“Why will it take me so long to get to him when it only took you a handful of hours to bring him there and come back to talk to me?”
“Because Lucifer opened a doorway for me. It’s a shortcut that he will not open for you.”
I met the demon prince’s eyes so he’d know I was one hundred percent serious. “I’m not leaving him here. One way or another, I will do whatever it takes to get him back.”
Prince Beautiful nodded. “If that’s your choice, I can show you the way.”
I looked down at the red evening gown I still wore. “Would it be possible for me to get different clothes first?” I asked. “I left my things in Astaroth’s house.”
He gestured toward a dark wooden chest at the end of the bed. “You’re welcome to anything in the room. I’ll be waiting for you in the hall. Come out whenever you’re ready.”
I nodded, as close to a thank-you as the grand prince was getting.
I waited until the door shut behind him before taking a real breath. He was right about one thing. I had to be all in.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Joriel
The musclesin my arms and core burned as I pushed up against the stone floor. It felt good to use my body, to feel sweat trickle over my back and feel my limbs stretch.
I’d lost count of how many days had passed since I’d been brought to this cell. I wasn’t even sure if the light filtering in from the windows above was even natural daylight.
At first I was sure the solitude was going to drive me crazy. It had started to. Combine the isolation with the panicked desperation that came from not knowing what had happened to my wife and knowing I couldn’t do jack shit to help her regardless, and I was climbing up the walls within the first few hours of being locked in here.
The cell door was now painted with black blood from when I’d split my knuckles attempting to get out.
I hated the sight of it, not because I cared about bleeding but because the black color reminded me of why I was here in the first place. Because Lucifer owned my soul and ultimately controlled my life.
The thing was, it hadn’t helped. Unleashing myself on the door, feeling my skin split and my blood pump through my veins—it hadn’t made me feel better. And none of it helped Laila or got me anywhere.
I wasn’t getting out with my fists. So I focused on the only things I could control from here. I divided my time between push-ups and other strength-building exercises and prayer. I worked on strengthening my body in case I ever did make it out of this cell, and strengthening my faith since that was really the only thing I could do for Laila.
And slowly it stopped mattering if I ever got out, if I saw my brothers or Laila or felt the wind on my face. I let it all go. I didn’t really have a choice, and the lack of control over my future gave me the freedom to truly stop fighting. I focused on rebuilding my relationship with Father, giving Him my every thought and feeling, trusting Him because I couldn’t do anything else. Only He could protect Laila now, and only He knew if I’d see anything besides the four walls of this cell ever again.
There was relief in the acceptance of my situation, peace. For what felt like the first time in my life, I wasn’t fighting for anything. There was no chaos burning under my skin or trapping my mind.
I pushed off the floor one last time and rolled onto my back for a minute before climbing to my feet.
I’d fallen into a routine in the past however many days. After my core exercises, I sat on the wooden bench and let myself remember. I went over every second I’d spent with Laila, recalled every detail about her. I pictured her smile, heard her voice in my mind, imagined what she tasted like. She was still my light in the darkness, guiding me to be the person she believed I could be.
Missing her was a constant, physical ache, but I lived with it, welcomed it. The pain was proof that she’d existed, that what we had was real. She was mine and I was hers, and I would love her for eternity. It didn’t matter where I was or what else happened to me—nothing could change how I felt about her. I’d never stop loving her.
Which brought me to the next part of my routine. I got up from the bench and paced the cell, mostly for the physical activity but also because it helped focus my mind. While I paced, I talked to Father. I told Him every thought, every feeling. I shared my fears, my anger and frustration, my love for my wife, my regret at how lost I’d become in my years in the prison realm. There was nothing I kept from Him. That was something else Laila had taught me.
If I could love her in isolation where I couldn’t see or hear or feel her, then I could love Father no matter who my soul belonged to. I didn’t have to be the monster I felt clawing at my insides. I still had a heart, just like Laila had always believed. And I got to choose whom that heart belonged to. I could love my family, my god, and my wife even if I spent the rest of my existence in Lucifer’s prison.
Time was meaningless as I paced and talked. I begged for protection and strength for Laila. I thanked God for putting her in my life, for my brothers, for using the people around me to remind me I was loved every time I felt like I wasn’t. I admitted how hard it was to trust Him while I was forced to sit back and do nothing to help those I cared most about.
This was always the longest part of my routine. Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. Despite doing it every day, there were always more words, more questions and confessions.
When I finished, I lay down on the bench and waited for sleep to come. It never did so quickly, but I was learning to live with the silence, to be okay with just existing.
I picked at the fabric covering my hands. I didn’t know what my skin looked like underneath, and I didn’t particularly want to know. I’d torn up the shirt I’d been wearing to create the makeshift wraps that acted as both bandages for my knuckles and protection for my palms when I did push-ups on the rough floor.
Maybe I’d be lucky and my hands would be healed by the time the cloth was frayed to the point of uselessness and needed to be replaced. I didn’t want to see the black blood that marked me as soulless.
That decision was my past. I couldn’t change it, but I could look toward my future and the choices I wanted to make from now on. I knew if I was ever presented with the opportunity to make a deal again, I wouldn’t be so quick to bargain away what should have belonged to my Father. I wouldn’t make the mistake of believing it didn’t matter because I didn’t believeImattered.
