The Devil & Me

Chapter Eight: Winter's Solstice (cont.)

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Cassius slept for hours. When he got up, it was for water or medicine, or to peer through bleary eyes at his desk chair to see if I was still there. When he saw me, his eyebrows would jump in such surprise—maybe he thought our earlier interaction was just a bad dream. But he hadn't sent me away yet. So here I was.

Around one in the afternoon, I slid his card out of his wallet and ordered Greek food from a restaurant in town. I decided that today, I would try the food that had always been too expensive to buy. After all, nursing the devil back to health was hard work.

He woke up an hour later, just as I was cutting into the layers of moussaka. He blinked at me as the minced lamb and eggplant hung from my fork. "I thought you couldn't keep food down," I said. He said nothing. I couldn't truly say that he was awake—he was staring at me like I was a statue, or like I had the face of God. "Don't tell me what you want some," I said. "Well, do you?"

"Camille," he said at last. He took a deep breath and laid back down. "I feel worse."

"Well, I have to go soon. I have work."

He closed his eyes and it seemed that he fell back asleep, only for him to lurch up twenty minutes later and run to his bathroom. The sound of retching traveled through the air. Two minutes. Three. Four. Five. I stood up and pushed the door open. He held onto the toilet seat, vomiting nothing. Just shaking, and shaking, and shaking. I had to get him to the hospital, or he'd be dead soon. If not from dehydration, then from whatever stomach bug was eating into him.

"Wait here—"

"You promised. You promised, Camille."

It puzzled me. Why did a promise from me mean anything to him?

"Please," he gasped. "Please. Don't leave me like this."

And that's when I felt it—true, deep pity for this Devil. I couldn't even say it was alarming. I couldn't say it frightened me. What I saw before me—a shivering boy on the floor—was pathetic enough to drive all that anger out of me. I'd really hate to have my enemy catch me in a position like this, all vulnerable, and all at their mercy. You couldn't help but feel some pity. I shook my head. 

"If I call out of work," I said. "You have to pay me back."

"Yes, yes."

As I phoned the diner, I heard the flushing of the toilet and the running of water. I peered through the door and found him brushing his teeth. His whole body still shivered. His eyes were glassy with sickness. I noticed how tightly he was holding onto the sink, just to stay standing. 

"You just go back to bed," I said. He set down his toothbrush and rinsed his face. The water droplets crawled down his neck as he crept toward me on his way back to bed. He tucked himself into the fetal position, wrapped himself in his blankets, and settled down almost immediately into an unmoving ball. I sat in his desk chair, just looking at him. Outside, it was a heavy winter night. Inside, I dimmed the lights so that he could sleep better.  And at some point, I'd have to slip out too, despite my promise. I couldn't fall asleep at his desk. Or on his floor.

When I thought he was asleep, truly asleep, I stood up. I walked on light feet toward the door, and I opened it. Light from the hallway came streaming through. And just like that, he was awake again.

"Camille." He sounded rusty and dry. "Where are you going?"

"To sleep, Cassius."

"Stay one more hour. Please, Camille. One more hour."