Page 45 of Grave Mistakes
Confusion morphs into outrage, and I slam my phone down on the counter at the same time that the microwave beeps at me happily, announcing it’s done a great job of heating up my tea water.
“What the fuck, Jerif? If you assholes think you can buy me off, then you’ve got another thing coming,” I tell him evenly, my tone dripping with anger.
“Excuse me? Buy you off?”
“Twenty thousand dollars,” I yell at him, like that’s all the proof I need of their shady intentions.
“We paid you exactly what the hazard rate was in the contract that you signed. We’re not doing this out of the kindness of our hearts, trust me. It’s what we agreed to as part of the job. Now, you may be unfamiliar with people actually following through on the things they commit to, but that’s howweoperate,” Jerif snarls at me.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs. “Exactly what I said. We committed to a certain rate of pay hourly and in the event that something hazardous happened. That’s exactly what we paid you for. Did you readanythingthat you signed?”
He shakes his head like he’s utterly disappointed in me. I’m not going to lie, it stings.
“You’re so quick to accuse us of tricking you, but if you bothered to read any of the paperwork the hiring agency gave you, you would have known exactly what you agreed to when you accepted the job,” he tells me.
I open my mouth to argue with that and then promptly close it. Missy the receptionist had emailed me something that said copies of new hire paperwork, but I never bothered to open it. And now...twenty thousand damn dollars? With that kind of money, I won’t lose the house. I can pay my bills. I can slip out of the financial noose that’s been wrapped around my neck. Overwhelming relief surges in me, buoying the other emotions that come with it.
“Well...no one ever reads the paperwork,” I lamely defend, but Jerif just rolls his eyes.
“Pay you off,” he scoffs, repeating my earlier words. “We shouldn’t have to pay you off. You accepted a job, and you should see it through. You shouldn’t be paid for not staying true to your word.”
“I never agreed to guard a damn Hellgate,” I grit out. “I agreed to be a boring, human cemetery security guard and nothing more! Maybe you should just outright ask people next time instead of assuming they have time to read one of the dozens of forms shoved under their noses for a signature and then promptly taken to be filed away. This is not my fault,” I say, completely frustrated.
Jerif takes a step toward me, and he suddenly makes my small kitchen feel even tinier. “It’s not aboutfault, it’s about doing what needs to be done. It’s about things that are more important than our individual wants and needs. You’re being a coward and putting the rest of us at risk because of it. And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the problems this realm will face if the Gate breaks beyond repair. How does none of that matter to you?” he demands, his face thunderous with blame.
“You can’t put all of that shit on me,” I argue.
“The fuck I can’t. Right now, you’re our best bet to solving this problem. If it were up to me, I’d chain you to the fucking Gate if that’s what needed to be done.”
“Well, good fucking thing it’s not up to you then,” I snap as I walk past him, making a beeline through the living room to the front door.
Jerif stalks after me, like he’s not going to let me get away that easily. I’m so pissed at him that I’m shaking. Yeah, it’s easy for him to pluck out parts of this situation and paint me with a selfish brush, but that’s bullshit. You can’t just say,Surprise, you’re a demon, and now we need all these things from your demony ass,and just expect shit to go your way.
I get that they were willing to sacrifice everything for the Gate. I respect that. But how can they expect me to be willing to do the same thing? I just found out that their world exists, and now I’m supposed to just up and sacrifice my entire future for a cause that just got dropped in my lap?
I didn’t sign up for Hell field trips or demon Gate shifts and all the other bullshit that comes with it. I don’t want to blow up my entire life and existence as I know it. People—aka pissy demons—should give me a fucking break. I know this is not what they want, but they can just join the fucking club. Welcome to life in the Mortal Realm, the place where things hardly ever work out the way that you want them to, and yet you still have to pay taxes on that shit anyway.
My footsteps stomping with anger, I unlock the door and then yank it open. Well, I try to yank it open, but the fucker is stuck again. I pull the handle and put my foot against the frame for leverage. After one strong tug, the bastard opens, and miraculously, I keep from flying back.
“Bye, Jerif. Feel free to ignore the urge to visit again if the fancy strikes you in the future. Let’s hope for both our sakes, it doesn’t.”
He looks pissed as he bends forward, eyeing the sky through the open door. “I’m on babysitting duty for another couple of hours.”
“Under the lamp post looks to be a cozy spot,” I retort.
“I already dealt with one attack today,” he argues, not moving an inch. He crosses his arms in front of his muscular chest which is still covered in demon blood.
I spot the scythe in my umbrella holder, and before I can think it through, I reach for it. I extend the weapon toward Jerif, fed up with his judgy presence in my house. “I want you to leave. Now.”
Jerif shakes his head at me and glares at the scythe and then at me as he walks out the door. “You can’t run from the truth, Warrior Princess. This temper tantrum just further proves that you’re unworthy of such a sacred weapon.”
“Fuck off. Pretty sure the weapon I’m currently holding disagrees with your assessment of things, or it wouldn’t have let me find it in the first place,” I reply as he walks out. “Stay safe and warm now, the night is fraught with assholes and bitterness,” I say with an unkind smile.
He turns to look at me over his shoulder, but before he can open his stupid mouth again, I slam the door shut and lock the deadbolt and secure the chain. With a loaded exhale, I press my back to the door and slide down until my ass meets the floor. I feel like I just went twelve rounds with Holyfield, and as much as Jerif’s words and tactless delivery piss me off, I hate that they ring true to something inside of me.
I stare at the scythe sitting in my lap as if it somehow has the answers. I want to ask itwhy me? Why now?But it’s a stick, and I’m not that crazy yet. Give me another nine days of this shitty sleep scenario, and who knows what I’ll be talking to at that point?
