Conversations after Going through Hell

“I read this story the other day about how people change their opinions?” Persephone said. Her voice lilted upward like she was asking a question, like she was inviting me into a conversation.

“No one changes their opinions,” I said.

“See, that’s what I thought, too, but then I read the story and–”

“And you changed your opinion?” I chuckled.

“Yeah, I did.”

“I’m impressed.”

She shifted her position. She’d been resting her head on my chest, and I couldn’t even feel my left pec anymore. Persephone stretched out on the couch and put her head in my lap. I did my best to ignore how close her face was to my cock. I ran through the usuals to distract myself: baseball stats (but I hate baseball), Lord of the Rings (but that just reminded me of the demon we’d just slain), puppies (still that damn demon again). My left arm was throbbing, and I recalled how the beast had taken my forearm between its teeth, wrenched my arm from my body, and then plummeted into that endless gray abyss. I remembered Persephone’s fingers and mouth working to tie off my veins before I bled out. That pretty much killed any erection my body was working on. I flexed my left fist, thankful to have made it safely out of Hell and to be whole again–well, mostly.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” I asked Persephone.

“Shouldn’t you?”

“I was trying.”

“So in this story I was reading,” Persephone continued, ignoring me, “they asked people how they felt about Donald Trump both before and after his inauguration, and–”

“Are we seriously going to talk about politics?”

“No, it’s just what the study was about,” she said. “Why? Do politics upset you?”

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said, sitting up and settling back into the middle of the couch. “How does Donald Trump make you feel?” She grinned.

“I spend my days hunting demons who are trying to bring about the apocalypse, and you want to know how I feel about some pompous asshole who couldn’t even win the popular vote, yet thinks he runs the whole world?”

“So you’re a fan?” she said, still grinning.

“I couldn’t care less,” I said.

“I kind of like him,” Persephone said.

“You would.”

“He speaks his mind.”

“Oh, yeah, he does.”

“Like a retarded puppy.”

“We have got to work on your choice of words.”

“Sorry? Too soon for puppies?” she asked.

I glared. “Not funny.”

“Hey, we’re still here.”

“Still not funny.”

“Fine.”

“So you would have voted for Trump, huh?” I asked.

“Oh, Hell no. That’s like a vote for pure chaos.”

“Yet you like him?”

“Well, I like you, too, but I wouldn’t vote for you for President.”

“That is probably the nicest thing you have ever said about me.”

She snickered. “Are you sure you don’t want to watch The Lord of the Rings?” she asked.

“It’s like three hours long,” I said.

“You know, somehow, after trudging through Hell for eons, three hours just doesn’t feel all that long anymore.”

“Yeah…” I said. “So why did you decide to stay tonight?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Why did you want me to stay, Blake?”

I didn’t really want to admit any weakness, but I had kind of backed myself into a corner.

“I didn’t want to face the nightmares alone,” I said.

She nodded.

“So it turns out that people don’t really want to live in a constant state of rage,” Perseph said.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“If you asked the same people how they felt about Trump before and after the election, they had much more positive views after his inauguration than they did even the day before.”

“Because they liked his inauguration speech?”

“No, because their brains went into self-defense mode. They just couldn’t deal with staying that angry, with dealing with all that anger all the time, so they rationalized how everything really wasn’t all that bad…” she said, trailing off. “I don’t really understand that…”

“Come here,” I said. She hesitated, but eventually nestled back up against me. I rested a hand on her hip.

“I should have killed that street preacher,” Persephone said.

“That would have been a really bad idea.”

“But I’d feel better.”

“Would you?”

A long silence passed. “No,” she said.

“What if we killed Donald Trump?” I asked.

“Why?”

“You killed a dude last month just for being an asshole,” I said.

“Well, yeah, but he literally slapped my ass and tried to shove his hand inside me.”

“You have heard the Access Hollywood tape, right?”

“‘Never meet your heroes,’ they say…”

“Okay,” I said, “Well, how about Stephen Miller?”

“Oh, yeah, that asshole is definitely possessed by a demon.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, but he’s in DC, so he’s not exactly a priority.”

“I have a car. We could drive there right now.”

“He’s really not a priority. He’s one of those ‘chase his own dick’ kind of demons, not like ‘coordinated apocalypse-bringer’ kind of demon.”

“I see.”

“Yeah,” she said, nuzzling against my chest.

“Persephone,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“For not abandoning me in Hell.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Just.. thank you.”

“No problem,” she said. And after a long pause, she added, “Thank you, too.”

“Of course,” I said. “Will this ever feel real again?”

“Sometimes.”

“Sleep is a really scary concept.”

“Yeah, but you just have to accept it. Remember why you got out in the first place.”

“I was just focused on killing Vual.”

“Well,” she said, “he’s still alive, so that’s still an option.” She yawned.

“Don’t tempt me. You wouldn’t let me kill him then, and you won’t let me do it now.”

“Maybe,” she said, yawning again. She fell back asleep before I could think up a response. We’d spent so long trekking through Hell, fighting off so many souls with no rest. I had forgotten how to sleep. Persephone made it look easy, but then again, she had been there before. I leaned my head back against the couch, stared at the ceiling, and counted my breaths. My mind drifted to my drunken dad, my mother in denial, my brother’s missing girlfriend, my pissed off best friend, and the demon who had pissed him off sleeping against my chest. You’d think this sort of drama would disappear in the face of the impending apocalypse, but no. In the morning, I’d have to go face all this bullshit again. But at least now I knew I wouldn’t have to face it alone. Persephone groaned and jolted in her sleep. She didn’t wake. And again I just left her to her nightmares, knowing they weren’t going away. Instead, I fell asleep and joined her.