At first she ignored the messages from Satan. She deleted them and scrolled on. She knew the difference between good sex and bad sex and sex with Satan was clearly bad. She remembered the guy in college who told her he had a shed that he liked to fuck in. It sounded like an episode of Dateline. The worst part is she would have said yes if he’d ever invited her. When her ex dumped her a year ago, she started seeing a leather daddy. She told him she didn’t want to feel anything. He told her that not feeling was the opposite of what they were aiming for. She shrugged and he spanked her. 

Everyone kept asking “What do you want? What does your body want?” But she didn’t know. Satan, at least, never asked. 

Satan465: did u miss me? 

LemonadePearl: No. 

Satan465: send me a pic

LemonadePearl: should i give myself bangs 

Satan465: why? 

Satan was good like that: he didn’t ask any meaningful questions about aesthetics. He never asked her to change. If she said she wanted to change, he never advised for or against it. He merely said he liked her body. 

They found each other on an awfully-designed messaging board with a red and gray background. Some people made their text green, though she couldn’t figure out why. Someone with green text had discussed their fantasy of being Satan and she clicked on him. Chasers with specific fetishes were a dime a dozen, but she was curious about the demonic element.

Satan465: hold up i’m putting on my horns

When she had first seen him with his plastic horns on, she had to stifle a laugh so she wouldn’t wake up Will. They looked ridiculous. She played along anyway. I’m so penitent, she moaned. God was already going to smite her; what did it matter? 

LemonadePearl: tell me what else you’re doing 

Sometimes Satan made jokes. He would tell her bedtime stories as aftercare. He would weave a tale about a group of shipwrecked zoo animals who built a village in the middle of the sea. The tiger got married to the elephant. The rhinoceros was gay, living a life undisturbed by his dogmatic rhinoceros parents. The cheetah was a trans woman who often stayed up late to look at the moon, asking: “Does the moon have friends?” At the end of the story, Satan would ask, “Do you want to be the moon’s friend?” 

Sometimes she worried only Satan called her beautiful. Will was nice, but he never complimented her like that. When depressed, she just thought he took it for granted. When anxious, she worried he didn’t think she was pretty. 

Satan465: u never tell me what conversion therapy was like

LemonadePearl: y are you gonna use it? 

Satan465: material ;) 

His cursor blinked, waiting. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to let things get personal.

Satan465: sorry was that too much? 

She let the cursor blink some more. She looked over at Will lying in bed. He was a nice enough guy. The fact that they grew up together didn’t mean much to her, but it meant something to him. He felt responsible for her. Of course she could stay as long as she wanted—at the cost of playing house. 

She wished she could explain the hellfire in her brain or the empty pit in her stomach. She thought she’d moved past these feelings long ago when she’d gotten into therapy, moved away, found a job, made some friends, and landed a partner. Then God sneezed and she was back in Florida with her high school crush. She was too fragile and it made her bitter. Sara remembered standing in the farmer’s market with her parents, everyone staring at her. It was stupid to think she could hide in nice neutral clothes. 

LemonadePearl: it’s fine 

Satan465: is it time for a bedtime story :) 

Blink. Blink. She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to go on a walk and see the ocean. She wanted to burn it all down. Instead she was talking to a stranger who enjoyed making her feel like shit and then telling her bedtime stories. And part of her liked it. She deserved it. 

LemonadePearl: u dont have to 

Satan465: i can tho haha

LemonadePearl: i just dont feel it tonight 

Satan465: im rlly sorry i didn’t mean to bring it up 

LemonadePearl: i know 

LemonadePearl: no i just mean like doing things i’d rather not tonight

Satan465: i figured haha 

Satan465: but u r ok, right?

Satan465: come back!! im sorry rlly ur the hottest girl dick i know

Sara closed the computer. All the hot takes in hell wouldn’t take her mind off the fear. She turned on Will’s white noise machine. Tomorrow would be different. She would smoke one cigarette in the morning instead of two. 

▲

Before Will went to work he told Sara to get out of the house. 

“You napped so long yesterday. Why don’t you take a walk or something? Just watch out for the skunks.” 

Now, the end of the block stared back at her. What a beautiful stroll, she thought. Just look at all the dog poop. She worried she hadn’t seemed present enough in bed after dinner.

The humidity was getting to her. The palm trees and stucco walls of Will’s suburban apartment complex made her nauseous. Whose sticky-putty dream was she in? She was starving amid the dog walkers and morning joggers. She was the only one not decked out in neon. Maybe she was parodying herself now, wearing all black like some kind of emo trophy wife. 

A weeping rose bush cornered Sara with its thistles near the end of the block. She stopped and stared at her shoes. Another staring jogger passed by. She shot him a pleasant look. He probably thinks this is my withering stare, she thought. The world continued to swarm. A few hundred feet away she saw something black and white crawling through a tall patch of grass. She turned around and went past a short woman walking a golden retriever with a lazy eye. Sara was jealous of people who just went on with their lives. Sometimes, at night, she soothed herself by reminding herself at least she hadn’t published that poem she wrote in college. 

Another woman towing a frightening large white dog waved at her. Sara tried to wave back, but she couldn’t. It was impossible to be lonely here, Sara thought as she walked past a plastic flamingo. She looked at her empty pack. There was a gas station about a mile away, and she wanted to raise something to her lips. She stopped. Someone was calling out to her. 

“Excuse me.” 

She turned to see an old woman in a day-glo tracksuit sitting on a small porch. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.” 

Sara retraced her steps. The woman’s porch had a small glass table, two chairs, an outdoor sofa, and a few plants. The woman was standing, gripping one of the chairs and breathing heavily. 

“Do you need an ambulance?” Sara asked, keeping her hands tight in her pocket. 

“No, no I’m fine. I just wondered if you wanted to sit and talk. You looked a little lost out there.” 

Sara extended her arm and slowly guided the woman to the chair. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Oh yes. Thank you. I’m fine, really. If you want some lemonade, help yourself, just know it’s spiked.” 

Sara blinked a few times. The woman looked to be about fifty-something, slightly gray hair, heavy-set, with cloudy brown eyes. She was still panting. 

“Maybe just one. So I can wait with you and make sure you’re ok.” 

“Whatever makes you feel better.” 

“I feel fine.” 

The woman didn’t say anything. There was only one glass, Sara realized. She didn’t want to say anything and bother the woman so she waited to be told what to do. They both surveyed the apartment complex. The palm trees stirred. More joggers, less dogs. 

“How did you end up here?” the woman asked. She wasn’t unkind, but something about her set Sara on edge. 

“I lost my job. Nowhere else to go.”

“I can think of a lot of places. California, Switzerland, Italy, Paris. All great places compared to here.” 

“Anything would be great compared to here.” Eventually Sara would have to confront the fact her last job wasn’t going to give her a glowing recommendation. She would be starting from scratch. 

The woman laughed and refilled her glass. 

“Why didn’t you get a glass?” 

Sara shrugged. The woman sighed and got up. Sara wasn’t sure if she should follow so she kept her perch. The woman came back a few minutes later, a pack of cigarettes in one hand and an empty glass in the other. She set both down on the table with a smile and gave Sara a generous pour before lighting up. 

“I walked a few miles today so I figure what the hell, it’ll balance out.” She passed the pack to Sara with her free hand. “If you want.” 

They sat smoking in silence. Sara realized she had been keeping one hand in her pocket. The ice was melting in her vodka lemonade. 

“How long have you lived here?” Sara asked the angel of forbidden substances. 

“Mmm. Maybe three or four years now. I used to live in Chicago.” 

“Me too.” 

“Really? Where at?” 

“Logan Square.” 

The woman laughed. “Sounds about right. I’m sure soon people like you won’t be able to afford it and you’ll be upset. Now you’re in the twilight zone.”

“What?”

“You’ve entered over into another time. It’s almost imperceptible to everyone else. But for you it’s like a bad trip. Another world.” 

They sat still for a while. Sara wondered if Satan had messaged her. Maybe leaving him on read would be the last straw. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to choose if she wanted to respond. Maybe he would block her. She didn’t want to make any sudden moves, knowing how that could be construed. 

“You should get bangs,” the angel said. 

“I don’t want bangs,” Sara said. 

The woman shrugged and drank more of the melted ice. A trace hint of fear hung in the air. Ambient bad was all Sara could take. 

“My grandson is gay.” 

The woman didn’t say anything else, just let it hang there like a time bomb. Sara heard her stomach growl. Any lunch would spoil her appetite now. Sara decided it would be best not to reply. She got up and ashed her cigarette. 

“It was nice to meet you,” she said, starting to walk away. 

“No, wait.”

The sprinklers turned on as Sara walked across the hot grass. She headed out of the neighborhood toward the gas station, knocking over a pink flamingo in the process. She didn’t care if she smoked a pack a day anymore. 

▲

Satan465: hey babe

Satan465: im rlly sorry… i’ve been doing some reading on conversion therapy

Satan465: shit

Satan465: heavy 

Will: want to go to the beach tomorrow? i know things have felt heavy lately and i wanna do something sweet

▲ 

Sara’s hand reached out over the cerulean, passing over the starfish and finding his foot instead. He was looking down at her with a smile. The water felt electric on her skin. 

“Come on,”  he said. She could barely hear him under the waves. She burst up out of the water. 

“What?” 

“Let’s go back.” 

“Is something wrong?” 

“I just miss land.” 

Sara looked down at her newly emerged body. It didn’t fit right, she observed. Something felt off. The light exhausted her, stripes of ultraviolet staining her back with dangerous brightness. 

“I don’t want to go back yet.” 

She sank below looking for starfish. He said something but she couldn’t hear it from under the water. She kept just out of reach. A few nights ago he’d complained she never touched him first. 

Will started wading back toward the shoreline. She stared at him until he made it back, climbing over the white sand. She wanted to call out and say something absurd. Just to remind herself she could. The sea lapped patiently around her. If she was going to say something, it would have to wait. The air shifted. She was lucky Will had invited her to spend the summer with him.

The clouds shifted overhead, creating a cool patch where she was swimming. She looked around her. Further out the blue was endless. She didn’t want to stop. She didn’t want to let the bubble pop. 

Will waved at her from the shore. She knew he wanted her to come back and be sensible. All the rules and guideposts she had used to navigate the world of men had gone up in smoke after she lost her job. The careful rules she had given herself were fake. Her moral compass was fake. Her investment in the internet was fake. Her love of vegetables was fake. The only thing that wasn’t fake was the deep animal feeling that something was deeply wrong with her. 

She reached the shore just in time to see Will turn on the radio. More drone strikes, she heard someone say. A few kids were screaming a couple hundred yards down the beach. She was glad it was a weekday morning. 

“Sara,” he said as he looked at the champagne lying untouched on their picnic blanket. 

“Mmm,” she murmured, reaching for the celery and peanut butter. 

“Are you in the bad place?” 

“Jesus,” Sara said, short-circuiting, unable to resist her mounting annoyance. 

“I know that look.” 

She carefully selected a cheese cube and eyed his hands as they gripped the champagne cork. Will was right, of course. She was thinking about the last message Satan had sent her.

The celery didn’t look very fresh. She wasn’t sure about the cheese. When Will had gone into the supermarket with a tote bag a few hours earlier, she’d stayed in the car reading and trying very hard not to smoke. Will had rolled the windows down for her like she was a dog.

“I just worry about you.” 

“Me too.” 

The cheese was definitely bad. She tossed a few cubes into the sand and methodically started to bury them.

“Stop that.”

He grabbed her wrist. She let him hold it with his puny fingers and debated licking the sand off each one. Maybe he’d be into that. She knew she didn’t have it in her to do it.  

When they were in high school together, he never acted like that. His whole personality had been flat like a starchy pancake. He was the type to excel in chemistry. 

“What do you wanna do for dinner?” she asked. 

“We could go somewhere.” 

“I can cook if you want.” 

Will snorted like she was just an accessory. 

In high school he’d dated Julien, a whiskey girl who wore plum-colored lipstick. Sara had been their chaperone, driving them wherever they wanted to go. Julien always told Sara to go for a walk and look at the bromeliads while she and Will steamed up the car. Will’s mom loved Julien. Both Will and Sara’s families had instilled the horror of Revelations in them, each week dutifully escorting them to Sunday School. Whatever post-Christian nation existed, neither of them had seen the promised land. All these years later, Sara still felt like a Jesus freak cyborg. 

“I can cook,” Sara said, resenting the snort.  

He let her wrist go, watching it fall. She burrowed both her hands into the ground and took a deep breath. 

Will leaned in and kissed her for a while. His tongue wasn’t hot or wet, just a dry mass in her mouth like old bread. Sara tried not to stare at the hairs she’d missed shaving her legs. She touched his shoulder gently to signal she was done. The small, fun part of holding her sadness was gone and its wake left a depression halo. 

“You’re doing it again,” he said. 

“No, I’m not. You work tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah. I’m so tired of getting up at six. Do you have any plans for the week?” 

“No. Not really.” 

“Your friends in Chicago are probably worried about you, you should text them at least. Asher gave me a few people here you could reach out to. He seemed to think you’d really get along with someone from high school named Mars Byrne? I didn’t recognize the name.”

Sara shrugged. Mars had texted her a few months ago asking if she was okay and she’d ghosted him just like the others. She decided to say nothing. She didn’t want to let it seem important. 

He stood and offered a hand as sunbeams danced on his body. She grabbed her shoes and followed him over the sand. In the parking lot, Will dunked the champagne in the trash. 

“You look so beautiful.” 

Sara resisted the urge to say anything negative in response. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I just want to fuck you right here in the car,” he said.

“I bet you do.” 

“What is up with you today? Did you take lithium or something?” 

She had, in fact, thrown out all her mood stabilizers when she was fired and lost her insurance. It struck her that going cold turkey could have had something to do with her deep-end mood. 

“No. I’m not on anything right now.” 

“Ok. I’m just worried about you.” 

“Because I don’t want to have sex right now? I’m just tired.”

“Okay.”

He got in the car and started the engine. Sara still heard the family laughing somewhere in the distance. She hoped they were doing okay. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, exhaling deeply.  

“I’m not upset.” 

“Jesus Christ, Sara. Are you feeling anything in there?” 

“Vague annoyance,” she snapped. 

“I know things seem like they’re awful right now, but I just think it’s a wait-and-see thing.” 

“Wait for what?” She let the charged silence disperse. “It’s fine,” she said after a while.

He started pulling out of the parking lot. Beach day was long over. She would have to figure out how to make it up to him. If the house of cards collapsed, if the game wasn’t fun anymore, she would need a new plan. She didn’t have it in her to figure one out. 

▲

LemonadePearl: i’m sorry it’s been hard to get away from my bf

Satan465: is he hurting you?

LemonadePearl: i’m probably hurting him lol

Satan465: …??? 

LemonadePearl: emotionally emotionally 

Satan465: are u ok? 

The computer froze for a few minutes. When it came back Satan was offline. 

LemonadePearl: i’m fine ttys 

Google: mars byrne 

Google: mars byrne instagram 

Google: mars byrne researcher 

The first result was a paper from the University of Oregon on waterbirds. She didn’t understand a word of it. Sara wondered if Asher thought they should get in touch just because they were both trans. 

▲

Mars wanted to meet at a diner for pancakes and coffee. Once, years and years ago, the two of them had been on a date. Just one. Then they went their separate ways and watched each other on the internet until one day he started calling her.

Mars Byrne had gone to college on the West Coast. Two years of English before he switched to Zoology and bummed around Portland, working in art handling and smoking pot every morning to get his brain hazy. Now he was three years sober and living in a co-op. A queer sober co-op where too many people cooked at one time and everyone wrote poetry about climate change. Sara liked talking to someone who was far enough away that he couldn’t make her do anything about her feelings. When she got fired, she stopped answering his calls. 

Mars was getting gas at the station next to the diner. Sara spotted him first. 

A few feet from Mars, two men were talking about motorcycles. The first man was twisting a cigarette between his fingers. Sara checked her phone, a shiny empty nest. No new messages from Satan. Will wasn’t bugging her about her long early morning walk. 

“A little danger’s important for a man,” said one of the motorcycle men. 

“I’m not sure,” the other said. 

Breakfast was the best meal of the day, Sara decided. There wasn’t any expectation in eggs. 

Mars called out to her from across the parking lot. He’d spotted her. She waved at him and waited by the glass diner door. By the time he got out of his car and reached her she felt impossibly small. 

“How’s it going?” His voice was lower than she remembered from their last phone call. 

“I’m good, how are you?” 

“I’m well. Should we get some pancakes?” 

Sara watched him move with ease as they sat down at a large red vinyl booth and opened their menu books. 

“How’s Will?” 

“He’s good. How’s your family? I kind of forgot about the holidays.” 

“They’re good. I can’t believe it’s almost Christmas already. They want to go get a tree soon.” 

“I couldn’t remember how things were with them. I know they took it kinda hard.” 

“Ever since I got top surgery I haven’t seen them as much, but. I’m here. We make it work.” 

Sara sipped her coffee and let her fingers stroke the top of the mug. She thought about the selfie Mars had posted after the surgery–smiling, holding a cup of tea, cuddled with a black and white cat. It took her a minute to realize he had moved on in their conversation, catching her up on his last few years in Portland. 

“Not long before I left Portland, I went to visit an apiary. It was snowy up there. Beautiful. The beekeeper was trying to talk to them, to explain the year we’ve had. Sure, go ahead, I thought. Tell the bees whatever you think happened this year.” 

“Did you hear what he said?” 

“No, but it was something about innocence.” 

The waitress came over and took their pancake order. Chocolate chip for Mars and banana for Sara. She was trying to remember the last time she had pancakes. Or went out for breakfast. Will was a dinner guy. 

“I don’t know what to say.” 

“Well. You don’t have to. I just figured we hadn’t really seen each other in person since—”

“Since high school,” Sara interrupted.  

“I saw Julien the other day.” 

Sara took a long sip of coffee. 

“Black coffee is for punishing yourself,” Mars poked. 

“Good.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” Sara took an exaggerated gulp of coffee and then got quiet. “Were you worried? When you heard I moved down here?” 

“I mean, yeah, of course I was worried. When you started transitioning it seemed like a good thing. You had all your girls. Then it seemed like, I don’t know. Something changed.” 

“I lost my job.” 

He nodded. “Your smile just seemed, like, more forced. Then you said your FFS got canceled. You went offline and I heard from one of your friends that you were fine—but it didn’t sound like it. She said you stopped messaging her back. Then I found out you left Chicago and moved in with Will.” He laughed. “Will? Boring stand-up cis guy Will?” 

“Yeah. Well. He offered me a place to stay.” 

“What happened with your job? What went down that you had to just pack it all up and crash down in nowhere Florida?” 

Something in his voice split her, just like before when she could tell him how depressed she was without consequence. 

“This cis man at the clinic I worked for said I ‘inappropriately touched’ him.” Her voice went flat. She looked up at Mars and sharply added, “I didn’t. He wanted to hook up and I didn’t so I think… I think he…” 

He nodded, saying nothing. Terror seized her voice as she tried to vault through the story fast enough not to feel it. It wasn’t even something she’d told Satan. 

“I felt guilty even though I knew I didn’t do it. I still do. My parents told me to figure it out. Not like I asked them for help, I just told them I got fired.” She paused, choking up a bit, realizing she hadn’t moved an inch. Tense, her old therapist would’ve said. “Clearly I’m a sex-crazed deviant on my way to hell. Clearly I’m a Satan-worshiping freak. I just don’t get it. I don’t get why he did that… what I did…” Sara tried to rub the feeling out of her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. 

The pancakes slid in hot. 

“Enjoy,” said the waitress. “Can I bring you anything else?”

“We’re fine for now, thank you,” Mars said. Sara hated that she liked when a man dealt with things for her. 

They ate their pancakes in silence for a few minutes. 

“Does Will know?” 

“I haven’t really told anyone except my roommate at the time. It felt easier to just… go.” 

“It’s not your fault Sara.” 

“Thanks. I’m cured. I don’t even know if you believe me.” 

Mars realized she wouldn’t look up at him. He laid a hand in the middle of the table, spreading the webbing of his fingers wide. 

“I believe you.” 

They sat quietly as a group of truckers walked in, bellowing about taking a sick shit. 

“The body keeps the score,” Mars joked. “But seriously.” 

“I tried to get better for a long time. I tried to move past it, tell myself I wasn’t bad.” Sara plunged her fork into the half-eaten pancake in front of her. “I tried therapy, talking to my friends, dating, ketamine, whatever. I got good at putting on bandaids for a while,” she said before letting her hand hover over her fork. “I thought I put the conversion therapy stuff behind me.” Sara looked out the window at the gas station, realizing she was piecing something together in real time. It was so hard to do herself a simple favor. “It never really went away. Being fired like that didn’t help.” 

“It’s going to be okay,” Mars said quietly. He took the fork out of her hand and laid it gently on her plate. Then he took both of her hands and squeezed them lightly. “You can figure this out.” 

“Don’t get all tenderqueer on me,” Sara said. His face wrinkled but he said nothing, holding her hands for a few more moments before letting them go. 

The rest of their meal tasted sour. She decided not to tell Mars about Satan, instead checking her phone while he went to the bathroom, hoping for a new crumb. 

They walked out of the diner into the early November morning. Mars offered to drive her home. A few hundred feet from the entrance to the apartment complex, a rotting mass sat on the side of the road. 

“Dead skunk.” 

▲

LemonadePearl: how are u

Satan465: sitting in bed thinking about your ass 

LemonadePearl: i’m spreadeagle for u 

Satan465: ;) 

Satan465: so bad for daddy lucifer 

Satan465: hot 

Satan465: ill tie u up in hell 

Satan465: with all the plagues of flies and eternal flames 

LemonadePearl: it’s almost romantic

Satan465: oh don’t worry… it’s not 

Will snored softly behind her. It felt like she was coming down from a bad trip. The gnawing stomach flip. It wasn’t a nice time, hiding. The whole day had been a mess—Will said he found her “emotional distance” distressing, and she’d agreed to “have a talk” about their future over the weekend. Utopia was collapsing. She stared at the white noise machine and thought how nice it would be to slip into the static. 

Turning to the screen, Sara saw that Satan had sent her specific instructions for a photoshoot to be conducted in hot pink lingerie. Satan, it was clear, did not understand basic aesthetic theory. 

▲ 

After Will left for work the next morning, Sara decided to go on a walk. The dead skunk was splayed on the side of the road before her with seedy black eyes. The early morning humidity mixed with the sea breeze and the smell of rotting animal. Her empty phone felt heavy in her hands. She pulled it up to her face and started typing. 

Sara: hey— can we meet up again? im sorry i sorta lost my shit 

Something was going off in the back of her mind. The palm trees blew loudly. If it didn’t rain soon, the humidity would kill her. 

Mars: let’s do that

Mars: i think u have choices

Choices would be nice, Sara thought. She stared at the skunk, huddled black and white among the weeds. The hot sun had putrefied the poor thing. She laid down beside the stinker and closed her eyes.