Boys of the Dark | ✓ (2015)

1. The Boy with a Filthy Soul

"For seven sins, these morons..." Delilah muttered and rubbed her two fingers against the side of her head.

"C'mon, you can trust me. It can't be that bad." Paris's breath fanned down her neck and she shoved her palm in his face.

"Your breath smells like cinnamon hearts! Gross," she grumbled and pushed him away.

"What did your ex do?" Paris persisted. He tried to move his foot forward and cringed at the crush of a soda can, converses accidentally slipping into an empty takeout container.

Slowly, Delilah craned her neck to the side. "You don't want to know."

"Don't worry, I won't judge you," Paris assured.

"You feed her lies," Melon Head whispered.

"Shut up, Melon Head," they both announced.

He mimicked their voices and then plastered his face against the window again, horribly fascinated with American farm life.

"I'm your chaperone on Earth. The tour guide guy needs to know what's going on." Paris jabbed a thumb to his chest.

Delilah swallowed hard. Grabbing the pre-lit joint out of the ash tray sitting by the shift gear, she placed it between her red lips and muttered to the road, "He's a dead mad...I'm gonna kill him..."

Paris faced his torso to Melon Head. "Why won't she tell me?"

"Chillax, home-skillet." Melon Head kicked his converses up on the dashboard. "I don't even know why. She just yanked me outta bed yesterday and told me we were leaving the underworld. But who cares anyway? Let her embarrass herself. She needs to be humiliated more often. Savour this moment."

Paris scowled as frustrated lines grew down his forehead. "You know." He turned to Delilah. "Now that you're on Earth, your Devil-ness presence kinda' attracts all the good and evil spirits in the universe to this little town we're in."

Melon Head let out a deep belly laugh. "Yeah, Delilah. You're like the hot girl going to a party and suddenly every guy wants to be there, except instead of trying to sleep with you, they want to fucking kill you."

Paris added, "And instead of virgin nerds and arrogant jocks who want you, its hungry, desperate freaks, and evil spirits who will destroy anyone that has a bigger ego than them."

"Tomato, ta-mato. They're like, practically the same thing," said Delilah. She threw her hand over her shoulder. "Besides, if horny boys and egotistical jerks are the only things I need to worry about on Earth, then this'll be a bike ride through the heart of Hell."

"What?" Paris's face twisted in confusion.

"It'll be easy as a walk in the park," she rephrased and drove through a set of gates. "Oh my god—what is that whorehouse?!"

Her pulse quickened at every creak of the windows and groan of the castle shifting, horribly fascinated by the purple and yellow flag hanging above the entrance door.

"It's called a high school," answered Paris.

She sniffed. "What's that smell?"

Paris sucked in a big breath and exhaled out with a dreamy smile. "That's the smell of teen spirit." He paused. "And 30% fart."

They drove around the school and cruised through the parking lot in search for a spot until her eyes flew over something way too familiar. "Hells Bells," she cursed.

She squinted into the distance and caught a glimpse of messy bleach white hair. The hot summer sun beamed down on the school boy, the jersey clinging to his creamy milk skin.