy streets and all the people? Would she struggle to adjust, or effortlessly slide into a new life like the slippery, conniving creature I suspected she was? She’d gone almost her whole life flying under the radar at the cult, convincing them all she was as hungry for demiurgus loving as they were.
God, what a bunch of weirdos. I almost wished I had some demiurgus friends I could talk to about it—to tell them how fucking creepy it was to stand in front of a group of people who looked at you like you were some kind of god.
Except… Beryl hadn’t looked at me like that. Beryl had sneered and made it very fucking clear that she did not see me as some kind of sensual higher being with a magic dick. In that unsettling compound, it had been like a balm. Which maybe explained why I’d blurted out what I had while flustered and wildly uncomfortable.
But even out here, back in the real world, I realised I’d… liked it. She hadn’t been condescending or rude. She’d just treated me like a person. A person she wasn’t going to take any shit from or bow down to.
My gut tightened again as I pictured her flushed, round face glaring up at me, daring me to declare her my new human plaything and warning me with a single look of the painful consequences.
My pulse quickened, insides twisting with… something.
Okay, yeah. Maybe I had some issues.
The first thing I did when I got home was struggle out of the stifling suit and change into my true form, stretching out my back with a relieved sigh. Then I trudged into the kitchen to pick at some leftover fried chicken, tearing the meat off with my teeth before crunching down on the bone and gristle as I wandered through the first floor of my house.
I stopped in the living room and stared at all the stuff everywhere. There were sculptures and busts that Agma had left behind, but I liked the look of them, so I’d kept them. Framed artwork filled almost every available inch of wall space. Books were scattered around instead of being neatly shelved in the big bookcase that dominated one wall. Candlesticks and stained-glass lanterns stood on every surface, most of them surrounded by puddles of hardened wax.
I shuffled over the threadbare rug to the cluttered coffee table, sheepishly moving a mug I hadn’t used in recent memory off the haphazardly stacked pile of sketches. Picking them up, I rifled through them, wincing when I noticed the bottom one was dated twelve years ago. Fuck. Was I a slob? Would Beryl hate it?
I looked around the room with a critical eye. There was a lot of stuff, but it was at least clean and dust-free. I had a cleaner who came once a week—a cheerful young human guy called Tim who always eagerly made conversation whenever he actually spotted me, which wasn’t often. I usually hid in the rafters of my workshop in the attic with my earphones in while he was here.
Putting the sketches back down—I’d deal with them later—I heaved a sigh and picked up the mug, then moved to the little table beside the couch to grab the plate I’d left there last night. Shoving aside the blankets draped messily over the couch, I found another plate, this one with a hairline crack, and a spoon stuffed down the side of a cushion.
A congealing bowl of half-eaten cereal sat on one of the bookcase’s high shelves. Why had I put that there? I grabbed it, and the empty soda can tucked behind a lantern on the sideboard, and the overflowing ashtray resting on the lip of my enclosed blanket nest in the corner of the room.
Wasn’t Tim supposed to clean all this up? Wasn’t that what I paid him for? Surely I hadn’t made this much mess in less than a week. By the time I walked back into the kitchen, I was juggling an embarrassing amount of dirty crockery. After dumping it in the sink, I groaned in despair and morosely tugged open the dishwasher to put it all in there. Then I half-heartedly wiped all the crumbs off the kitchen counters and spent about five seconds scrubbing at an indeterminate stain on one of the cabinets before giving up.
Maybe I could ask Tim to come twice a week now that another person was going to be living here. Or, I guessed, I could just try and clean up after myself a bit better. It wasn’t that I was a dirty person, I just forgot. And then the mess just kind of… blended into the rest of my stuff.
But it wasn’t fair to make Beryl live in my filth. At least the air always smelled good, thanks to my addiction to scented candles. Taking the stairs three at a time, I went up to the third floor—the last one before my workshop in the attic—and retrieved some clean sheets from the hallway closet before pushing open one of the bedroom doors.
I felt kind of bad for Tim having to clean all these rooms that never got any use, but I paid him well and he never seemed to mind. At least it meant the dark wood dresser and vanity in here were polished. The gilded copper mirror and windows were smudge-free. The wall-mounted TV and heavy deep-green drapes weren’t coated in dust, and the rug, while faded with age, had been vacuumed.
I had no idea what Beryl liked, but this was the biggest room aside from my own, it had an ensuite, and it was furthest from my own bedroom on the first floor. I liked being close to the ground
