My diet has been going so well for the past week. I put aside soda and iced tea, instead forcing down bottle after bottle of tap water (my mortal enemy) with a few drips of lime. The cookies and Halloween candy I'd gathered before I began this nonsense sat in the cupboard, ignored and confused as I made do with fresh fruits and vegetables (and more water).
And then late one night, as I pondered weak and bitchy over half a cup of plain yogurt with a teaspoon of honey, the Devil came and sat behind me. I felt the heat of his chest against my back as his arms wrapped around my slowly slimming waist. The point of his chin touched my shoulder as he nuzzled into my neck like a lover come home, nosing through my hair to my ear. I caught the scent of his breath like fresh-spilled blood and the char of sacrificial fires, and his voice slid into my ear as it had countless times before, his whisper spelling out the terms of my undoing: "Figs. Goat cheese. And bacon."