Shift in Perspective: Elsa

I haven't told Anna of my life or anything other than my journeys into her dreams. What would I say? Oh, hey! Do you believe in Satan? Well, he's my dad. Lucifer Morningstar? She'd think me evil, I know it. There so much wrong with the situation: A). I took advantage of her as a child. B). I continued it into adulthood. C). She'll never be straight. D). I'm millions of years old, and she's only twenty-two. Talk about a cougar.

It has been a week since we met on that street in Lower Manhattan, a week since she gave me a brain bending hand job in my apartment. I have her phone number, but I haven't called her. I'm not scared, per say, but I get this foreboding guilt. She hates and loves me simultaneously, but she should just hate me. She should want nothing to do with me. She should call the cops on me, even if I could easily escape Earth and slip into the dankness of Hell before they even hopped in their cars. No, she was wrist deep in me, telling me what a dirty old bitch I was. When she left my apartment, she grabbed my iPhone and tapped her number in. The contact name? Anna Star. Star, how appropriate. She even put a winky face by it. Kinky.

She stood on her toes to meet my gaze, ginger eyebrows arched. "Call me, okay?" She left, but I still haven't called.

My phone is burning a hole in my pocket as I lounge on the couch. I do not have a job because my father's powers gives me an unreal amount of Earthly currency which would make the schmucks at Anna's work cry in envy. I wanna call her, I'm gonna call.

NO! You gross old bat! She's fucked up beyond repair.

But I love her.

No, you just like to suck her small, freckled breasts until it draws blood.

I like her for her. I like how she talks about college and her brother...

She doesn't love you.

So? Not the first time I've fallen.

Remember how that felt? When he died?

Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup.

I draw my nails into my wrist until crimson emerges. It's the only way to calm the voice in the back of my brain. It sounds like a mixture of my mother and companion, Chernabog, the voices of wisdom in my life.

My father saw me as a trophy child, but just that: the most treacherous of his children, a succubus. My mother is also a fallen angel who revolted against Yahweh and was sent to oblivion. She is one of his many wives, but also one of his least favorites, seeing as she was a pure bitch. He prefers his new bitch, Margaret Thatcher, whom I despise, seeing as she's younger than I am.

Fuck it, I'm going to call Anna. I dial the number and waitwaitwaitwait...

"Hello?" she answers. Sweet, innocent Anna.

"..It's...It's Elsa..."

"ELSA!" she shouts through the receiver, almost in joy. "How are you?"

I begin to pace around the apartment while talking. "Uh, fine, fine. Can't complain. I've been watching reruns of Dallas on TVLand and-"

Anna is guffawing now. "Wait, you mean creatures of Hell watch shitty Earth shows?"

"They do when they hardly ever visit Hell anymore."

"So you spend all your time on Earth?"

"Basically," I reply. "My best friend is a demon named Chernabog who lives on the seventh layer of Hell. I often come back to visit him, but not as much. Not since-"

"...me?"

"Right."

The pause is pregnant.

"Hey," I blurt,"would you consider going to a club with me?" No way, Elsa.

"Yeah, I mean, I am off on weekends."

"Good, Friday night. Eight o' clock."

"You don't know where I live, Elsa."

"Oh, yeah...I'll meet you in front of the bull statue on Wall Street, okay?"

"Done and done. See you then."

"Uh...bye."

"Nnnbye."