The Devil & Me

Chapter Five: His Finest Trick

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"Do you want to come to my room?" The bright glow of the text message. The message itself was innocent, but it was ten p.m, and I was walking back from work. I'd have to sneak into his dorms. And if I went, I'd be there until the morning. I heard he had a single room. There'd be no one to disturb us. Not that there would be anything to disturb. Right?

My hands were so sweaty that my phone nearly slipped when the phone buzzed again. "I missed our discussion last night. Just stop by so I can give you the notes."

That makes sense, I told myself, looking left and right before I ducked into the boy's side of the dorms. He must've been busy with football.

The boys' dorms are cool, dark, and quiet. The higher the floors go, the nicer the boys become. On the very top floor, some of the wealthiest students live, in rooms of their own, sharing kitchens, but never bathrooms. Jack lived up here. As did the devil. I shook the thought off⁠⁠—just as I swore I saw a shadow move⁠⁠—and kept going.

He was still texting me as I moved. My phone threw slivers of light against the wall, even though I'd set it to the darkest I could make it. Room 30B. 30B. 30B. I could see it then. My heart was hammering fast. A few doors ahead of me.

A door behind me cracked open. I froze. I was sure⁠⁠—and I'd heard⁠⁠—girls had come up here before. It wouldn't be so strange to see a lone girl, running with her face hidden. In fact, whoever was coming out of that room would probably ignore me.

The door opened wider. My heart couldn't be any louder; it was stuffing my ears with its noise.

Someone took two steps forward. They paused. I stood absolutely still.

"Camille," the Devil whispered. "Is that you?"

I moved forward, but he rushed closer, grabbed the back of my jacket, and pulled down my hoodie. "What are you doing here," he said, turning me around by the shoulders. "Get the hell out."

"I'm going to get classwork from Jack," I said. My eyes darted to the door down the hall. "I'll be quick."

"He couldn't have met you outside?"

"It'll be quick," I said again.

"Who told you that you could walk up here? Who said that⁠⁠—" He went silent at the sound of jostling. He pulled me to the wall. "Listen," he said, under his breath. "You can't be here."

"I know that. But I'm hardly the only one."

"What do you mean?" His eyes were sharp.

"Girls come up here all the time."

He was quiet for a beat. Two. Three. His eyes were washed with moonlight. They were always the color of honey, or rum, or sulfur, and hellfire. He was standing close. My goosebumps were rising up in protest. I leaned backward, and he held onto my forearm.

"You came here to fuck him?" he asked.

My face went hot. "Is that any of your business?"

"It would make you really stupid if you did. You've known him for all of a month."

"What do you care?" I bit back. A knot worked in his jaw. "I offered an apology at the beginning of the year. I begged for peace. I don't know what I ever did to you, but can't you leave me alone."

"Leave you alone to sleep with every boy that'll be a little kind to you? That's low and pathetic."

I sniffed and forced my head higher. "Maybe. But it still had nothing to do with you."