He kissed along her collarbone for all the nights she’d helped him into the house and into bed, always putting a bottle of water and an aspirin on the nightstand for him. She gasped into his ear like she understood what he was doing but he continued anyways, continuing his slow, apologetic rhythm. He touched her body slowly, breath catching hearing her gasp. The guilt consumed him. She was so appreciative, so thankful for him. After months of his sickening cycle and months of her taking care of him without complaint, he’d realized he didn’t deserve her and he’d left her, moving into a motel room with bad lighting. There he’d stayed for six weeks until he took home a woman from the bar. As she kissed him in his motel room, he was stricken with guilt. Of all the things he’d done, he couldn’t do this. And when he knocked on her door and she answered, he saw the pain on her face just of seeing him again- seeing him completely fallen apart. All he could get out was ‘I don’t know what to. “Now I’ve got you, you bitch!” Lucy sneered at God.“Oh, no!” God cried in the worst acting job I’d ever seen, “not the Fetters of Zedekiah! I’m powerless with them on!” “Ok, cut!” Lucy said as she sighed and rubbed her brow. The demons collectively groaned and let go of me and God. “God,” Lucy said, “saying ‘oh, no, not this,’ is like, anime-level dialogue.”“Well how is Rachel supposed to know I can’t help her then?” God said, “We need exposition!”“You were supposed to give her exposition in your conversation, God!” Lucy growled, “It needed to be subtle, not a full-blown plot revelation when it was convenient! That’s just lazy screenwriting!” “Hey,” I whispered to the demon next to me as Lucy and God bickered about the semantics of screenwriting, “what’s going on?”“God was supposed to tell you about an ancient artifact call the Fetters of Zedekiah that would render her powerless in hell, and then sometime later, Lucy and the rest of us would kidnap you and gangrape you. God went.
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