Ice cream is not a cure, but it’s certainly a balm that takes a little of the sting out of, what could be considered, a monumentally horrendous encounter.

True to form, the Devil did, in fact, follow Natalie into the park, though he didn’t say a word the entire way. To make matters worse, it wasn’t a comfortable silence in the least. Strangers passing by spared withering glances at the two stiff teenagers walking several arm’s lengths apart, the tension radiating between them like a contagious virus in the air that wasn't worth catching. Natalie noticed, albeit wearily, as people parted around them like river water against a stone.

The static that clings to Satan sends off warning bells inside of her as distracting as a neon sign: DON’T BOTHER HIM.

So she does just that, resisting every impulse in her entire being that wants to break the awkward silence with some friendly banter or corny jokes. The chance that he’ll do anything else but sneer at her for even utilizing an amicable facade is unlikely.

Natalie keeps her gaze forward, attempting to ignore the brooding presence following behind her like a doting baby duck. By the time she’s paying for their treats at an ice cream vendor cart, she’s nearly chewed through her tongue trying to keep quiet.

I know I said we would talk and figure this out, but I honestly have no idea what to say to him, Natalie bemoans, choosing to take her sweet time in seeking out the bench she’d left him on. Besides, what are the odds he’s even going to listen to anything that I have to say? He’s plenty pissed already. And he’s got way more experience with - well . . . With this sort of thing. Up until now I didn’t know you could literally sell your soul to the Devil. Oh man, what am I going to do?

There is only so long a person can put off the inevitable. When the ice cream in her hands begins to trickle slowly over the cones and onto her fingers, Natalie reluctantly meanders into the belly of the park, eyes bobbing around like pinballs looking for a mop of dark hair. She finds him, surprisingly enough, surrounded by children.

“I said get lost!” the Devil roars, though with his young, cracking voice, the full impact is very minute. His anger only seems to spur on the unwanted company, most of the children pushing at his mouth to see what Natalie now registers as fangs hidden beneath his lips.

“You make some friends?” she asks as she approaches, garnering the attention of the children using Satan as a jungle gym. The most peculiar glint of relief flickers in the amber of his eyes before it’s gone. He shoves a child from his lap and rights himself.

“Of course not. Do I look like I come to parks to play with children?” The word is soaked with revulsion as its spit from his mouth with fury.

“Go on, guys. We need some privacy,” Natalie instructs, trying to shoo away the kids as discreetly as possible. He may look like a wide-eyed, honest high school boy, but the stuttering heartbeat she can feel inside her chest knows otherwise. She does not want to put innocent people in a bad situation. This boy is the tortured ruler of the damned. She won’t let his disguise manipulate her into believing otherwise.

They’re alone, or seemingly so. In the distance, the cheers of children and a makeshift baseball game glides softly along the wind. It’s a reassurance that Natalie isn’t truly alone with the Devil.

She glances in her peripheral to see him brooding over the chocolate treat he’s inhaling like air.

“Feel any better?” she hesitantly tries. Natalie flinches at the rage he directs towards her. “Guess not . . . Well, I guess ice cream can’t fix everything.”

The joke and laughter withers in her mouth at his silence. She nudges a stray rock with her shoe, scrambling for something to say. Would it even be wise to try and extricate herself from him? It’s not like she has anything of value worth bringing up, and he clearly doesn’t show any interest in talking, if the last hour is anything to go by.

Are they allowed to separate if they’re contracted? She wants to ask him. She wants to ask him so bad.

“The humiliation,” Satan mutters, almost too quiet. Natalie jumps, her body buzzing with energy as she leans in to catch the rest of his words. He almost can’t manage to get them out, warring with something inside of his head while his gaze stays firmly to the grass. “This humiliation is more than I can bear. I need you out of my life.”

The sting is not something she anticipates. Natalie has only known this man for one morning, but the hatred in his voice that even the thought of her existence is an agony for him knocks something loose to rattle around her chest.

She wets her lips, lowering her treat. Despite blatantly staring, Satan refuses to look at her.

“What do you need me to do?” Natalie asks, feeling more out of place and helpless than she has in a long while. Her voice sounds borrowed, not hers, in her ears. She waits for him to give her some guidance. She can’t figure this out on her own.

“Use me,” Satan instructs, lifting his head after a long silence, anger and determination in his gaze as he looks at her for the first time since they’ve met. Not through her, like she is less than a parasite, an amoeba, like he had done all morning.

She shivers under that intimidating stare, goosebumps trailing down her arms.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“I shall never allow this to be spoken of, lest I be further disgraced by my peers. And I shall find the one who has forced me to be bound to some filthy human and rip them to pieces,” he says with righteous indignation, tossing aside the empty cone. Satan stands, pointing to Natalie with a quick swoop of his arm. “But no matter how much I detest this, I cannot change what has already happened. So use me, girl. Use me now! Allow me to fulfill your wish, then we shall never meet again, till the time to collect your soul on your deathbed.”

Natalie chokes on her spit. “B-but my soul is mine.”

Satan narrows his eyes, his voice low and ominous. “Not anymore. So choose, mortal. What do you desire?”

Natalie twists away from him, circling curiously around the bench with his finger to his chin. She feels like hiding from his analyzing eyes, looking her up and down as if she is a puzzle he can solve. “Riches? Love? You seem like a simple girl. Perhaps fame?”

When he stops in front of her, Satan almost seems bored, raising his eyebrow and leaning down to catch her eye. “Well?” There is a twinge of amusement in his tone now, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Go on, tell me. Whatever it is, I will oblige.”

Before Natalie can fully wrack her brain for a wish , she says the first thing that comes to mind on impulse. “Well, I do have a math test coming up that’s worth a lot of my grade. Can you guarantee me a B on it? That’d probably help a lot.”

The amusement slides off his face like mud on a car at a carwash. It’s replaced with irritation and disbelief as he immediately straightens. “That’s it? A B on your test? No. You can’t ask for that,” he hisses, his fingers sliding roughly into his hair. Satan throws his arm out in confusion. “And you’re not even going to ask for an A? What are you, stupid?!”

“Why can’t I ask for that? It’s my wish,” Natalie argues.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Satan collects himself and attempts to try again. “Listen, the way this works is that you need to ask for something of equal or greater value than a soul. A passing grade on a math test is too low a toll for a contract with me.”

“You know what the value of a soul is?”

“Yes,” he sighs, deflating with how tedious this exchange is becoming. Satan shoots Natalie’s wide-eyed wonder a pointed look down his nose. “So pick something else.”

There are any insurmountable options to choose from. Many people have chosen wealth or to be a celebrity, Natalie imagines. World peace seems like a good option, but with him being Satan and all, she doubts that’s something he would willingly fulfill. Not going to Hell would be funny. Would that work? He might slap her if she says it, though. He definitely won't find that funny.

Satan looks at the end of his patience when she comes out of her thoughts, his arms tightly crossed against his chest as his foot taps quickly on the dirt. And still, all she can do is smile apologetically at him with a half-hearted shrug. He hesitates.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t really want anything. Can I sleep on it?”

His words are clipped and full of poison. “You can’t be serious.”

She stands and dusts off the fabric on her legs, readjusting her backpack while she wanders across the field to deposit her abandoned treat into a trash can. Satan is beside her in an instant, coiled tight and attentive, an unhinged man hovering against her like a shadow. It’s a warm August day, but not hot enough to be sweating. Yet still, there he is, wild, disbelieving eyes, while the fringe of his bangs stick to his temples. He looks somewhat ill.

“Is that against the rules?” Natalie asks, giving him a warm smile and hiding the trembling of her hand behind her back.

He doesn’t look like he’s happy with you, she thinks, keeping an eye on his hands as they clench at his sides. Is he above using violence as a means to get me to cooperate? Gosh, I hope he is. But I really don’t want anything. I can’t lie to him.

Satan stumbles around for a moment, attempting to come up with a rebuttal to her question. Natalie raises her eyebrows at him, patiently waiting for his response. In the end, he manages to choke out a simple, “Technically, no.”

“Great!” Natalie beams. She grabs the straps of her backpack and pulls it tighter against her, bobbing her head gently to the side before she starts walking in the direction to leave the park. Satan frantically sidles beside her, a deep frown on his face.

“Human, I advise you to make a decision, as time is of the essence,” he growls. “Contracts are meant to be fulfilled as quickly as possible. They are not meant to be dragged out. I am offering you things you cannot even imagine, and yet you tell me to put a pin in this conversation? How dare you, you catty little -”

“Natalie.”

Satan bites off his insult and falters, off-kilter. “Wh-what?”

She smiles at him, seemingly undisturbed by his tirade. “My name’s not human, it’s Natalie. Natalie McAllister.”

The worn out sneakers slowly halt, till he stands staring at her retreating back. As Natalie reaches the edge of the park, she glances back over her shoulder, motioning him to catch up while she presses the button for the crosswalk.

“I just figured you should know, since we’re going to be spending a couple of days together, roomie!”

She really shouldn’t take as much delight as she does when seeing the realization dawn on him of what she’s implied, his face contorting in fury when hopelessly bested by a teenage girl.

Red really is a pretty color on him, she thinks.