(Switching to formal, just because itâs easier for this particular post. Skype me if you would rather keep it informal. :0)
Youâd be lying if you said you werenât expecting a reaction like this. It was, of course, one of the least favorable of the scenarios youâd gone over in your head. In the past you would have shied away, flustered about and made wide-sweeping excuses and empty apologies. But you know too much now. You lower your voice, dropping your chin but keeping your eyes up and locked on his burning eyes.
âYour pride blinds you.â You lick your chapped lips, nodding gently in ascent. âI know you think Iâm stupid Belial, and you always have. Even when we were âbest palsâ. I used to believe it, too, you know.â
âI know what your name means.â You reach up to adjust your glasses, furrowing your brows in concentration, âBeli, meaning without, and yaâal meaning value. Without value. You say He cursed you with that name, but I think it was your own wounded pride that twisted it into what you feared becoming: worthless. Thatâs how you always saw yourself as an angel, isnât it? It didnât matter how obnoxiously brilliant you were⊠or how many people loved you, it was never enough. Well, do you want to know what your name always meant to me?â Against your better judgement you take a step forward, schooling your mouth into a neutral line, âWithout value. To me, Belial, it meant you were without worth. You were priceless.â
Solemnly you turn away, crossing your arms firmly across your chest, âYouâre wrong. Lucifer didnât accept you, he didnât save you. They call him the king of lies for a reason: he fed on your insecurities, Belial, he nurtured them. And then, when heâd had his fill of your misery, he did the last horrible thing in his power: he took you away from everyone who really loved you. He was the one who tried to make you unworthy of that love, not God. And yes, I was a shitty friend back then, I didnât see your pain: thatâs my fault. But, shit. I was young, and youâre one of the best actors there is. When you told me you were fine I believed you.â
You breath a sigh bated sigh, your voice becoming almost wistful, âYâknow, maybe I am stupid, but Iâm smart enough to know that the Lord did not create you to be unworthy of love⊠if he had, he wouldnât have made an idiot like me who could still love an idiot like you.â
His blindness just hurts you to the bone. Every single part of you screams against the other. Why is he so blind? Why, why why why why why why why?! He keeps not understanding, he keeps inventing pathetic excuses to justify something even that fat bearded of a God said and confirmed to him. Always looking for something good and pure in you when you are corrupted and soulless to the bone, a cruel creature fitting perfectly the pits you inhabit with your thralls and servants begging for your mercy and your cock to satisfy their filthy, perverted desires, the ones keeping you alive.
You just cannot stand his face even right now, your entire body tense and ready to claw at him and broken every single limb of his like a lethal feral creature in front of his meal, biting every single spot of his without any singular sexual frenzy guiding your actions. You would burn his meat with your eyes in that exact moment. You would gladly sever his head with a simple move of your loyal sword, carve his blind eyes and shove them to the one who fated him to be so fucking stupid till the end.
In that exact moment, you understand you wish to kill him more than everything in the world, when he acts soâŠÂ devotedly and disgustingly in front of you, vomiting words and words making any single sense but hurting right across your chest, right where the remains of your poor, dying heart are, suffering each time for each single syllable leaving his fucking plump lips, especially the ones dealing with him affirming to love you, butâŠ
⊠but the truth is that he cannot love you the way you want him to love you. He will never crave your presence, call your name in his weakest moments, dreaming your body when he needs physical consolation. He will never desire to be yours, or you to be his and his only, obsessed and burning with greed and lust. He will never love you the way you do.
So you donât even lose your time listening his words as you spread your black, rotten wings, floating as you get your sprint and just fly the fuck away from him, biting your lips till it bleeds, and bloody tears leaving your orange, rageful gaze and trailing your cheeks.
You watch him fly away in silence, his raven-dark wings nearly eclipsing the sun. In that exact moment, you wish to save him more than anything in the world. When he acts so bitter and hateful in front of you, vomiting vitriol and anger that hurts deep in your chest, you remember the part of your heart that used to burn so brightly, inflamed with unchecked affection for him. Although youâd protected it fiercely, even after the war, other love had begun to fill the gaping void in your heartâ love for your job, love for your comforting Father began to grow like thick scar tissue, slowly closing over the bleeding wound. Yet the wound still aches with every syllable that leaves his beautifully twisted lips, you thought the pain would lessen once you told him of your love butâŠ
⊠but the truth is that he cannot love you the way you want him to love you. He will never crave your presence. He will never call your name in his weakest moments, or dream your voice when he needs consolation. He will never desire your heart, or to be yours and yours alone: he is too obsessed, burning with greed and lust for the bodies of others. He will never love you the way you love him, and⊠perhaps he never did.
Oh God. You were an idiot. Such an idiot. Only you would waste your time on someone who only wanted to fuck with you; in body, and in mind. The demon claimed to be your âbest friendâ, but also that the person he had been was a total lie; didnât that mean it was all a lie then? Your stomach made a sickening lurch as you realized that there had been only one shred of truth in his words: the Belial you loved wasnât dead, he had never existed in the first place. Somehow you resisted the powerful urge to vomit. Shit. It made you feel raw, like your skin was being flayed open to the bone, to think about how heâd probably been fucking with you from day one. Even in heaven youâd never been more than a brainless pawn to him, a potential lay. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It all made sense now: why he never shared his sorrows as an angel, why heâd never told you his plans, why even now he fled from you, rejecting your affection.
As you watch his wings fade into the distance, you swallow down your pain. Within moments your helplessness begins to hardens into cold, unyielding resolve. You would take his advice. From now on, you would stop seeing the ghost of your own imagination within his face. No, you would accept him completely. It wouldnât be easy, but against the protests of the heart that still cried out for him, you would do what he wanted: you would try to understand him, the real Belial. Thatâs what best friends were fucking for, after all. You would understand the fact that who he is now is who he always really was: a pitiful creature who wants nothing more than to destroy the happiness of others. He had never loved you⊠not even for a second. The only person heâd ever truly loved was himself. Youâd been so blind before; but you're done playing right into his hands.
The next time you meet him, it will not be as a friend.Â
