The Devil Likes Lemon Cupcakes

The Devil Turns Human

                              »You're my downfall, you're my muse.

                            My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues.«

                                                       John Legend

I felt like somebody had just performed a lobotomy on my head. Like somebody tried to exorcise something from my skull. I was the thirstiest person in the world but somehow I found liquid absolutely repulsive. My eyelids were extremely heavy, like somebody had sown them to my face in the middle of the night. My brain felt worse than a Nicki Minaj's song. What I'm trying to say is that; it's too dark in here and I can't hear you.

I rested my head on the pillow for a couple of hours and when I finally decided to go to the bathroom I realized that- I'm home. How the hell did that happen?

I tried to brush the taste of last night out of my mouth but somehow I only made it worse. Mysterious bruises complimented my raccoon eyes and rundown mascara. Huh, the hangover collection. Great, I look exactly how I feel on the inside.

Despite the murdering headache and my Halloween appearance the following step still felt like paradise on earth; - ah, that heavenly feeling of snapping my bra clasp, that just might be the only feeling that resembles an orgasm.

I took a shower and thankfully there was no sign of him;  damn it, I shouldn't be even thinking of him! That's how he gets around. At least that's what he said. And that's basically the last thing I remember.

I put on my dad's oversized robe and marched towards the kitchen like a drunk penguin. At the top of the stairs I gripped the wooden fence harder than usual, which produced the crackling sound of our old cherry wood. My mom was extremely proud of the fact that most of our furniture was made out of dark cherry wood, which she carefully planted into the conversation at every opportunity that she got. When I was younger I kept on smelling the stairs and wardrobes to get that hint of sweet cherries, but all I got was the smell of old feet.

A lemony scent tickled my nostrils as I walked into the kitchen, which might have been a pleasant fragrance any other day, but not today. My mom made a fresh batch of her famous lemon cupcakes, a lot of other housewives (and yes, my mom is a stay at home mom) would give anything to get their hands on her recipe, but she would not part from it. Not very christian of her, is it?

Usually I would love to take a bite of that freshly baked pastry with the crunchy and sweet crust on the outside and sugary with a twist of sour in the spongy middle. Like a delicious Sponge Bob. But not today. I wanted something that would cure my hangover. I would ask my brother but from the sound of it he was still sleeping. His snoring was too loud. And out of rhythm. And his room smelled like farts. I guess I'll just-

»Good Morning.«

I felt someone grinning behind me. I squinted at one of the bar stool's and saw a familiar pair of red eyes and dark-amber hair.

»Mornin'.« I replied and turned away. I started moving the dishes around, trying to look busy. My stomach felt as if it were twisted in a knot, and only one question danced around my mind – what the hell happened last night?

»You have a low tolerance for alcohol.« Said his voice.

I nodded. »Pretty much.«

»You should have told me.« He sighed.

»I tried.« I answered calmly and moved the same pot for the fifth time.

»You said a lot of things,« Lucifer tapped the kitchen counter with his fingernails. »you were awfully chatty in bed.«