There are extremes when it comes to every couple. After a while, each person becomes a funhouse mirror of the other. Depending on what one of the person’s interests are–of which there is usually only a primary one–the “weaker” of the two in the couple, if you will (because, yes, someone is always more bendable than the other), succumbs to what their dominant partner wants. And when that said dominant partner gravitates toward a more wholesome route, like say, churchgoing and excessive Jesus worship, a certain pall of resentment can start to be cast on the relationship.
For Devlin, ironically the purer of the two spirits between him and his girlfriend, Devorah, that resentment came after she decided to turn her back on Satanism, the driving force that kept them together. After all he had done to support her in the religious rigors of worshipping the devil, she decided, “No, actually, I’d rather go back to my Southern Baptist roots.” It was a major blow to the rapport they had founded upon a love of “The Red One.”
In fact, it was their final satanist act together that drove Devorah to the light side. You see, Devorah had long been unable to get over her ex-boyfriend, the one that treated her little better than a one-armed slave. And even though she loved Devlin with as much of what was left of her heart, she could never fully give herself over to him because of Terrence–the torture of his memory.
So that’s when, one night, while carving pentagrams with an athamé into each other’s arms for the umpteenth time, Devlin crafted a plan to expunge the unwanted spirit of Terrence from Devorah’s mind. “We’re going to sacrifice him. To God. Satan’s too good for him.”
At first, Devorah was hesitant. Because half of her emotions for Terrence were still love-based, she didn’t want to hurt him. But ultimately, the hate-based side won out, as it often does with regard to the trajectory of human nature. “Okay, fine. You’re right. He’s got to go if I’m ever going to be truly with you.”
From there, they hatched a plan to kidnap Terrence and bring him to their lair at the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and Sawtelle Boulevard, a modestly pre-furnished one-bedroom called The Peachtree. It was as gross and old woman-like as the name would have you believe. The strategy was like something out of a 40s screwball comedy. First, Devorah would go into the In-n-Out on Sepulveda Boulevard where he slung burgers onto crack-laden buns for a living. Then she would act as though she had no memory of who he was when he asked to place her order.
“Terrence? No, I couldn’t possibly know you. I’ve never met anyone by that name in my life. Though I do enjoy the Lana Del Rey song, ‘Terrence Loves You.'”
In his momentary stupor over not being recognized, Terrence would be even further blindsided when Devorah took the cup of soda she had just poured, mixed it with a tablespoon of pepper spray and doused him in the face with it.
“Oh my goodness, let me take you to the hospital straight away!” she would exclaim. The other employees, too apathetic to show concern (like most employed people in the service sector), would have no issue with letting Devorah cart a disoriented and in shock Terrence to her car, where he would subsequently be taken back to the Peachtree for a generally swift flesh-cutting and blood-letting. And it all almost went exactly according to their previously discussed machinations except for one minor hiccup: Devorah ran a red light, majorly rear-ended a black Mercedes-Benz in front of her and killed Terrence from the blunt force trauma of his head hitting the dashboard.
Before the man or woman in front of her could get out of the Benz, Devorah booked it back to the Peachtree. Her forehead gashed and her arms and legs severely bruised, Devorah scurried up the stairs to Devlin, leaving Terrence’s body in the front seat of the car for anyone passing by to see.
Devlin, not an ordinarily intuitive man, could sense that Devorah was upset judging from the sight of her mangled body and hyperventilating state.
“Devorah, dear, what’s wrong?”
“It’s Terrence. He’s already dead. I fucked up the sacrifice and it’s all your fault!”
Devlin was rather wounded by this blame-shifting. How could Devorah be so irresponsible as to 1) get in a wreck in the first place and 2) be incapable of acknowledging that it was her bad driving skills that caused it?
“I understand you’re upset that Terrence’s essence is now going to remain within you for all of eternity because we can’t cleanse him from your mind appropriately, but that’s really no reason to go slinging accusations at me.”
“Fuck you! I’m out of here!” Devorah stalked over to her dresser and pulled from the recesses of her underwear drawer a Holy Bible. “I’m going back to God.”
Devlin was crushed, obliterated by her sudden about-face. He thought she was as committed to Satan as he was. But then he supposed that because they hadn’t slayed Terrence together, they couldn’t stay together. He would have to remember that for the next Satanist chick he picked up at Klub Wicca in Silver Lake.