The deal

“Hey Giselle,” you say as you put the groceries down on the table. “I bought a lot of meat.” It was your turn to go shopping this week, so she’d have to endure the things you liked. Of course, you bought veggies as well, but those weird healthy gimmicks really tired you. 

“It’s okay,” she simply replies.

You raise an eyebrow. No complaints? No whining? No “you eat like a caveman”? 

“I also bought frozen fries.”

“It’s fine.”

She hates frozen stuff. That’s not normal. 

“Did you remember to grab the recycling bags?” she asks, not bothering to lift her eyes from her phone. She seems to be really immersed in whatever she was doing, but her eyes aren’t exactly happy either. Something is bothering her. You’re sure of it.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I’ll Venmo you your half later.”

You nod and start taking food out of the bag and stacking it in the fridge. Giselle made it very clear where each thing was supposed to go. Pasta and rice go in the lower cabinet. Sauces go in the top shelf of the fridge. Everything is supposed to be put neatly and be aligned. You’re always careful in doing it the way she wants; otherwise, she’d get mad, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

“So… how was Uni?” you ask.

“Good.”

You simply go to your room and start studying since Giselle doesn’t seem to be in a very talkative mood. As you shut your bedroom door, you hesitate. You can hear her out there, pacing softly around the living room. That was not something she did. She’s usually a statue when she’s on her phone, scrolling for hours without moving a muscle.

You crack the door open, just a sliver. She’s standing by the fridge now. She opens the door and looks for something, then closes it immediately. She’s breathing a little too fast. 

Then she sits at the table. Her fingers drum anxiously against the table. They go to rub the back of her neck. And finally, they visit her mouth as she starts eating her nails.

Giselle always took great care of her nails. You have to confront her. Something was up.

“Did I forget to get something?” you ask as you walk down the small hallway.

“No,” she says. She doesn’t even turn around. Her shoulders look tense.

“You sure you’re okay?” you try again.

“I said I’m fine,” she shoots back sharply. Then she immediately winces. She didn’t mean for it to come out like that. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “I’m just… tired.”

“Right,” you murmur. “If you need anything…”

She nods, but she never looks you in the eyes. It almost seems like she’s avoiding you on purpose.

You retreat back to your room until the evening comes. You come out to an empty living room. She must have gone to her room to study.

You roll up your sleeves and start to prepare dinner. It’s very simple: pan-seared steak and fries tossed in the oven. You made sure to make her steak a little rare because even if she eats it often, she still likes it that way. 

You call her and she comes out of her room. You two start eating in silence.

Halfway through the meal, she pushes her sleeves up a bit, and that’s when you see it.

A mark, curling up the inside of her wrist. At first, you think it’s just a tattoo: a delicate shape, almost floral. But then it glows. Softly. A pulse of deep crimson, like embers under skin. Your fork clatters against the plate. Giselle’s head snaps up.

“What?” she asks quickly.

“Your—your arm, Giselle, what’s that?”

Giselle quickly yanks her sleeve down. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

She pushes her chair back abruptly. “Thanks for dinner,” she says, already on her feet. “I need… a moment.”

Before you can react, she’s gone—vanishing down the hallway, leaving her unfinished steak behind.

You sit there frozen, heartbeat pounding loud enough to drown out the world. You’re not sure what you just saw. Maybe it was just your imagination, but it didn’t feel natural. It was a primal feeling inside of you, your sixth sense. It was trying to tell you something, but you couldn’t understand it yet.

You knock on her door. No response.

You knock harder. “Giselle. Open up.”

A pause. Footsteps. The door opens. Just a crack. Her voice is small. “What do you want?”

“You have… tattoos,” you say. “They’re glowing… and it’s not dark.”

She shuts her eyes tight and exhales harshly. 

You clear your throat and try to ease the tension, “I mean… unless you’re like Rumi.” You try to smile. “And you’re trying to seal the honmoon?”

No reaction

You swallow. “That was the better option, Giselle,” you say quietly. “What is it?”

She opens the door a little more. Enough to see she’s shaking. Her fingers dig into her own sleeve. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“What is it? Are you—” You hesitate. The word feels stupid even before you say it. “—a monster?”

You wait until she opens the door fully. She keeps a safe distance, arms crossed tight.

“I’m not human,” she says. “I should have told you sooner.”

You wait for her to keep talking. She doesn’t.

“Fine,” you say finally. “Then what are you?”

“A succubus.” She says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You nod slowly. “So… do you kill people?”