Page 19 of Angels Fall

And stay away. Forever.

But no one stuck in purgatory receives peace as a punishment. So the knock on my door and the soft “Maddie?” that comes with it isn’t a huge surprise.

I don’t answer. I refuse to engage with the devil.

Which makes me huff an ironic breath into my pillow, because I’ve been engaging with the devil for a while now.

“Mads,” he says, the word muffled, like he’s pressing his face to my door. “Please? Let me in?”

I say no in my head.

He twists the handle and the door opens.

“Oh, it was unlocked. Look at that. Hi,” he says as he enters my space.

Normally, this would be my cue to rage at him. To set him straight. To scream and demand he leave. But that’s what he wants. And I’ll be damned if Tyler Morgan gets one more thing he wants, just because he thinks he deserves it.

Footsteps as he enters. Soft click as the door closes behind him.

“Um… what’s up?” he says.

I shake my head. Face still buried. New tears in my eyes as my cheeks press into the wetness of the ones not yet dry.

After a few seconds he says, “Wow. Uh, can we talk about your room for a second?”

“What?” I snap, turning my head so I can open one eye and get a peek at what he’s doing.

“It’s a mess. Do you need a good housekeeper? Because mine’s gonna need a new place to clean while—”

“Get. The fuck. Out.”

He lists back and forth like he’s unsure which leg he should stand on. Which he should be. Because he doesn’t have one. Finally, “Why do you have this?” he asks, picking up the controller for my drone.

“Don’t touch that,” I say. “It’s fucking expensive.”

“Yeah, no shit it’s expensive,” he says. “This is the Raven 900XZ. Military grade. Why the hell do you have a military-grade drone in your bedroom?”

I jump up off the bed, trip over that goddamned stripper shoe—again!—and stumble towards him to rip the controller from his hands. “It’s my real-estate drone, asshole. To make property videos. Go away.”

“What’s this?” he asks. Now he’s bending down to pick through a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. And I see that he has found—

“Give me that!” I snatch it from him before he can get a good look and hide it behind my back.

“What is that? Is that a loom?” He laughs a little. Which pisses me off even more.

“Yes. It’s a fucking loom. I know how to fly a drone and use a loom. Do you? Asshole.”

He clamps down on his smile, but it’s clear he thinks he’s charming me. Which he is not. Not at. All. Not one little bit. OK. Maybe a little bit, but not enough to make me forget that he’s the source of all my misery.

“It’s kinda tiny,” he says. “Just, y’know, as looms go. Like, what kind of things do you weave with a minuscule, plastic loom?” The smile is back.

“I make potholders, OK? It’s a mindless task that relaxes me.”

“Potholders…” He chuckles a little bit. “Yeah. You used to make those when you were a kid too. I feel like I got one every Christmas.”

“Yeah, and you laughed at me then, too. Asshole.”

“That’s not true,” he says, walking over to my bathroom. “I was charmed beyond belief.” He disappears inside.