What would you trade your soul for?
The answer is simple for Jessa: nothing. Life isn't perfect, but it's pretty good with her best friend Taylor at her side.
But everything changes when the Devil--disguised as an attractive high school girl--comes...
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When I was a kid, I used to resent the holidays.
Not because I didn't like presents or heaps of delicious food, but because my parents had a strict "family time" rule that, as a ten-year-old, I found incredibly tedious. No television, no computer, no play dates—just hours of uninterrupted family time during the holidays.
I don't think I ever complained about it out loud, but it did wear on me. There was only so much family I could take at a time.
Yet trapped in a hospital bed, literally tied down with wires and lines, I found that I couldn't get enough time with my family. I guess almost dying really puts things into perspective.
For the rest of Sunday, my family hung out with me on borrowed chairs in the ICU, talking and laughing, catching up in a way that I hadn't realized we had needed to do. Around 7pm, I was transferred out of the ICU and into a regular room. That's when my mom and Mallory headed home; it had been decided that my dad and Evan would stay with me overnight since my dad could work remotely and Evan didn't have any required classes on Mondays.
It honestly wasn't until the following morning, as I was getting ready for discharge, that I realized I had been missing something.
A nurse showed up with a stack of papers and a white paper bag. "Okay," she said, "I have your discharge papers here, and this is a bag of your personal belongings."
"Personal belongings?" I asked.
She peered into the bag. "Like, the clothes you were wearing the day you came in, your phone—"
"My phone!" I said, reaching for the bag and digging through it. The nurse chuckled when I finally found it at the very bottom. It was dead, but Evan had a charger, which I borrowed as the nurse and my dad discussed the discharge plans.
When my phone finally turned on, I saw that I had missed a ton of texts and phone calls. Clearly word had spread that I had gone comatose.
But by far, the most texts I had missed were from Taylor.
I scrolled up, finding the last text I had sent her, the one I had written as I had walked to what I assumed was my inevitable doom at Gilman Pond.
I cringed a little, rereading what could have been my last words to her: Hey Taylor. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for earlier. I shouldn't have said all those things about Clarissa. I was just jealous. You're lucky to have found someone who makes you so happy and makes you feel supported. And I just want you to be happy. I'm so sorry. I love you.
The "I love you" felt particularly resonant now.
And then, I read Taylor's stream of texts after that, each one a little more frantic than the one before:
- It's okay, she typed. Apology accepted. Everything's just been so crazy.
- Actually, do you mind if I call you? I really need someone to talk to.
