Watershed

Listen to yourself. Listen, listen, Blue. Sasha. Whatever you want to call yourself now.

No matter how far you run, it’ll always come to get you. The shadow chasing after you, clutching at your ankles with cold bony fingers. It’ll seep into your bones until it’s a part of you, and by the time you realise it, it’ll be too late. Because by that time, it will be you. You will be the shadow.

Blue, are you listening to me? Are you listening to yourself?

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Migraines again. It’s the third day in a row that I’ve been hunched over in a dumpster, clutching my head like squeezing hard enough will take the pain away. Spoiler: it won’t, but it does make me feel a little better, like I’m at least doing something. Even if I’m really not doing anything except for digging through leftovers, because Neon District food has so many preservatives in it that it doesn’t go off for weeks. All the meat I’ve found tonight has been crawling with worms, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but eating wormy meat has like a fifty-fifty chance of making me sick. And ordinarily I’d take my chances any day, but this migraine has me halfway to the grave already, and I told Lucifer that I’d meet up with him.

I told him I would, but I never said I was telling the truth.

I need to survive, anyway. I’ve survived worse and sacrificed more. Lucifer’s better off without a guy like me around, but I know he’d never forgive me if I fucked off and died without even saying goodbye. Even if I never say goodbye, not to anyone.

He knows that. We know each other, after years of on and off companionship, like we’re cut from the same cloth. Only Lucifer’s part of the cloth is bright and shiny and hard to look at without burning your eyes, and my part is the bit that gets dragged in the mud when your jeans are too long.

He’s out here running things, making shit happen. I should’ve known when he fell from the sky that he’d be something different, not just in there, but out in the world, too. He makes people believe in things, makes them think they can accomplish more.

He made me think I could be something else. But I’m not, I’m this, and there’s nothing that can be done to fix it.

Sandwich, stale but still in its packaging. It’ll do for now, even if the musty smell as I tear open the plastic wrapper makes me wrinkle my nose slightly in the way that means it’s just the wrong side of stale. It’s probably ready to mould soon, even with all those preservatives. I peel it open — cucumber mayo. Yeah, no. I pick out the cucumber sticks and smush the bread back together, shoving it in my mouth.

I’ll eat anything, but not vegetables. I don’t care that cucumber is technically a fruit; it’s green, and that’s bad enough for me. The sandwich is sucking all the moisture out of my mouth as I chew the starch into a big round ball, forcing myself to swallow it despite the lump in my throat.

It’s like it’s congealing in my mouth, but still I eat. It’s hardly the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth, and certainly not the worst thing I’ve ever swallowed. Food is food. If Lucifer were here, I’d chow down with a smile on my face and a snarky thanks on my lips.

If Lucifer were here, I wouldn’t be doing any of this.

The key in my pocket is heavy, almost as heavy as the memory of him pressing it into my hand with that sharp toothed smile on his face. He told me we’d see each other soon. Just take care of this for me for a while, okay? He knows that sometimes I just need to go off on my own because being with people all the time is like being smothered by a pillow: killed by comfort. It’s too much sometimes. A lot of times. But I put up with it for him.

I’m in Neon, the district of the hopeless and the broke, and I’m both of those things. Lucifer is god knows where doing god knows what, but whatever it is, I’m sure he’s rallying people and tagging walls and running across rooftops with his wings splayed out behind him, ready to catch the wind on his sails. It’s possible he’s still in Neon too, but it’s more likely that he’s hopped down to the Underneath to hit up some of the other gang members who live there, safe from any sort of law enforcement. Not that Neon has any cops around, and if there are any, they’re all bent as hell.

A rat scuttles past me and I pounce, sandwich still hanging out of my mouth. I’ve got it wriggling in my hands, squealing like a pig. If I can start a fire, this could be fresh meat; my mouth is already watering at the thought of it. I can’t cook that well or anything, but as long as it’s not raw, I can eat it.

Footsteps. I jolt, losing my grip on the little thing and watching despondently as it scurries off into the night. Ah, I should hide in case I get chased off again like last time. I may not have the bruises, but I’ve still got the memory.

I throw myself into the dumpster, cursing when I feel the familiar weight of the key drop out of my pocket. I can’t lose that, it was ours — is ours. Mine and Lucifer’s, our quest for something. Mystery boys, I dunno. It’s special, not something ordinary, and Lucifer gave it to me for a reason.

I have to believe there was a reason.

Something else takes over and I’m scrabbling through the rubbish like I’ll be able to find it by touch. I close my eyes for a moment, focusing. There’s a knotted thread deep inside me, tangled beyond recognition. I’m not sure what’s within the knot, but if I tug at the thread just slightly—

I open my eyes, now a glowing blue that lights up the inside of the dumpster with ease. The key’s right in front of my face like it was waiting for me all along and all I had to do was see.

I’m so fucking relieved that everything rushes out of me at once.

“Fuck yeah, I found it!”

Oh. There’s someone behind me.

My eyes shutter automatically and I turn to face the stranger, key fisted in one hand and staring like I’ve never seen a person before in my life.

He’s tall, or at least taller than me. Red, too, though it’s hard to tell in the dim light of the Neon District. Kinda buff, not the biggest I’ve ever seen, but clearly hits the gym. A spaded tail swishes from side to side behind him, the only indication of any unsettledness, and he’s in a rumpled suit, like he’s a businessman or something.

He drops the bags he’s holding in the bin with a loud thunk, like there’s something heavy in there. I glance over almost instinctively.

Then, he turns to me slowly, dark dark eyes making piercing eye contact. The dim light of the lamppost illuminates half of his face, catching the curve of a mean scar across his lip as he shoots me a smile that flashes the gap of a missing tooth.

"Whatcha lookin' at, kid?" He’s got some kinda accent, but only slightly. I can’t place it, I’ve never been good at accents.

Right, look unassuming, look innocent, look defenceless. Ideally all of the above. I lean against the dumpster and rest my cheek on one hand, forcing a little quirk to my lips.

"Uh. Nothin'." And fuck, I look over at the dumpster again, which I’m sure he’s caught.

I inhale slightly, breath catching in my throat when I sense the tang of blood in the air. If this guy’s throwing out a steak or something, I’ve hit the fucking jackpot. I just need him to go away so I can loot his bags.

"Wh-what are you lookin' at?" Real smooth, real smooth, Blue. But to be fair, the guy is staring in a weirdly intense way that makes me feel pinned beneath his gaze, kinda like those dead bugs that people put in frames. Decoration.

Or maybe I’m being deconstructed, wings first and then legs until I’m a dismembered fly sitting on a windowsill.

"Nothin'," the guy replies, and I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or if he thinks I’m not much to look at, which. Hey. My looks are plenty good enough. "Just that there seems to be a rat in this dumpster. Maybe I should call pest control."

It’s not my first time being compared to a rat. I’ve got a whole arsenal of responses to that line now and today, just for fun, I think I’ll go for the melodramatic one. Tends to set people a little off kilter, like they weren’t expecting a response other than me sulking away in shame.

I’m not ashamed. Not of this, anyway. I’ve got worse stuff to be ashamed of.

"A rat?" I make a big show of it, squealing like I’m horrified by the very idea. "Aw shit! Where?”

He’s clearly a little taken aback, but I keep talking before he can cut in.

“Sorry if I scared ya by poppin' outta here. Didn't realise there was someone else around.” I shrug, rearranging myself among the bin bags. It’s really starting to get uncomfortable in here. “I was just getting something I dropped, but I guess it is pretty weird to see a guy in a dumpster!" An awkward laugh, just to fill the silence.

He doesn’t laugh with me, obviously. He does answer way too quickly though, like he’s just been waiting to jump out with a response. His face is all scrunched up and I can’t really read the expression, but it’s somewhere between a sneer and a frown, I think. The fingers on one of his hands twitch as if they’re aching to form into a fist.

"I wasn't scared," he scoffs, eyes rolling. "But you're somewhere you shouldn't be.”

He’s walking closer, slowly. Step by step. Whatever he’s doing, I don’t like it.

He keeps talking, his accent creeping out more and more. “It's not safe in these back alleys, you know?"

He comes to a stop in front of me, arching his neck down so that we’re still making eye contact, which is too much eye contact, if I’m honest.

"It's not really safe anywhere here, but these little pockets of darkness?" He hums for a moment, very obviously pretending to think about his next words. "These places are the most dangerous of all. You never know who you'll cross paths with."

Yeah, uh. Definitely a threat, but one that I’m not going to fucking rise to, because all I really want is to raid that bag and get whatever food is in there so I can clear out and find a place to try to sleep. But I can’t break eye contact first or I’ll look weak, so it’s a relief when the guy looks away, his shoulders loosening minutely.

"What did you drop?" His eyes are fixed on some point in the distance, the flickering lights reflecting in his dark irises. I can’t even see his pupils, they’re so dark, and it could just be the dim lighting but somehow I know it’s not.

If I knew that this night would change everything I thought I was, I wouldn’t have gone down that alley looking for food. I wouldn’t have pawned off that stolen watch and ring the day before, scraping what money I could afford together to prepay my phone bill for the month, just in case. Maybe I wouldn’t have even left Lucifer to begin with, staying safe within the ranks of the people I know and who know me, even if it’s just what I let them see.

But I don’t know that, so I climb out of the dumpster, tripping and watching helplessly as the key skitters out of my grasp, exposed in the expanse of the alleyway. And I watch as he steps on it, foot pinning the only direction I have right now beneath his sharp talons. And I look up from where I’m splayed out on the floor, hoodie damp from the leftover rainwater, and I see this strange glint in his eye, like he’s enjoying this.

Like there’s something funny or amusing or even gratifying watching me claw at the ground before him, a seed of desperation planted in my chest and squinting hunger in my eyes.

I think for a moment that he might swallow me whole, key and all, and I’ll never see the light of day again. I think for a moment that maybe it’s what I deserve.

The compass realigns. I’m not going back to Lucifer anymore. Somewhere far above the two of us, swimming in the endless abyss of the galaxy, two threads are joined together.

I don’t know it yet. But I’ll know soon.

My headache is gone.