Consequences Be Damned

1 ⇻ a damned apartment

there is a section here that i was trying to do something, but... i just couldn't keep up with it whelp but this is gonna be long and slow and i'm sorry, but i hope you might still like it? either way, whether you read it or not, thank you for giving summer and the gang a chance! i'd love to hear from you!

I was never one to feel trapped. Despite there being many times when I was placed somewhere I shouldn't have been, the many times I wasn't allowed to do something, or when I was told to be quiet, I never felt trapped. Even when I was younger, my mom never gave me much rules. I had free reign over what I did, who I did it with, and when I did it. My mom trusted me like that. All she asked of me was to tell her where I was at all times and to make sure I wasn't doing anything that was bad.

Of course, telling a seven year old not to do anything that was bad wasn't that good of a rule. Like, was a seven year old supposed to know what to do in all situations? How would a seven year old know what they were doing was good or bad?

Luckily for my mom, I had a good head on my shoulders.

Also, it was both fortunate and unfortunate I grew up in a neighborhood that I did because in those seven years and on that I lived there, I knew what my mom considered good or bad.

Good: Darien, the homeless man who lived on the corner and begged drivers stuck at the stop lights for money.

Bad: The men in suits who always had a briefcase with them and left fancy cars parked by the hydrants and red zones.

Good: Benji, the scruffy and dirty stray dog that roamed the streets and was lucky enough to never get hit by cars running red lights.

Bad: The rottweilers that accompanied the suits with their loosely chained leashes and the sharp, silver spokes that poked out from their tags.

    So I had a good head on my shoulders and knew what to avoid, which was also why my mom never kept me imprisoned at home, no matter the age and time. She trusted that I could take care of myself.

    But that had been practice for me. Because a few years after that, she wasn't able to take care of me at all. I had to take care of her.

    "You don't understand–"

    I blinked myself back to the present, dragging my eyes up the pressed dark pants, up the tucked in white button up with gold gleaming buttons, up a thickly veined throat, and the yammering full lips of the Devil.

    "–the rules I gave you about this second life of yours are not optional. They are not recommendations, Summer. They are mandatory!"

    I rolled my eyes.

    "And don't roll your eyes at me! Don't you know who I am?"

    "How could I not?" I grumbled under my breath. He practically announced it every time he entered a room.

    "I'm the literal God damned Devil! Lucifer fucking Morningstar!" His eyes bulged wide at the sight of my unfazed gaze. "Do you not fucking get that? I could smite you! I could send you to the pits of Hell! Feed you to the fucking Hell Hounds!"

    I raised one brow, then crossed my arms and threw one leg over the other.

    A strangled choking sound erupted from his throat and I watched as the visible skin from his hands to his face gradually turned red. Talons sprung out from his fingertips, midnight dark and sharp as any deadly knife. Horns spiraled out from his forehead, tusks carved with dark markings that drew out their victim's worst nightmares.

    At least, that was what it did to humans.

    I was not human–at least, not anymore.

    It was a tricky situation.