Page 85 of Devil Inside

“No,” the woman behind us whispers. “It’s just nice to hear you say it.”

“No pressure on our second date, though...”

“Oh—do you think we’re going on a second date?” the woman two steps ahead of us asks. “Pretty presumptuous of you, don’t you think? You haven’t even asked...”

“Would you? Round two?”

“We’ll think about it.” Who says it remains unclear. I hear the voice, but they’re gone.

“So what you’re saying is I need to work for it.”

Nobody answers me.

“Are you playing hard to get?”

I’m talking to myself. I stop and take in the crowd. The flow of people continues to ebb by, while I’m standing in place. No one else is with me.

“...Lilith?”

Where did she go?

We lose sight of Jordan. We have lost ourselves.

There.

A ceramic pot from Mesopotamia located in the ancient artifacts wing. The pottery has cracked. Fissures branch over its surface, threatening to shatter.

It is us. Me. An image etched across the ceramic vessel’s surface. My very own likeness, tendrilled, radiating like a black sun. An urn sealed behind glass.

I have never seen myself painted before. Just look at me.Look.

“What is it?” Jordan asks, stepping up behind us, surprising us. He found us without needing to seek me out, playing our little game of hide-and-seek.

“Me,” I say, my voice elsewhere. So faint. But mine.

“You’re stunning,” he says.

“Touch it.”

“Sorry?”

“The vase. Touch it. See what it feels like.” The sense of centuries, the dust of time, crumbling under his fingers.

Jordan scoffs. “There are rules against that sort of thing...”

“Are you afraid?”

Jordan must sense the dare. “That’d get me kicked out... Maybe even arrested.”

“Have you ever just wanted to do something really, reallybad, Jordan? Something naughty?”

“All the time.”

“What’s stopping you?” We draw near and whisper, “There’s nothing, no line you can’t cross, no rule you can’t snap in half, no voice telling you no. There’s no angel on your shoulder, Jordan. This is just you and me. Nothing else matters. Nothing at all.”

He takes this in, then glances back at the vase. I watch as his hand slowly rises from his side, mere inches away from the vase.There is a glass barrier surrounding the edge of the pedestal, but there’s enough space to reach in and touch the ceramic artifact.

Jordan’s light seethes the second he does it. Burns so bright, I can’t help but wince once the vase crumbles under his touch, a fresh fracture for all to see.