Devilish Salvation

The devil is downstairs. They said he would seek the ruins of souls, but it seems like he just seeks to ruin my soul. Temptation through candied words and dulcet praise, luring me in until he crushes me again. He devoured the pieces of my shattered soul, thriving off each ruined dream. 

He says he loves me, but I am no longer a fool. The scars that remain on my once bloodied heart remind me that his marred body only holds evil. I tiptoe around, careful to not wake the beast. But alas, I live with the devil. Is it possible to not get burnt? I once believed so, until my mind was scorched and filled with ashes that gave the devil a gateway. Instead of carefully avoiding him by skipping creaky steps, I must avoid shutting my eyes. He is always there. I must avoid thinking. He is always there. I must avoid existing. The devil is always there.

I close my rosy journal with a scrawled ‘Cherry’ across the cover and peek over the banister, checking for signs of movement. I carefully stalk down the hall, and then down the stairs. I pause and look down the steps once more, my breath caught in my throat. The next step creaks, it always does. I step, and I pray that God can hear my cries to keep him dormant. 

If he heard my cries, I must be a lost soul.

“Cherilyn? Why are you awake at this hour?” 

My heart stutters. “I-I’m just getting some water.”

“I didn’t ask for your excuses. Go to sleep.”

But you just asked.

I walk over to the fridge and start filling my water bottle, trying to drown out the sound of him droning on about how I need to start preparing for my online courses. If only he knew. But his voice is too harsh and I can’t stop myself from crushing the plastic bottle in my fist, sending a spray of water all over the floor.

“See! I knew you’d never make it on your own out there. You can’t even fill a bottle of water, and you expect to live on your own? You need me,” I grabbed the paper towel from his hand.

I got on my knees to clean the mess and beg for forgiveness from God. Get me out of here.

His voice turns to static buzzing in my ears as I stumble back up the stairs and into my sanctuary. You need him. No I don’t. I am stronger than this. But you can’t do anything right. You can’t even fill water. I can when I’m not upset. You’re pathetic. I can get out.

I lay down, but refuse to sleep due to the demons that crawl through reality and haunt my dreams. I stare at the window and wait for streaming rays of gold. The devil is deceitful, disguising purgatory as hell with the promise of forever. After what feels like an eternity, my penance is over.  

You don’t have to leave. You can stay, take the courses he wants. You want to be a writer, you’re obviously crazy. Don’t trust your judgment, he will keep you safe. Nobody will ever love you as much as him, he’s family. Also, think of your stuffies! What about Daisy and Milo, Milo’s only a puppy and you’d leave him with that monster?

I shudder that thought away. I can be free.

Reaching under my bed, I pull out a scarlet hardcover and flip to the unfinished page.

Something they never speak of, is the delicate beauty that peaks through the embers of hell. The single tulip that lays amongst the flames, forcing you to scorch your skin to protect the only sign of life you’ve seen in an eternity. My tulip is stuffed with cotton and shaped like childhood teddy bears, but at times, she is the only comforting presence amongst the demons, and even with the promise of something better, I cannot leave her behind. She is the only reason I keep going at times. She is life, and she needs me.

So despite the parts of my mind that protest and the overwhelming aching in my joints that tempt me back to my cushioned coffin, I instead grab the tulip, and the dandelion, and even the measly weed. My cotton filled flowers are all I had, and the only other thing I have now, is hope and the flimsy pages of my thoughts. 

I open the gates to my sanctuary. The devil is there, as he always is. I am not fooled by his saccharine smile. I am strong.

Charred hands shove the devil aside, and I parade through fire. Each step is excruciating, molten lava threatening to drag me back into the serpent's hungry jaws. Normally the devil thrives off my pain, but every step through flames sends overwhelming hope bubbling up my chest, threatening to explode from bloody lips.

“How dare you push your father! Where do you think you’re going, Cherilyn? Why do you have a bag? Are those your stuffed animals? I thought you grew out of that pathetic phase.”

“It's Cherry, and I’m going to college.”

“Cherry. Another pathetic thing you won't let go of. What, are you still trying to become an author? Don't be ridiculous. You told me you enrolled for those online courses? Did you lie to me? I knew you couldn’t be trusted. You never say anything straight. You’re not allowed to move out, you have to stay here until you're done with college. I won’t let you. You really think you’ll make it alone? You’re crazy.”

A sick and twisted grin stretches across my face. “Maybe I am crazy, but soon I will be free.”

“I am your father, and you are obligated to listen to me,” His knuckles turn white as he clutches onto the banister.

“That’s not your choice. I've learned I am strong, so thank you for that.” 

The devil is always there. He is strong, and he is temptation, and he is manipulation, and he is terrified. 

Each stomp down the creaky stairs I once feared cracks his facade, desperation consuming him whole. Heat devours my feet and yet, the burning in my heart mutes all other pain. His eyes beg for mercy, for my freedom, my soul, my life and for me. He threatens to keep my tulip, my dandelion, even the dying weed.

“Please, Cherilyn. I’m your father, I love you Cherilyn. How could you leave your poor old dad? I’ve done everything for you, provided a house and food and care. I even got you pets, are you just going to abandon them? I’ve given my life for you, and this is how you repay me? Are you going to abandon me, my darling Cherry?” 

Three sets of puppy-dog eyes latch onto my ankles, ready to drag me back into the flames. 

I love. I love my tulip. I love my dandelion. I love my weed. And maybe the good in me forces me to love the devil. But I love myself more. 

I drop the frail crimson hands that grasp for mine, and the stuffies I cradled as a small child believing I was in Heaven. I cut the delicate heartstrings his blood-stained fingers reached to toy with. The fires of hell set my heart ablaze, and I am all I need. 

Finally, I reach into my pocket to complete the tale of my crimson memories.

I am free.