Page 46 of Fear No Hell
Sam
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I growl out a sigh as yet another ancient Sumerian text fills the screen.
Three weeks of searching every backass-ward, conspiracy-riddled corner of the internet using every symbolic piece either of us can remember from our dreams, and we’ve got nothing of substance.
All we’ve found so far are old videos of Lilith Fair, fanvids of a show called Hazbin Hotel—which inspired a popcorn-fueled binge of the first season one day—and pictures of artifacts and documents from Mesopotamian dig sites.
Not to mention, my mother is still dodging my calls, texts, and random drive-by visits.
Ordinarily, I would be fine with that. I’m terrible at staying in contact, no matter how much I love my mother.
During med school, I once went without calling her for a month, which resulted in an unannounced visit from her one day before my Pharmacology final to make sure I hadn't "died in a ditch.
" So it’s not outside of the realm of possibility.
Three months without contact, however, is all but unheard of. Add to the mixture a panicking Lila, and it feels like we’re on a clock. So my mother avoiding me? Yeah, it’s pissing me off.
“Why are you searching for, ‘Lilith blood?’” The voice over my shoulder sends me lurching forward, slamming into the table in front of me and almost sending my coffee cup flying.
I whirl in irritation to find Dillon behind me, a smirk on their face and a muffin in their hand.
“Heya, buddy.” They shake the muffin at me. “Figured you could use some breakfast.”
“Hmmph.” I accept their offering. “You ever hear about not sneaking up on people?”
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dillon tsks. “I said your name, like, six times.”
Oh. I blink. “Well, shit. Sorry. I must have been a little—” A lot. “—Focused.”
“Yeah, on ‘Lilith blood.’” They try to drop into the seat next to me, but I shoo them away, directing them to the chair across the table. “Wait, what the hell, man? Why can’t I sit there?”
“I’m meeting somebody.” It’s part of our effort to get Lila out of the house and make sure she’s not getting cabin fever.
After four driving sessions, six texts reminding her of the directions to the coffee shop across from the hospital, and two reassurances that she first got her license in the ’60’s and she’ll be fine, I’m only slightly less terrified now than I was when I gave her the keys to my car this morning.
“Wait.” They flop into their claimed chair, their rainbow mohawk bobbing. “Are you meeting Lila?” They’re practically bouncing. “Do I get to finally meet your girl?”
“What the fuck?” I flinch backwards in surprise.
Although Dillon knows about Lila, I haven’t told them much about her, and they definitely haven't met her. Up until recently, I was afraid to, too scared to say anything about her in case she left. Now, though, I want to tell everyone about her, including my energetic best friend. “How’d you know?”
“Sam.” They level a glare at me. “I just know.”
Raising an eyebrow at them, I sit in silence.
“Okay, fine! I guessed. But that’s beside the point! Why didn’t you tell me about her, so I could meet her?” they wheedle.
“I didn’t want to crowd h—” I drop the rest of my sentence as Lila strolls in, her head swiveling in the universal symbol of looking for someone you’re meeting.
The tattoos on her legs are covered by jeans that perfectly form to her body while the ones on her arms and neck are visible for everyone to see.
A tiny flicker of possessiveness lights in my chest, and, without saying another word, I’m stalking towards her, abandoning my muffin, coffee, and table to Dillon.
“Sam!” Lila breaks into a smile. “You’re here.”
“Heya, sweetness,” I greet her, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck and tugging her into me.
Her head tilts back, and then, in front of the coffee shop, the barista, my best friend, the entire goddamn world, she gives me the sweetest kiss I’ve ever had.
It’s barely a brush of her lips over mine, but it’s enough to indicate to everyone here that I’m hers, and she’s mine.
Not anybody else’s, which manages to soothe the feral animal raging in my chest over the assholes ogling her as I walked over.
“How was the drive?” I ask as I take her backpack and drape it over my shoulder.
“Driving has changed since the ’70s!” she exclaims. “There are so many more cars on the roads now. It’s crazy.”
“Since you’re here in one piece, I’m assuming it went okay?” My eyes dart up and down her body, scanning for injuries.
Her lips purse in a way that tells me she’s trying to avoid laughing at me. “Sam, I’m totally okay. And the car’s fine too, although I think I may have scraped off some paint when I was parking.”
I shrug. If Lila isn’t hurt and my car is in one piece and right side up, that’s a fucking win right there.
I couldn’t care less about some paint. “Isn’t the first time it’s gotten scratched up.
Definitely won’t be the last.” I jerk my chin at the large menu hanging behind the counter.
“You want anything to eat? I’ve already got a caramel cappuccino at the table for you. ”
She beams up at me, like me doing the bare damn minimum of remembering her favorite coffee order, one I’ve been making for her at home for months, no less, is worthy of the radiant expression directed my way.
When she burrows deeper into my arms, nuzzling her nose against my chest—the one currently housing a heart that’s grown two sizes bigger, Grinch-style—the irritation at everyone who came before me and didn’t treat her right vanishes.
If they had, she wouldn’t be here with me today.
“Can I have a muffin?” she asks, the words lost in my shirt.
“Sure,” I answer, turning her gently towards the case of baked goods. “Blueberry, lemon poppyseed, chocolate chip—” Her excited hum has me saying to the barista, “Chocolate chip muffin, please,” before Lila can actually say the words out loud and passing over my card for payment.
“Thank you.” She pivots in my arms and goes on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to my cheek before she glances over my shoulder. “Where are we sitting?”
I gesture aimlessly over my shoulder, only remembering there’s a nosy best friend bouncing in their seat when Lila freezes.
“Who’s that?” Buried in her voice are curiosity and a fearful waver I hate.
“Dillon. I didn’t invite them; they just descended upon me with the intensity of a thousand rabid Chihuahuas. They’re kind of a force to be reckoned with. I can ask them to leave if you want me to, though.”
“Wait, they’re the one who laser printed the designs on your prosthesis, aren’t they?” Her face brightens in excitement when I nod. “I would love to meet them.” She pushes away and darts across the café to Dillon, leaving me to retrieve her muffin and follow in amusement.