Devil in a Dress by Raven Julia Sevilleja
It was crowded tonight at Hellfire, more than usual, and you noticed there was one too many younger looking girls in their metallic slinky outfits and chunky jewelry dancing to the pulsating music. You can’t hear what your girlfriend is shouting at you over the speakers—something about her goose and cran or was it a complaint about her outfit? You nod, indicating that you understand but really don’t, but that doesn’t matter since the next greased-up douchebag occupied her attention and offered to buy her drink using a series of primitive hand signals and provocative gestures. You’re used to this fawning wherever you went with Judith, you can’t blame her for being beautiful.
“Passionfruit, mojito, crushed ice,” a voice like velvet pierced through the DJ’s climax and bass drop. She didn’t yell, she commanded, and the bartender (despite the protests of those who waited patiently) sweetly obliged. “Those security guards need to start doing her job,” she began to say as she glided toward you. Her sweeping blue-grey gaze touched lightly on others, but locked onto yours.
“Yeah,” you fumbled eloquently, “Don’t want to be grinding against jailbait.” You laughed nervously and sipped desperately on your crown and diet, fidgeting with the hem of your dress and aimlessly running a hand through the ends of your dry and damaged locks. You don’t know why this woman made you nervous, was it the way she carried curves you would kill for? The pristinely applied lipstick? Or how bout the way her ebony silk hair flowed behind her when she glided across the room on red patent pumps? Yet none of these compared to her ability to effortlessly hold the attention of anyone within sight.
Her blue-grey eyes crept up your cheap violet dress, sneaking down the most intimate places that make you as self-conscious as a Catholic school girl. You burned with envy, rage, and maybe even lust, desperately wishing to be just as sexy, demanding, and just…powerful. All of these thoughts coursed through your head, mingling with the strange attraction you feel as she rolled the straw in her drink between two full rouge lips. She leaned uncomfortably close to you and you could almost taste the mint from her lips before she turned and whispered in your ear, “I have something for you.” She grabbed your hand and led you into a hallway you’ve never noticed before, shrouded by beads hanging from the doorway, shining malevolently, casting warm colors against the black coated walls. Deeper she led you, until the DJ faded into the background. You tore your arm from her grip, although painfully, and she slowed, turning seductively on her heel.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” You sounded more curious than demanding than you’d like. She smiled with a hint of mischief.
“Lucy. I prefer Lucy,” she cast her eyes down, hiking up the hem of her dress to reveal a pack of Marlboro reds, crudely tucked in her thigh-high. You couldn’t help but notice her porcelain, unblemished skin. “Cigarette?” You didn’t say anything, you don’t move.
“Who are you? What do you want?” You said slowly. Lucy snapped her fingers and a flame appeared to light her cigarette. For some reason, you’re not surprised, but intrigued.
“I want you,” she stepped closer, blowing smoke in your face. You moved back against the wall until she’s pressed against your feeble curves. Her hand, surprisingly cold, grazed over your backside and traced your bare spine before settling behind your neck. You shamefully respond to her touch. You raised two hands to protest and push her back, but instead rested them on her exposed chest. She was cold there, too. Lucy brings her hand to your front, with a graphite business card in hand. Lucy Ferrera is engraved at the bottom corner, with a number whose area code you don’t recognize underneath. “I can give you anything. Fame. Success. Love…” she traced her lips along your neck, sending electric tingles through your nervous system. “Beauty,” she murmured against your skin, lightly licking the spot where your neck and shoulder meet.
“Beauty,” you repeated, dumbfounded. You stepped away, but not before taking her card. “Where are you from?” Your journalistic instinct kicked in, but not before adding, “What do you want?”
“You,” she shrugged, as if the answer was so simple and obvious.
“But what do you want from me?”
“Just a small percentage of your…success,”
“Are you a loan shark? Trying to pay for surgery? You know, I’m not so shallow to think I need to resort to surg—”
“You’re a beautiful girl. But I can make everyone see that,”
“How—?”
“O ye of little faith,” she laughed. For some reason, you don’t want her to stop. “One week. And I’ll come to collect if you like what you see,” she began to walk past you but stopped abruptly before you, capturing your hungry lips with a devouring kiss.
The rest of the week was a blur. You haven’t seen Lucy in Hellfire again and chose not to appear in those kind of trendy clubs again. Maybe someone spiked your drink? Whatever it was, it doesn’t stop you from experimenting with different vices. Last night, you went home with an unusually attractive stranger, but kicked him to the curb after he kept professing his undying devotion to various parts of your body. To your dismay, you both were fully clothed. Nonetheless, you find yourself at the master suite on top of one of the more vintage yet luxurious hotels overlooking Sunset Boulevard, puking in the bathroom directly attached to the bedroom.
“Ugh,” you groan, stumbling into the bedroom, noticing the guy you had your eye on passed out, faced down on the bed. You drunkenly step by him, knowing you’re in no state to try to take him home. A laugh erupts from the bed and you turn, almost tripping over yourself.
“You were puking in there,” he giggles. Somehow that instantly turns you off.
“Did you follow me in here to tell me that?” You turn back to the door to leave the drunken mess alone.
“No, wait. Stay,” you stop, and now he’s sitting up, straightening out his shirt. He’s plainly adorable, scruffy around the edges, sporting a light 5 o’clock shadow. He’s almost a foot taller than you, yet he feels safe. Like home. Like something you haven’t felt in a long time.
“Why?” You curiously sit at the edge of the bed. You take in his soft lips, his light brown eyes, and the way his voice melts your disdain like butter. He takes your hand in his and kisses it.
“You’re gorgeous,” you hold you breath as if he was the confirmation you need to all your suspicions. Silence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” he drops your hand and looks away.
“It’s fine. Michael, right?”
“Yeah,” he nods, laying back against the bed.
You don’t remember what exactly happens next except talks of literature riddled with exclamations of pleasant surprise. He’s astonishingly smart and charming, much like you. He sings beautifully, especially this personal rendition of “Hallelujah,” and his stories capture your imagination and make you laugh far easier and greater than any novel. Time passes. Hours, even. The party has quieted down.
“They probably went out,” he whispers, his face near yours. “I thought you were gorgeous when I first met you,” he begins, as if it’s been years, “But after tonight, I think you’re beautiful.”
You blink, unsure if the beautiful stranger before you was another figment of your imagination. It was cheesy line, but coming from him, you could’ve sworn your life was a romantic movie. What were the chances of finding someone like him? Would he disappear like a kiss in Hellfire?
“May I kiss you?”
You don’t answer him right away, and the seconds drag along slowly. The wait becomes awkwardly painful and you wonder why he isn’t blinking. It gives you a chance to look closer, your faces inches apart. His light brown eyes are flecked with a dark green you haven’t noticed before, and you wonder if that’s rare. You nod slowly while taking in his thick lashes. You lean in, waiting for him to go the 50% and meet you halfway…but he doesn’t.
“Am I interrupting?” sings a melodic voice from the doorway. All warmth you gathered from the hours of easy conversation you just had disappeared, only to be replaced with ice. You sit up slowly, dreading to see her. “You don’t look happy to see me,” she pouts, slithering towards you. It’s dead quiet. Lucy sits at the edge of the bed and lays a hand on Michael’s side. “Having fun?” she smiles, canines unusually sharp. Tonight she’s wearing blood red. She looks…demonic.
“You again.”
“It’s been a week,” she ignores your statement, pulling out a cigarette.
“You’re going to set off the smoke alarm,” you point out. She glares at you, and you freeze. You’re afraid, but then she smiles.
“So what’s your decision?” You look at Michael. “You don’t think he would’ve followed you if you looked like the mess you were last week, do you?” You answer with silence. She laughs, and you find yourself never wanting her to stop. “Please, I gave you what he wants. What everyone wants. Like what brought the groveling puppy home with you last night.”
“How did you—?”
“You already know the answer. Now I need yours. There’s a blonde plaything I’ve been wanting for dessert outside,” she says.
“It’s not like you’re keeping them waiting,” you retort sharply. Those daggers flash in her eyes again. You bite your tongue.
“Very good. Is that a yes?” Silence again. “I’m not going to be here all night. Do you want it or not? Beauty. You know the perks, you’ve seen it. How men stare at you, even women sometimes. The attention, the drinks, the favors…you think that would’ve all happened if I didn’t give you that gift? Now tell me, how would you like to have that…forever? Not only will you get the boy—but you’ll have it easy, and it only gets better. All I ask is a fraction of your success,” she smiles, lighting her cigarette. “We both know Michael wouldn’t have given you a second glance tonight. Why give that all up now? Just a small percentage.” You bite your lip, a nervous habit you picked up who knows when.
“You mean, monetarily?”
“We can work out the details later,” you nod, not realizing the weight behind that statement. You stare at Michael, and the way she traced her hand up his side. It made you nervous. He made you nervous, but in a good way. In a way that you haven’t felt before, and are willing to explore. Something told you a chance with him wasn’t something you should pass up, and you would regret it if you didn’t. But there was a chance he would stay without Lucy’s offer.
Yeah right, remember how he talked about how beautiful you are? From the start, he singled you out because of your looks. That’s the only reason why he chose you. What are the chances that he would’ve talked to you if he wasn’t physically attracted to you? You tell yourself. What’s the worst that can happen?
There was a moment at the top of a mountain overlooking the city and ocean, followed by your first overnight stay together, a few arguments that ended with heated sessions, the flowers, the diamonds, and a promise of forever. There was a promotion, a new car, presents from family, a new condo even, and an acceptance to the top graduate school in the country. Michael even promised to follow you. It had only been two years. It was your 23rd birthday, and when you blew out the candles on your ridiculously decked out cake, you saw Lucy in the background, clapping with your friends. You stand still, as if someone pressed their hands against your ears and the world moved slower. It might’ve been the champagne, but probably not. You know better. You haven’t seen her since that night you made the deal, and you knew why she was here. You’ve been setting aside a quarter of your paycheck, which has grown consistently larger since your promotion, just to pay her back. It was more than a small percentage, but it wasn’t as if you needed those funds.
“Fancy seeing you here,” you say, closing the door behind you. You’ve rehearsed this moment several times in your head. The festive noises of the party hummed outside the room. She was wearing silver tonight, and she looked better than you ever could, even with your new “gift.”
“I think you owe me something,” she smiles, closing the distance between you two, running her fingers through your curls when she was close enough.
“How much do you want?” you ask, surprisingly unafraid of her. You’ve theorized what she was, an inhumane agent of the divine was the best you could come up with. Perhaps a witch, but that didn’t seem fit Lucy.
“Where’s your…fiance?” She asks, holding your hand out so your simple engagement ring glimmered in the lamplight.
“He’s picking something up with Gabriel. He said he’ll be back as soon as he can. Something about a surprise,” you try to suppress a smile. He was the only thing that remained constant in your life, a pillar. He gave you the truth, didn’t shower you with overbearing compliments, and seemed to understand the real you. He looked beyond the surface, and you were excited to spend the rest of your life with him.
“I see. Well, enjoy the rest of your party,” she begins to walk past you, but not before you grab her arm to stop her.
“What about payment?” you whisper, taking the precautions so no one would hear you.
“In due time. Happy Birthday and congratulations on the engagement,” she winks, and disappears at the turn of a heel.
You shake your head and the anxiety Lucy always manages to induce you with and fix yourself in the mirror, indulging in a little narcissism before you step into the spotlight again. You’re greeted by a toast, but you notice a worried Judith on her cellphone. She catches you staring, and she immediately turns away and slides into the nearest corridor. You follow her.
“What’s wrong?” She shakes her head and turns her back on you. “Judith…Judith! What’s going on?” She hangs up the cellphone. She stares at you with blank eyes.
“I’m—I don’t know…”
“Spit it out, goddammit!”
“That was Gabriel…It’s Michael. He’s been in an accident.”
“What? He just texted me five minutes ago…he was on his way back, what are you talking about?” But you already know. The color drains out of you and the hallway around you.
You run out to the living room, ignoring another drunken toast. You grab your keys and dart out the apartment door. You can hear the sirens like the bell’s of hell, warning the world of a passing soul. You almost fall down the stairwell but catch yourself at the last step. You feel your heart beating in your ears. You’re holding your breath. Your hands shake as you fiddle for the right keys, the echoes of your heels bounce off the concrete walls of the garage. When the engine roars to life, you look at your last text. Right around the corner, I’ll be there soon. I love you. No measurement of time with you will be long enough. But we’ll start with forever. You don’t let the tears fall, because that’s losing faith.
You accelerate around the tight corners, burning rubber, getting closer and closer to the sirens and lights. You bathe in the red lights as you hop out of the car. You fall to your knees, as the police start pulling tape to restrain the curious crowds. Your screams of anguish are drowned by fire trucks approaching the scene. The building burned, your makeup starts to smear from the mixture of heat and overwhelming grief as you get up and run towards the scene. You’re chest heaves in pain, in response to seeing him pulled out of a car wreck that was halfway through the glass windows and to the restraint of the police officer.
“Michael! MICHAEL!” You scream, hoping to wake him up though twenty feet away. Gabriel sits a distance, wrapped around a blanket, surrounded by paramedics. His hands cover his face, but you can see the stream of blood and tears. A familiar brunette leans over Michael’s body, checking for a pulse. For a moment, her thick lashes are all you see as she searches. She looks up at you and smiles, but all you can hear are screams.
