The Lovebirds - IX

“I apologize if that wasn’t enough.”

It hadn’t taken Stolitz more than two nights of sleeping on the floor to correlate his newfound resting space with the aches and pains in various parts of his body. By demonic standards, he wasn’t old - compared to some of the most elder citizens in Hell, he was still scarcely more than a hatchling. He certainly didn’t feel as if he was, though. With every additional number tacked on to his age, new issues seemed to crop up, often without warning and at the most inopportune times. He couldn’t eat as he did when he was two-hundred without feeling sluggish, heavy, and putting himself into dire gastric turmoil. He couldn’t drink like he could when he was two-hundred, either; hang-overs were beginning to actually hurt, and, with each decade that passed, it seemed to take less and less alcohol to induce one. Even looking at something with a moderate amount of spice made his esophagus burn that would refuse to dull until he took medication. His father always said that getting old was a privilege afforded to few, yet, with every passing year, Stolitz wasn’t convinced that it wasn’t a gift so much as a curse, and that it wouldn’t have been a mercy if he’d died when he was at his peak physical condition. It would have saved him a lot of pain, both physical and emotional. He certainly wouldn’t be in the position he was in, now, and Agratta, Astoria, and his father, he had to assume, would all be happier for it.

He was really of no age to be laying on a hardwood floor for seven or eight hours straight. He’d hoped that the folding sofa he’d spent the better part of a day putting together, disassembling it because he’d put one metal bar in the wrong place, and then doing it all over again, would spare him the persistent ache in his back that had dogged him since he’d arrived on Earth. That theory, however, remained to be tested, since, only one night after he’d purchased the stupid thing for entirely more than it was worth, he found himself once again laying on the floor.

He didn’t want to. Multiple times over the course of the night, he’d been roused from new aches in strange places that hadn’t been aching before. If there was anything to be said for them, it was that, at the very least, they woke him from dreams that he’d rather not be having. Few of the details, if any of them, remained, but each time he woke up, he was left with the feeling that he was glad to be awake rather than at the mercy of his subconscious, which seemed to be making an active attempt to make what should be the most relaxing part of his day anything but. Whether that was a result of sleeping on the floor or simply his frazzled state of mind, he wasn’t sure. But, even if it did stem from the former more than the latter, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. He figured that he’d once again be bedding down on the hard ground for the foreseeable future.

Agratta insisted on it.

“I’m not sleeping alone,” she stated, with little room for argument.

“You were perfectly content to sleep by yourself before.”

“That was before I was aware that there was a bloody angelic maniac living next door!”

Of course, there was the unspoken caveat that not sleeping alone did not equate to sleeping together - it simply meant that she wanted Stolitz in the same room. Which, really, was fine with him; he didn’t have any strong impulse to share the small inflatable mattress he’d (perhaps foolishly) told Agratta to take for herself. But, she also wouldn’t let him move the sofa. At least, not move it into the room.

“I’m going to be perfectly honest, Agratta,” Stolitz had said, staring at the folding sofa where he’d dragged it to block the front door. “I don’t see what this is supposed to accomplish.”

“It’s a barricade,” Agratta explained. “At least, the best one we can make, given what we have.”

“I understand that much, but if a deadbolt isn’t going to stop someone who really wants into the house from getting in, I don’t think this is going to be much more of an impediment.”

“And what would you rather do? Leave the bloody door open for her to just… waltz in of her own accord? Oh - perhaps you’d like to leave a spare key under the welcome mat, for her convenience?”

“We might as well,” Stolitz countered. “Because even if we didn’t, you seem to be forgetting…” He turned around and gestured to the sliding glass door that looked out into the empty backyard.

If Agratta’s expression was anything to go by, she hadn’t considered the gaping vulnerability that was the back door to the patio.

“If she has her heart set on getting in, I reckon she’ll get in one way or another, and there’s really not much we can do to keep her out. Not without spending all our remaining funds to fortify the house to the point that we can’t get in or out ourselves.”

Agratta feverishly studied the backdoor, as if there might be some switch available that would drop a solid sheet of metal down in front of it in the face of an emergency. She turned back to her husband. Her expression was inscrutable, but Stolitz had a feeling he knew exactly what she was going to say.

“And no,” he said, preempting her. “We are not going to barricade ourselves inside with no way out.”

“And why not?” Agratta asked.

Stolitz felt as if that was a question with self-evident answers, but took the time to elucidate his wife to the fact that if they were to hole up in their house and effectively hermetically seal themselves away from the outside world, they’d have no way of getting anything to eat, and would promptly starve. This was assuming that, being trapped in the house together with absolutely no recourse whatsoever, one of them simply didn’t lose what little sanity they still possessed and commit a murder-suicide.

Naturally, Agratta was dismissive.

“Of course you would find every reason not to go through with the first good idea you’ve had since we got here,” she’d said.

Stolitz was no more fond of the idea that their angelic neighbor could, if she really wanted to, invade their property through any number of methods, but the fact that she could meant that trying to prepare for such an event was more trouble than it was worth. Even if they did set about fortifying every possible point of entrance, he was certain that the angel would manage to suss out the one that they just happened to overlook, or sniff out a mean of entry that they’d hitherto been unaware even existed. And that was assuming that she didn’t just find some means of either forcing her way through by preternatural means that bypassed the laws of conventional physics entirely.

It was the same reason that Agratta’s idea of arming themselves was so laughable. Stolitz, too, had considered using some of their money to buy himself a weapon - preferably something that could shoot someone at a distance before they got close enough to stab him, or put a bullet in him at point-blank range - but he’d quickly realized that, even in a country like America, which he was aware had very lax restrictions on firearms, he doubted that he had all the necessary documentation to pass the background test in order to purchase one. Attempting to do so would most likely raise enough red flags to grab the attention of some government authority that would greatly complicate his exile to Earth, and perhaps guarantee that he spent it languishing in a prison cell.

Even if he did acquire a gun… well, what good would it do?

A conventional human firearm and the ammunition they fired lacked the proper means to kill a demon. Much like a bullet wound, while painful, would not be sufficient enough to kill him, putting a regular, human-made round fired from a typical gun through Roniel’s face would only act as a temporary inconvenience. And make her mad.

Very, very mad.

Loathe as he was to admit it, even to himself, Stolitz could think of no better course of action but to hope that the angel’s threats were little more than baseless blustering, and that she feared the reprisals that would follow violating the neutrality pact more than she hated them.

“I don’t see how you think having me sleep here is going to do anything to make you or I any more safe,” Stolitz had told her, trying his best to get comfortable on the ground.

His wife groaned as she, with uncharacteristic difficulty, struggled to roll over on the inflatable mattress. The thing had lost some of its internal air, compromising its stability and causing her to sink deep into it. It needed to be reinflated, but Stolitz wasn’t going to say anything. He wanted to see how long it would take for her to figure it out for herself, which he guessed would probably only come once she was just about sleeping on the floor herself.

“Well, you don’t have to,” she said curtly.

“What do you think’s going to happen?” Stolitz asked. “Do you think she’s just going to… what? Kick down the door and just shoot me?” He glanced over towards his wife, who had made a point to roll in such a way as to turn her back to him.

“I could only be so lucky.”

“Yes, I suppose I could say the same,” Stolitz groused. “Maybe you think that you’ll have time to bargain with her? Plead for your life? Run away, maybe? I’m asking earnestly here, Agratta. I desperately want to see your logic. What do you want me to do? What do you expect me to do? What can I do? I’m not - listen.” He found himself gesticulating, wildly and sharply, as his emotions worked themselves out through his hands in vague but pointed movements. “I know you must think that I’m just - I’m laying down and taking it like a beat hellhound, because that’s what you always think I’m doing, but I’m not. I’m being realistic. And, realistically, our options here are exceedingly limited.”

Agratta said nothing. She kept her back facing Stolitz, and, for a long moment, he believed that she was simply going to ignore him entirely. If she was hoping he’d simply fall asleep as he waited for a response, she’d be dreadfully mistaken - his back was already beginning to smart in strange places, and sleep would be a long time yet to come.

Yet, before Stolitz could try and coax her into speaking, she began to stir beneath her blankets. They were thick and remarkably soft for the price they’d been on sale for, so much so that Stolitz had bought one for himself on top of the two for Agratta. It did little to make the floor any less easy to sleep on, but it did work nicely with the Puppy Dog Pals bed sheets to keep him warm. Agratta grumbled as she awkwardly rolled herself over, effectively wrapping herself in a cocoon of blankets like some sort of demon burrito. She glowered down at him from the slightly higher vantage point of the inflatable mattress. Her eyes radiating with a red luminescence in the darkness, split down the middle by slitted pupils.

“Stolitz,” she said pointedly. “Are you a man or not?”

Stolitz blinked. “What… what kind of question is that?”

“Just answer it,” Agratta demanded.

“Well - no,” Stolitz answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was. “I’m a demon.”

He watched Agratta’s eyes roll in their sockets. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Stolitz. I know you’re not that bloody dense. You’re a demon, yes, but you’re a male demon, aren’t you?”

“Well, given what we’ve done, I think you should now that fact better than anyone,” he replied.

Agratta made a low, owl-like sound of bemusement. “Oh, on the contrary, actually. I’m less certain than anyone. I’m genuinely not sure anymore, since you certainly aren’t fucking acting like one.”

Stolitz, with a huff, rolled onto his chest and propped himself up on his elbows, bringing his face to Agratta’s level with a scowl to match hers on his beak. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Agratta said. “That you swore an oath to me. The day we married, you swore an oath that, as my husband, you’d see to it that I was protected, regardless of the threat or danger or consequences to yourself. If that angel was to come through that door, right this very moment, it would be your responsibility to get up and do whatever you possibly could, by any means necessary, to ensure that she didn’t kill me, even if it meant you stood up and wrestled the gun right out of her hand or - or scratched her bloody eyes out, or whatever. Because that’s what husbands do. All husbands. Demons, angels, humans, and everything in between. And, yet, now that we’re in a position where our lives have never been more in peril, you can’t bring yourself to follow through on it. We have a bloody angel threatening us and you’re sitting there, whining like a spoiled child because I’m asking you to do the one thing - the one fucking thing you’re supposed to do above all else.”

Stolitz listened. He listened, and felt a churning, indecipherable mix of emotions turn in his chest, too muddled and too messy to parse. Notes of anger. Bits of disappointment. Self-loathing - a lot of that. A little guilt. All of it coming together in a potent and distinctly unpleasant sludge that backed up in a fist-sized blockage in his throat. But it was the anger that slipped out first. And easily so.

“Who… who exactly are you to be lecturing me on the responsibilities of a spouse? Honestly, now. Every time I think your audacity has reached it’s zenith, you open your beak and prove otherwise.”

“You know, if you’re trying to get a rise out of me so I’ll throw you out into the den - it’s not going to happen.”

“That’s not -” Stolitz paused, an awful growl rising in his throat. “That never even occurred to me. I’m only saying what I should have said decades ago, because even if you don’t want to hear it, I need to say it. Perhaps you forgot, but, when we married? You swore an oath to me, as well. Do you remember that?”

“Of course I remember,” Agratta spat.

“Well, you bloody well don’t show it, because you - you swore to me that my, er - my… my marital devotion, or whatever you want to call it, you swore that it would be reciprocated in kind. We were supposed to take care of each other. I keep you safe and provide for you. You, at the very least, treat me with a modicum of respect. It’s a mutual agreement of reciprocal care. How is that you find the… the temerity to sit there and demand that I put my feathers on the line when you can’t even be arsed to be nice? Even in the slightest?”

He already suspected that he knew what Agratta’s response would be, so he continued.

“And, before you accuse me of not fulfilling my end of the oath, remember - please, just once, consider the fact that you never had to work. You never had to concern yourself with finances. You never wanted to for food or clothes or a roof over your head, and neither did Astoria. Everything you could have ever needed done was always taken care of, without question. You can say that I was never around or unavailable or this, that, and the third, but our wealth never just came to us. The money in our account didn’t just will itself into existence or appear there of its own accord. You never saw what I did to make sure it was always there, I understand that, but believe me, if you think that I would have rather been at work rather than at home with you and Astoria, you’re wrong. Every day of my life, I had to wake up and drag myself to that miserable office or haul my arse down into the torture pits and spend all my waking hours away from the only two demons in my life I wanted to be with more than anything, just so that I could do it all, day in and day out, at least knowing you two wouldn’t go without. For every meal I skipped at the dinner table or birthday I missed or anniversary I forgot, remember that the only reason I wasn’t there is because I was doing exactly what I told you I was going to do when I married you. I’ve already been dying for you, little by little, day by day, ever since.”

The room was silent, so much so that Stolitz could hear Agratta breathing and the dull drone of the air conditioning that so easy to overlook. Her eyes were fixed on him - spots of brilliant electric red split by black threads, glowing in the darkness.

“I apologize if that wasn’t enough.”

Agratta said nothing. And that was fine; Stolitz didn’t really want her to say anything. There was nothing she could say that he wanted to hear. Now, he was tired. Now, he wanted to sleep, his energy all but washed out with all of his pent-up emotions as they’d spilled unflatteringly upon the hardwood floor. He felt dirty. He felt guilty for having said so much, as if he’d violated some unspoken rule of saying something that he was never supposed to say. But he’d been honest. And, in a way - he felt a bit lighter, and the floor felt a little less hard than it had before as he laid back down, pulling the blanket up tight around his neck and turning away from his wife. She’d still been staring, uncharacteristically quiet, as he did. He could feel her eyes resting upon his back for a moment more, until he heard the sound of rustling fabric and the strange, rubbery noise of the mattress shifting beneath her weight.

That was that, he figured. He’d be surprised if Agratta even deigned to speak to him the next morning, if not all day. Stolitz slowed his breathing and tried to clear his mind.

“You can move the couch in here. If you want.”

Stoltiz eyes opened. Craning his neck, he looked over his shoulder. Agratta was still laying down, facing the opposite direction. It seemed a little late to make that concession now. He wanted to say as much, but, instead, laid down himself.

“I’ll do it in the morning,” he replied.

He expected Agratta so follow up with a snarky comment. I don’t want to hear you complaining tomorrow, then. Or something to that effect. But, as the minutes passed, he didn’t. He didn’t even hear her breathing steady and ease into the slow cadence of someone asleep before he finally passed out.

---

“Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as it is fit in the Lord. Husbands, love your wives, and be not bitter against them.” - Colossians 3:18-19, KJV

Also, I have to say that, if it seems like Stolitz is a blameless victim, as I’m often worried he comes off as - he’s not. Give it time.

This is the ninth installment of my ongoing series for Thorny Thursday, which is spearheaded by Kathrine Elaine and The Brothers Krynn. I encourage you to check out the other authors that are participating, a full list of which can be found on either of their pages.

As always, I sincerely hope you enjoyed, and I hope to see you in the next.