A Date From Hell — Part 01
Hell can be heaven with the right demon
A Date From Hell is an open-ended serial story in the LGBTQIA+ paranormal steamy romance genre. The plot has a slow-burn element.
Trigger and content warnings:
«««« REFERENCES TO DEADNAMING, MENTAL HEALTH SYMPTOMS, COPING STRATEGIES, ADULT (18+) MATURE CONTENT, STRONG LANGUAGE »»»»
“I have a luscious surprise for you, sweet, sexy, and brainy girl,” Rick sang out as he passed through the front door of my eclectic used bookstore. The breeze stirred the calming scents of vanilla, chocolate, and coffee from the shelves as a partial antidote to his words.
He meant well as one of my extroverted artist friends at his regular intensity level. Today, his switch flipped to an impulsive fine art scene chaos creator. Nothing good came from the word surprise in combination with that emotional intensity spike in his voice and compliments.
“It’s just the right thing for your dating woes.”
I jerked at the word dating. A sudden headache exploded inside my brain, and I groaned. “Fuck me breathless.”
“Well, if you play it right, your date might get to do just that to rock your world.”
His perfectly primped bright copper beard and mustache framed his sly smile and projected an appearance of a Vaudeville villain, revealing his dastardly plan. It cast him in an impish, infernal light today that immediately darkened my mood.
Usually, Friday afternoons in my store floated serenely until closing, allowing me to evaluate, price, shelve the trade-ins, and catch up on the paperwork for the week before the weekend rush. He introduced a maelstrom into my tranquility.
“Give me one excellent reason, not a good one, an excellent one for why I shouldn’t shove you out into traffic this second,” I growled and glared at him. “It’s only sixteen feet from the store’s front door, across the sidewalk, and into the after-work rush. “You’d be a hood ornament or a pancake in a couple of seconds or less if I give you enough push.”
“Sweetie, don’t bunch your panties!”
“Leave panty talk out of the conversation.” I sighted down the spine of the paperback I held. I pointed it at him, wishing it was a wand to turn him into a Georgia O’Keeffe painting, a pristine first edition Carmilla, or something more desirable.
If wishes were horses and all of that, Val, if wishes…
“First, I have boundaries whether you recognize them. Second, you have a chronic lingerie fixation despite your preference for tall guys with six-packs and ample packages. Third, whether I bunch my panties is a private matter.”
“I appreciate sexy of all persuasions, girlfriend, be it a beautiful babydoll or tight Speedos. Art is art. Even if I prefer to live it up with a nice Adonis.”
He browsed the boxes of new arrivals and sauntered to the sales counter. He looked as perfectly fine in the bespoke black business suit and gold diamond pattern tie he wore today for his sales job at the chic art gallery three blocks down as he was boisterous in his personality. I appreciated art well enough but preferred sapphic romance stories and subtly subversive visual art.
“You need to get out there and do your binga-bing thing! All books and no play make Val an avoidant little sapiosexual beauty.”
I nervously adjusted my turquoise cat-eye frame glasses several times until they sat just right. My strawberry blond hair took forever to grow past my shoulders since I had accepted who I was inside, and now I fidgeted with the vulnerable strands.
“Just because I prefer to avoid people and places that might overstimulate me doesn’t mean I’m avoidant of all people and places. I’m an adult. My life, my choice.”
“Honey, when was the last time you went anywhere unrelated to your business or on a straight path to and from your upstairs apartment?”
“I went to that exhibition for new rising artists last week.” I squinted at him and jabbed the paperback at him. “That wasn’t work-related.”
“Doesn’t count.”
“Why not?”
“You bailed out the back door once ten other people arrived. Our gallery has hosted over two hundred and fifty, with plenty of space left to mingle.”
“Your definition of space and mine are on a different scale.” I focused on a monthly sales report before I threw a few volumes of an unabridged dictionary set from the shelf behind me at his head. “I prefer to contemplate art quietly, without elbows jabbing into my sides.”
“Whatever you say, Valor. I think the lady doth protest too much.” He drummed his fingers on the upcycled antique oak counter, then paused. His voice turned into a frightening honey-sweet coo. “Two things. Well, three things. I created a profile for you on ParanormalDreams.com. Numerous eligible mystickind hotties have smashed your profile, but I have selected the best fit for you. I set up a date. It’s tonight at 8 p.m. Amazing, right?”
I triple-blinked at him, stared at the dictionary set, shot back at him, and narrowed my eyes to slits. “You know I have a true crimes section in here. And one in forensic sciences. I just received a like-new condition mystickind guide to their peoples, flora, and fauna. I’m highly motivated to make you ‘disappear’ right now…without a trace…into the stomachs of some eurynomusas. They’re carrion eaters. I heard a nice extended family of them moved into the apartments across the street. I’ve been thinking about what I could bring them as a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift.”
“Baby, I’m too pretty to be a meal. Besides, you’d miss me too much.” He gazed up through his long lashes, pleading with me. “I’d never do you wrong, sweetheart. She’s cool with you being who you are. Give her a chance.”
“I’m not ready to feel so seen up close by someone I don’t know. The pride parade was fine, with safety in numbers surrounded by people I know, and wearing sunglasses. Alone, I feel too vulnerable — guys I don’t know leer at me when I walk down the street. I do not know about the mystickin cultures. And I don’t want to be an objectified, fetishized curiosity by anyone, mystickin or human. Besides, how do you know she’s fine with my self-exploration and how I outwardly present myself?”
“I wrote profound and thoughtful emails about you and shared some of your romantic poetry and short story portfolios to woo her on your behalf.”
“You did secret matchmaking? Using my writings I shared with you?” I removed my glasses and set them on the counter. A tear formed and threatened to fall as my voice wavered. “You, of all people, should know that’s wrong on so many levels, given what my family did to me. I’ve never even remotely mentioned in passing that I’d like you to do that. Not cool. Not cool at all.”
He traced his fingertips on the back of my hand. “I was upfront on the profile and with the lucky lady. In my explanation to her about who I was and why I was doing this, I depicted you honestly, adding no embellishments or exaggerations. I want to see you happy. You can’t wait around for the right person to come to you. Believe in yourself and get out there, girl.”
As I sniffled, my gaze drifted past him towards the distant bookcases, and I allowed the tears to flow freely. “I also desire happiness. I don’t know if I’m ready or strong enough yet to risk my heart with someone as the real me. Sometimes, I am uncertain about the contents of my heart from minute to minute. Finding and accepting my authentic self was one thing. Opening my heart just to be rejected? I wouldn’t be able to handle that.”
“You burned your deadname life and were reborn as Valor. You’re feeling out what that means for you. Wouldn’t finding someone who wants to explore it with you be great?”
I hissed out a sigh. “Fine. I hope I don’t make a fool out of myself tonight. I won’t be rude and stand the girl up, but I don’t want to go.”
“Darling, you won’t, and you’re the sweetest person I know. She’s falling hard for you already.”
“I presume you selected the place of my demise?” I choked out a laugh and managed a weak smile. The shock was worse than the logic. My anger would cool, my sadness would evaporate, and my anxiety would subside…eventually.
“We picked out the perfect place. It’s the new fae fusion restaurant at Vermont Avenue and 15th Street. They’re very inclusive and supportive there. Besides, who in their right mind will start trouble in a fae-owned establishment in a mystickin neighborhood?”
“Fair point. No one wants to piss off the fae.” I sighed. “What’s her name?”
“Lilith Eveningstar.”
“The name sounds familiar. I’ve seen or heard it somewhere. What’s her species?”
“She declined to state it on her profile, though she looked human in her photos, but said she wants to talk to you about it face to face. Her eyes are gorgeous, and she’s well-educated. Very warm personality. She’s looking for a long-term love, not a short-term lust.”
I sighed and resigned myself to the date. “I guess if she has something she’d prefer to talk about face to face, that would make two of us.”
Before he escaped, I gripped his tie, pulled him in close, and flashed a feral smirk. “As for us, you’re part of my found family. We’ve been through a great deal together, but don’t even think about getting anywhere close to my boundaries again. Am I clear?”
“Very,” he squeaked.
“Good.” I let the tie slide out of my hand. “Now go do your usual weekend clubbing madness. I have a date to prepare for.
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