Lucifer and I.

Everyone has a Lucifer. You know the one. A boy so freaking dangerous that the thought of him simultaneously excites you and then causes you to run from your own shadow, like the proverbial guilty man running away when no one is chasing him (I’ve just watched True Grit, hence the Biblical references. Such a good film).

My Lucifer got in touch on Friday (the reason he is Lucifer is a whole other MANY blog posts, so we’ll stick to just today). Now don’t get me wrong, Lucifer and I are really good friends, until we are not. Until we begin to behave like rabbits, and until words like ‘I do love you but...’ are bundied about. Of course we’ll have weeks where we talk about life, the weather, work, family and then we’ll go for three months and not speak. But because he is Lucifer, and all he does is lead me into temptation, I don’t mind the silence. In fact, I relish it.

Anyway, he got in touch after our customary 3 month hiatus, and it was a pleasant conversation. The weather in Hellville was a toasty 3 degrees. Quite similar to BWTB land, then. Work was mutually busy, shocking (NOT- that was our standard excuse for my thumb and index finger were too lazy to co-ordinate searching for your name, but not to tweet/blog/other manual tasks). Then Lucifer started with confessions. Confessions are bad. The Devil made confessions that led Eve to eat the apple. My devil was here telling that he’s ‘always been attracted to me’ (read: dry spell and I know there’s someone I have chemistry with). Then Lucifer, who I am now suspicious may be reading my blog, dropped a bomb-shell. This was in the form of ‘Sweetheart, why didn’t you ever tell me that you wanted a relationship? I didn’t realise you felt like you were competing for my attention.’ *Extra sharp, sword-edge, you know, Samurai-performing-Seppuku like sharp, intake of breath here*

(Seppuku: Suicide performed by a captured Samurai. He falls on his sword and disembowels himself. Gross. I know. But honourable. No? Ok, moving on).

I made a mental note to kill my best friend for outing me like that. Luckily her arse was on a different continent, and we were still having our silent fight (see Collinda, earlier post), because if not, *somebody hold my sh*t*.

I beat a hasty retreat. I pulled a Kipchoge (fast Kenyan runner, think Michael Johnson, over many many kilometres). Yeah, I pulled one of those.

‘It was a long time ago, I’m weird like that. It’s in the past, then I didn’t know how to tell you’.

‘That was then...and now?’

What the hell?! How was it that Luc was putting me on the spot like that? Bloody hell, literally. If this was a reflection of what it’s like down there, I definitely don’t want a part of it (not that I had major doubts about not wanting to be in hell, but you catch my drift).

‘Now, well. I’m seeing someone, so I can’t answer that question’

‘You don’t have to answer it sweetheart. Is it serious?’

Oh come on! We’ve never been the deep type. We’ve been the ‘can I kiss you in the back of the car while we wait for you sister to finish a cigarette’ type. This was freaking me out. I called back-up (my friend, cynical, usually beats me out of my foolishness). Back-up had gone to sleep. Oh dear.

‘Yes. Kind of. I want it to be...’

‘OK’.

Did I get off that easily? Yippeee! Oh no, wait...

‘So what are you doing this weekend?’

‘Eh, I don’t know. Nothing. Well, Saturday will be busy but..’

‘See you Friday’

Buggery. Buggery! Buggery! Buggery! I forgot he knew where I lived. Back up was still not answering her phone, so I stupidly said,

‘OK’.

‘Tell your ‘kind of’ person that I’ll be coming to see you. He knows about me, right?’

‘Of course.’ He didn’t know about him, because he didn’t quite exist. Well, if it’s #4 we’re talking about, he doesn’t exist. But at least I have a get-out-of-jail-free card.

‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow’

‘Uuum..’

‘Sleep well. I love you.’

‘Love you too’. Diabolical behaviour. Why did I say that? I guess we’ve always said it, so why change now? Ah, because I am meant to be kind of serious about a guy. Oh dear. Friday was 6 days away. Panic.

He got in touch the next day. To tell me how I tempt him. Surely, talk about turning the tables around on a girl. 5 days to D-day. I may start taking bets on whether or not I chicken out. Aaaah, Lucifer son of the morning, why you gotta be so exciting?! Huh?!

To be continued...