text: The devil has a girlfriend. A human. Every night when he comes home, she’s there waiting. And every night when he comes home the devil’s anxiety starts to act up. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s the neighbors. They’ve been asking a lot of questions here lately. That must be it. His hands shake as he turns the key in the lock. His heart pounds and his vision blurs. He takes a deep breath. His nose twitches as he opens the door. God, she smells good. “Babe.” “Babe.” He walks past her into the bedroom to take his coat and shoes off. “How was work?” “Not much to tell. Demon got a wing clipped today.” “Just the one?” “No, I mean on accident. In the revolving door.” “Oh.” They make spaghetti for dinner. Or rather, the devil makes it while his girlfriend sits at the table and asks him questions. “How’s your new secretary doing? She’s awful pretty, isn’t she?” “Is the wisteria tree I gave you still alive? I bet it’s not.” “Did you stop by to pay the rent this morning, pet?” With every question the devil hears the voice in his head whispering and muttering. *Don’t let it happen tonight.* He struggles to keep up with her, as usual. “She’s doing great. I suppose. It’s thriving, actually; it’s in bloom. I got it paid on my way home.” That last one was what got him. It happened as he was putting her plate down in front of her. “On your way home?” “Yes.” *No. No. No.* The devil secretly loves cooking for people. He can’t admit it. He has an image to keep up, after all. For guests he sets the table with subtle flourishes and grace. But he flinches and swallows as he puts his girlfriend’s plate down. His ears lay back along his head. “You were supposed to pay it this morning, Satan. You know the office closes at six. You cut it way too close *again.*” “I know-I’m sorry, babe-” “Don’t ‘I’m sorry, babe’ me!” “Honey, please-” “Please *what?* You’ve done this the last three times I’ve asked you to pay something. This is unacceptable behavior!” Her chest heaves as she seems to struggle for breath. “What do you have to say for yourself?” “I...I...it wasn’t a big deal, the office was open for thirty minutes after I got off work, honey, and-and it’s not a big deal if I pay it a day late-” “Not a big *deal?* It’s a big deal to me, you absolute jackass!” He feels himself recoil and has to stop. *Keep your teeth in your mouth, for fuck’s sake.* The pop on his snout stings, but the next words sting worse. “You’re a bad dog.” She storms into the bedroom and slams the door. The devil sits down at the table. His spaghetti gets cold as he stares at it, whimpers trying to force themselves out of his throat. He swallows them down. He’s a man; a wolf; the devil himself. He can’t be crying. Ridiculous. But when she calls him a bad dog, he has to admit it hurts. And the worst part is, he almost bit her this time when she hit him. How could he stoop so low? *She wouldn’t be hurting me unless I did something wrong. She’s such a sweet person. I have to be better. I can’t turn abusive.