The Devil does not always appear as something separate.
Not a whisper.Not a presence.Not a shadow behind you.
My fingers curled slightly.
There are forces that do not announce themselves as forces.Events that do not look like events.Decisions that seem made without a maker.
Things that only become visible when the outcome has already settled.
Some are mistaken for chance.Some for error.Some for choice.
But none of them agree on what they are.
My chest felt tight.
The room—
smaller.
Closer.
The final line sat at the bottom of the page.
Waiting.
And among them—is the Devil.
I didn't move.
Didn't scroll.
Didn't blink.
Because something about it felt—
staged.
Not what it said.
But how it had been arranged.
And for the first time—
I wasn't sure if I had been looking for answers.
Or if something had already been waiting for me to ask.
But immediately, doubt crept in.
I never believed in the Devil. Not really. Not in God either. Only the idea of them. Shapes people carved into the dark when they couldn't stand the silence.
I let out a slow breath.
Maybe I was just being paranoid.
Maybe I had always been able to fight. I just never noticed it before.
Maybe what happened to my uncle… was just an accident. A stupid, meaningless accident dressed up as something more.
Yes. That made more sense.
That had to make sense.
I tried to shift my thoughts.
Away from the noise. Away from the house. Away from the way reality kept bending at the edges.
I searched for my escape.
My safe place.
To Gwendolyn-
innocent Gwendolyn-
sweet, beautiful Gwendolyn
The name didn't just appear in my mind.
It arrived.
Soft, warm and right.
Something inside me tightened.
My heartbeat stuttered once.
Then again.
And suddenly it wasn't just beating anymore.
It was accelerating—like an engine turning over in the dark.
Heat followed.
Real enough that I could feel it spreading under my skin, crawling up my neck, settling low and heavy in my body like a slow-burning flame that didn't ask permission.
My breath changed.
Shallow.
Unsteady.
I stared at nothing, but the room wasn't what I was seeing anymore.
Everything had blurred at the edges.
Even my thoughts felt distant, like I was watching myself from somewhere just behind my eyes.
Gwendolyn.
The name again.
Softer this time.
My body reacted with the precision of habit.
A tightening in my chest.
I swallowed hard.
Tried to stop it.
Tried to think of anything else.
But the thought had already rooted itself in me.
Warm. Persistent.
Unshakable.
I stood without fully realizing I had decided to move.
The bed creaked beneath me.
The room felt hotter now, like the walls had shrunken.
My pulse was everywhere.
In my ears.
My throat.
My hands.
I reached for the door instinctively, then stopped.
Locked it.
I exhaled softly, pressure building up inside me, almost volcanic.
I walked to the drawer.
Opened it.
Took the lotion.
Went back to bed.
I pulled off my shirt.
Threw it aside.
Then I took off my pajama trousers.
Then my boxers—wiped them off like I'd never need them again—and tossed them across the room.
I squeezed the bottle of lotion in my hands. The plastic gave slightly under my grip. A bead formed at the nozzle, then thickened—slow, white, and smooth—before sliding out in a steady ribbon into my palm.
Almost unconsciously.
My thoughts rushed back to her.
Her face.
Her eyes.
So vivid like she was standing right in front of me.
I spread my legs far apart, one hand down my cock. I imagined her naked and my cock got stiffer—
harder—
it actually hurt.
I stroke myself gently, never taking my eyes off hers, her big round ocean green eyes.
I stroked myself harder.
and imagined it was her hands on my nipples,
not mine.
Then—
there was a glitch.
Not in thought.
In perception.
Like the scene itself had slipped out of alignment.
For a moment, it wasn't just me.
Not just Gwen.
Not just the quiet, imagined warmth I had been holding onto.
Something else bled in at the edges.
Too many impressions at once. Too many presences trying to exist in the same moment. Hands—if they could even be called that—overlapping, impossible to separate. Human tones. Inhuman shapes. Things that didn't belong to any single body or identity.
Some felt familiar. Some didn't feel like they belonged to anything alive at all.
Skin deep—
too close to dismiss.too wrong to accept.
hands
Too many hands at once.
White. Dark. Earth-toned. Unnatural.Some too smooth. Some too textured.Some that felt human.Some that didn't feel human at all.
And others—that felt wrong in ways I couldn't name.
Not one feeling.
Not one presence.
But multiplicity—overlapping, indistinct, impossible to place.
The pressure kept building.
Higher.Heavier.Unrelenting.
Gwendolyn was there in my mind—too close, too vivid, at the center of the multitudes of the faceless faces.
I wasn't in my bedroom anymore.
I was in my bed… but not in my room.
The walls were gone. Stripped away without sound, without break.
What remained had been replaced with liquid darkness, stretching farther than sight should allow.
My bed floated on it.
Not sinking.
Not stable either.
…something that didn't behave like space. Not space. Not matter either, come to think of it.
Her hands pressed in harder.
when she pressed her hands, the other hands pressed in even harder
I let out a small cry of pleasure
For a moment nothing mattered.
Breath.
Thought.
Reason.
Nothing.
All of it narrowed to a single burning edge.
leading me to an orgasm of volcanic proportion. I jerked for a full a few seconds, my body consumed with pleasure.
Then-
Silence followed.
My body felt drained after it.
Empty in a way that didn't feel natural.
Tired.
Exhausted.
Weightless.
I didn't even think about it.
Didn't question it.
Didn't want to.
I just let myself fall back into the bed.
The ceiling blurred above me.
My eyes struggled to stay open—
then gave up.
And just before everything slipped—
I had the faintest sense…
that I wasn't alone in the quiet.
Then I let go.