So she leaned forward. And made her voice firm and low. And spelled it out.
“Because this isn’t just like some little vague idea of an afterlife, where maybe you move furniture around after you die. This means there is genuinely something beyond this plane of existence. Thatthere is some sort of being or beings that created the universe, and they have a place, a good place, probably full of whatever the opposite of those demons you just mentioned are. And that we go to either there or the other one, or maybe something in between, when we die. All of which is dependent on whether or not we’re assholes,” she said, as clearly and simply and kindly as she could.
Then she watched his expression slide from breezy and half listening, to something that could only be described as horror. His eyes went so wide she could see the white all the way around the irises; his lips parted as if to say something, but no sound came out. And even though she could see he kind of wanted to stop staring at her, he didn’t seem able to do it. Like he’d been frozen in place.
Which only meant one thing, of course.
“You’ve never actually thought about that at all, have you?” she said.
And to his credit, he managed to answer her. “No, but now to make up for it I’m super thinking about it alot.”
“Do you needmeto holdyourhair back this time?”
“It’s more like—just don’t let me land on my face if I pass out.”
Funny, she thought. Only then she noticed: it seemed like he was actually going to do it. He appeared to be slowly curling over and sliding forward, in a way that made her jump up off the porch steps. “Okay. Okay, I can do that. I’ll get you some cushions to fall into,” she said, and started in the direction of the front door. But he stopped her. He held up a hand.
“No, don’t leave me, don’t leave me. I think it’s already happening.”
“Well, just breathe. Breathe and think about other things.”
She mimed taking big breaths.
Took a step closer to him, in as comforting a way as she could.
It didn’t help, however. Now he had his head in his hands.
“I can’t,” he moaned. “My brain is full of my own doom.”
“No doom is going to happen.”
“Of course it is. I’m ajerk.”
“Come on, you’re not a jerk, Seth.”
“Oh my god, you think I’m so much of one you’re lying aboutthinking I am to make me feel better about the probability that I’m going to spend eternity having my butt pricked by devils,” he said, and oh she wanted to laugh at that. She even suspected he was trying to be funny.
The thing was though: she also knew he meant it.
He really did think he was that horrible. Specifically, he thought he was that horrible because of what he’d done toher. And that kind of made it a lot less amusing, a lot more gut wrenching. She took a couple of more steps forward and almost reached for him—even though he’d stopped sliding out of the chair.
And she definitely had to come up with better reassurances.
“But you just said that devils didn’t prick butts,” she tried.
To absolutely no effect at all.
“Yeah, because I was trying to makeyoufeel better. But I don’t know how to make myself feel better. Myself doesn’t listen to reason. It just wants to panic about being endlessly tormented by imps, for being horrible to my best friend,” he said through his fingers.
So she tried again. Harder.
“I don’t think imps are really going to happen over a high school prank.”
“Don’t downplay it. That’s not going to make me not go to hell.”
“Okay then, maybe I forgive you. Now you won’t.”
“Of course I still will—because we both know the forgiveness you just offered isn’t the least bit real. It can’t possibly be real, considering I haven’t done one single damn thing to earn it.”
