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Chapter 11: Stuck in a Rut

Grace swiped right on Angel Dust’s message before closing the browser window on her smart phone and setting it down on the mattress beside herself. Yeah. A buck may copulate with his doe anywhere between six and twelve times.

He sure did. 

There was really no better descriptor for what he’d done than ‘copulate.’

She exhaled hard, supposing she would have to tell Kofax that she was absolutely right about the ‘mating behavior.’ At least Alastor’s insistence upon bringing Grace food had been nice … if a little challenging in the beginning.

The morning after the frenzy of fucking and its subsequent 72-hour refractory period, Grace woke to find Alastor not beside her in his bed for the first time in what felt like forever. Although dismayed, at least she knew she was having a better morning thus far than Gregor Samsa did at the beginning of Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis. 

By that point, even Grace had grown exhausted of Alastor’s nonstop attention—primarily because it had been been so extra. That is to say, extra violent, extra painful, extra attentive. He’d left her with no alone-time of which to speak. Little opportunity for bathing, toileting, or socializing—outside of Alastor, of course, who had even less interest in talking than his usual minimal interest.

Her absence had been marked enough that Kofax, Cherri, and Angel had texted her individually as well as in their group chat to complain about it. Each—seemingly independent of the others—asked if, somewhere within this window of time, either had bothered to say ‘I love you.’

Love, Grace was certain, had nothing to do with anything that had transpired between them over the last several days. That was nothing more than one infertile sinner trying his damnedest to impregnate another infertile sinner despite—when rational—the total lack of desire to sire his own herd.

Grace stretched out across the bed with a content sigh and lay there, breathing slowly and deeply. It was stunningly peaceful; she didn’t want to leave.

With Alastor elsewhere for the first time in what felt like eons, she took the opportunity to test herself, raising her hand above her face and snapping. Sparks of green magic and a puff of smoke appeared at her fingertips. So that didn’t go away. What should have been exciting merely terrified her. What could possibly be the downfall of having some degree of magical talent? Grace couldn’t think of anything offhand but her ignorance didn’t mean consequences didn’t exist. It would probably behoove her to learn how to wield what she got.

Maybe it would be a good idea to discuss it with Alastor.

She snorted at herself for even considering that. Doubtful he’ll be happy about this.

After having been holed up in Alastor’s space for over a week now, Grace’s stomach growled fiercely as if demanding she get the fuck out of that room, already. So she freshened up as best she could and went to get herself breakfast.

The usual suspects were gathered around the dining room table, well into their meals. Much of everything set out by then had been picked over. Some anemic pastries littered a silver tray and about a half-cup of orange juice remained in the glass carafe at the center of the spread. Grace helped herself to a croissant, a Danish, a sugar-frosted doughnut, and the room-temperature juice before selecting one of the empty chairs on either side of Alastor, who for all intents and purposes appeared to be back to his baseline unbothered asexual self.

Grace plopped herself carelessly on the cushion with instant regret and a visible wince that did not go unnoticed by her friends. 

Shit! Okay, so that’s still sore. Three. Motherfucking. Days. Later. With the kind of abuse her kitty had endured over the last 72 hours, how the soreness surprised her was anyone’s guess.

The group that up until then had been very chatty went abruptly silent. Glances were exchanged.

Grace looked at Alastor, who refused to meet her gaze, his cheeks staining a darling pinkish hue.

She blinked, addressing him quietly, “Alastor?”

He stiffened visibly and inhaled sharply, holding his breath.

Oh, what fresh hell is this behavior, now? 

Charlie cleared her throat in the ensuing silence. “We’ve missed you at our activities … the past few weeks.”

“It hasn’t—” Grace faltered. “—been that long.” She bit her lip and turned her focus to her breakfast, picking nibble-sized pieces from the donut before popping them into her mouth. Actually eating them proved a challenge in the current, awkward atmosphere surrounding her.

C’mon, say something, Alastor. Lie; I know you want to! Certainly his fibs would be far more convincing than hers if she said anything else.

“Yeah,” Angel Dust said, leaning an elbow on the table with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Where’ve you two been?”

Promiscuous or not, even Grace was too ashamed to answer that.

“Oh, hush,” Kofax hissed, “and let the poor, hungry souls eat!”

“Wet blanket,” Angel muttered, attempting—and failing—to turn his attention from Grace and Alastor. That is, up until his phone pinged repeatedly. He glanced around at everyone now watching him intently, and pulled the phone from his pocket to see what its fuss was about. He swiped a long, slender thumb along the phone’s screen, scrolled a bit with it. And then his eyes — all eight of them — flew open in shock. Flew up to Alastor and Grace. “You really don’t want to tell us what you two have been up to the last few weeks?”

Alastor’s eyes flashed and darkened as he sat taller in his seat.

Grace’s face heated as she shrunk back into hers.

Vaggie’s patience snapped, and so, too, did she: “What’s going on here, already?”

“Oh, nothing,” Angel replied with faux levity. His tone bittering, he continued, “Except our famous little lovebirds, here, have moved on from audio porn to the visual sexual arts!” and flipped his phone toward the rest of the table, revealing what Grace thought was an obnoxiously familiar photograph. “I think I know where Al and Grace have been recently!”

“What the fuck is that?” Alastor snarled through thick static, jumping to his feet and knocking back the chair in which he’d been sitting.

“Really, Grace?” Angel’s glare narrowed on her. “Working with Valentino? I thought you were smarter than that! Did Al even know you were recording him?”

“I didn’t!” cried Grace, her ears burning furiously. “I—I couldn’t, I’d never!” 

She gestured for Angel’s phone. “We did no such thing! That—that can’t be real! I mean—would Al even show up on film, anyway?!”

“Nice attempt at finding a loophole, but he’s a demon, not a vampire.” Angel’s narrowed eyes became a toothy, frightening scowl as he, too, rose to his feet and towered over everyone at the table. 

“That’s reflection in a mirror, not a radio demon on film, you tatertwat!” Grace retorted, her eyes narrowing on him.

“Quit changing the subject, you—you—spinachmuff!”

“I—what?”

“Fuck off, Grace, I’m furious!” Whether it was distrust or jealousy rearing its head—that she got to fuck Alastor on the rare occasion or that she it appeared she was working with Valentino—Angel’s rage grew exponentially. “Whatever, that video looks pretty fuckin’ real to me.”

Grace slid her own chair back and stood to face off with him. Though she was several feet shorter than Angel, she matched his intensity; expansive temper in a compact package. “Gimme the fucking phone!”

“I just paid good money to have it properly disinfected.” With a flick of his wrist, Angel slid his phone across the table. “Try not to skank it up.”

“It was already all skanked up before I got it!”

“Angel! Grace!” Charlie cried. “Both of you—” Her voice petered out under the threatening stares of not only Angel Dust and Grace, but now Alastor as well.

Grace studied the image on the phone; a poster for a new porn Valentino entitled Artificial Sintelligence, which she assumed was insulting Alastor’s intellect if not her own, as well.

The poster showed a photo of herself lying on her side with Alastor’s arm draped over her waist, her own arm crossing her chest and only partly covering her left breast, a sliver of mauve nipple peeking out north of her forearm. Alastor had her ear pulled between his teeth, blood streaming from it down his chin as she looked square at the camera with a sexy smirk. Scratches, bruises, and bites marred her skin. Grace’s heart sank in recognition.

Oh. Oh shit. Oh, shit! That’s the photo I sent Valentino right before I blocked him! How am I gonna lie my way out of this? 

A text pinged through on Angel’s phone, the notification appearing just long enough for Grace to read it before it disappeared.

Well, at least that would prove to Angel that she hadn’t gone to Valentino—at least not willingly.

“Wait—” Grace took a gasping breath. She pressed her little skank fingertips to the screen to keep it from going dark. This photo showed not only her face, but Alastor’s, too. The photo she’d sent to Valentino had cut off at her neck and well below Alastor’s shoulder. “This is fake! This is artificial intelligence!”

Kofax bolted from her seat and circled the table to peer over Grace’s shoulder at Angel Dust’s phone. “That’s … frighteningly convincing and so uncanny valley all at once. God damn.”

“People are gonna believe that’s really Alastor … and me.” Grace craned her neck to meet Kofax’s gaze. “Aren’t they.”

Kofax opened her own phone and with deft fingertips, pulled up a Google search in a single heartbeat. “Artificial Sintelligence. Here it is: ‘coming to Valentino’s streaming services next month.’ Pay per view—holy shit that’s expensive! Who’s got that much disposable income to piss it away on porn?” She scrolled down the screen. “My guess is that Valentino found a pair of body-doubles to do the dirty work and used AI to simulate your faces over theirs. He’s making it part of the whole gimmick. Talk about a weird-ass kink!”

Grace forced herself to glance at Alastor, who immediately looked away, his already pink cheeks darkening the moment her gaze met his. “He’s using our likeness…es… without our permission.” The question was posed to nobody in particular: “Do we have any legal recourse?”

“This is Hell, not California or Florida. Believe it or not, even with the sheer volume of attorneys we’ve got residing in the Pride Ring, we’re actually far less litigious here,” Charlie said quietly. “I doubt you’ll find a lawyer willing to take a case going against one of the Vees. I’m so sorry.” She glanced between Angel and Grace. “Are you two gonna be okay?”

“Here, take your dumb fucking ho-bag phone back,” Grace told Angel, whipping the phone back to him across the tabletop. “And kindly tell your sweater-eating shit-smear of a boss that I’m cramming a fistful of mothballs down his throat the next time I see him.”

“Grace!” Charlie cried in dismay, likely more for how she’d addressed Angel in that rant than for what she’d said about Valentino.

Angel stuffed his phone back into his pocket with a grumbled, “Not my fault that photo looked real.”

Kofax threaded her fingers together and in an overdramatic motion, twisted her hands so that her palms faced outward and stretched until her joints snapped and crackled. “Don’t you spend one more moment worrying about that fucking movie,” she told Grace with a lazy smile. “You may not have any legal recourse but I’m about to wipe it from existence.”

Unfortunately, however, Grace assumed the poster advertising the porn had already done enough damage on its own.

To Grace’s surprise, Kofax’s promise seemed to appease Alastor. He uprighted his chair and settled back into it as if nothing had happened. 

Grace plopped down on her seat, once more hissing when her recently abused pussy met the cushion harder than necessary. And again, all gazes fell on her. All this attention is getting real old real quick. She looked at Alastor, placing a gentle hand on his forearm.

He didn’t recoil. He didn’t push her away. But she felt him tense beneath her touch. He refused to look at her, his smile looking unusually tenuous. 

She whispered, “I truly hope you know I’d never—”

Alastor interrupted with a stiff and staticky, “I know.” 

That was that. She’d just have to let the guilt of sending that photo to Valentino in the first place consume her for the rest of eternity.

Alastor said little to Grace for the rest of the day. He scarcely looked at her. She tried numerous times to apologize in an attempt to alleviate her guilt but he brushed her off each time. Either he knew she was at fault to some degree and was furious at her for lying and embarrassed to have been involved in it, or he genuinely believed she was blameless here, which merely compounded her guilt.

It had to be the latter; he’d never hesitated calling her out on her fibs.

The next day didn’t see him in much better spirits, although he went to join the other hotel residents in Charlie’s daily exercises after they had breakfast. Grace had no intent of participating—lately, these activities had little relevance to her.

Alastor had parked himself in a chair, sitting with impeccable posture, his legs crossed at the knee. The choice seemed to yell at Grace, ‘don’t even think about coming near me!’ but Grace, being quite intensely stupid when it came to matters of her heart, sat in the spot nearest him on the neighboring couch. 

Kofax settled on the couch practically atop Grace, earning a red-cheeked scowl from the Radio Demon which the cyberpunk fox ignored as if she didn’t even notice it, casually nursing what looked from its presentation to be a margarita. 

To Kofax’s other side was Vaggie. In another armchair across from Alastor was Angel Dust, who looked—Grace couldn’t decide how he looked.

Charlie sat herself down on the rug in the middle of the room, sparing a glance at Angel. “You okay?”

He shook his head. Nodded. Shook his head again, then shrugged. “Val is pissed.”

“Why?” Charlie asked, concern etching her forehead.

“A half-million dollar investment vanished from his servers overnight.”

That warranted an impressive—and messy—spit-take from Kofax. “He spent five hundred thousand on that piece of shit?!”

All gazes turned toward Kofax.

“Artificial Sintelligence?” Angel Dust confirmed. “Yeah.”

Grace reluctantly asked, “Did you … watch it? … before you deleted it?”

“Pssh, I’m only human.” Kofax shrugged, sipping what remained of her margarita. “Not like it was actually you two or even based on real events. I was curious! And man … if that’s how much he invested in it, he got robbed.”

“Good!” Grace snapped, surprised to hear a radio-filtered voice echoing hers in both word and inflection. Well, it wasn’t surprising he would think that, but surprising he showed that much emotion about it.

Kofax set her cocktail glass on the floor between her feet, fishing her phone from her right pocket. She unlocked it, pulled up her memo app, and typed something up quickly, flashing the screen toward Grace.

i deleted the movie from vals servers but kept a copy for myself

wanna see it

Grace shoved against Kofax’s arm as a non-verbal ‘fuck no!’

ur not even a little curious

Grace glared wordlessly.

Although there’s no chance I’ll ever get to see what we look like together—no! No! Stop that! Gross! Bad Grace! Bad!

lmk if u change ur mind

“I hope he doesn’t think you’ve got anything to do with it getting deleted,” Vaggie told Angel Dust softly.

“It wouldn’t change much even if he didn’t,” Angel replied with a heavy sigh.

Angel’s gonna get his ass kicked. Because of me. I have got to stop being such a goddamn idiot.

In the ensuing silence, Charlie cleared her throat and introduced the day’s topic. “Today, we’re gonna talk about assuming positive intent.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” said Angel.

Charlie’s face lit up. “I’m so glad you asked! Assuming positive intent is like extending the most generous possible interpretation to another soul’s words and actions.”

This was obnoxiously applicable to Grace’s afterlife lately. Suddenly the irrelevant topics seemed far more appealing to her even if the exercises, themselves, left her unengaged and bored.

“What’s the benefit of assuming positive intent?” Vaggie asked, not the least bit obviously rehearsed to assist her girlfriend continue the activity.

“I’m so glad you asked! Well, it can help reframe your perception from actively seeking out self-serving behaviors in others to speculating that behind every choice someone makes is a good intention. You’ll usually be right and even when you’re not, it gives other souls the opportunity to rise to meet your opinion of them.”

Angel’s gaze flicked to Grace and he folded his arms tightly over his chest fluff. “How do we start assuming positive intent?”

“Great question!” chirped Charlie, clapping her hands with glee at his willing participation. “First, you want to start giving others the benefit of the doubt. And whenever that doubt starts creeping in, catch yourself and ask what all the possibilities could be. Let them validate your opinions and then draw your conclusion from them. So if someone upset you, let them know and continue assuming their intentions weren’t malicious.

“We each have our very own place in this afterlife and occupy a space that only we, ourselves, can truly understand. This space is built from our unique experiences, visions, and desires. When we start considering other people behave in ways that are merely the result of these things, we can start occupying shared spaces. And occupying shared spaces helps us form bonds, friendships, relationships. And feeling affection for others makes it that much easier to assume positive intent—even when we can’t fathom what that intent may have been.”

While Grace stared at Angel in silence, she could feel Alastor’s gaze boring a hole into the back of her head.

Well. This subject sucks a whole heap of freeze-dried cricket nads!

“So I know things have been a bit … challenging … between several of us recently … and I thought that it’d be helpful to learn how to assume positive intent in challenging situations using yesterday’s breakfast as an example. Grace? Angel? Would you join me on the floor?”

“It’s okay,” Grace insisted. “I’m totally fine about yesterday’s breakfast.” Female ‘fine,’ maybe, but fine, nonetheless.

“See?” Angel gestured toward Grace with several arms. “She’s fine about it.”

Charlie pouted, glancing between them. “C’mon … Please? I worked so hard to put this activity together!”

Grace was first to concede but not without a dramatic sigh. Angel took several more moments before he followed her lead with an even more exaggerated dramatic sigh as if deliberately trying to one-up her.

Charlie nodded to Angel Dust. “So when faced with a challenging situation, we first state the problem in a neutral, non-accusatory way.” When he didn’t jump into the conversation, she prompted, “Angel?”

He dismissed her with a sharp wave. “I’m thinkin’, lemme think!” 

“How about … Grace, I’m worried about you because it looks like you filmed a porno for Valentino,” Kofax suggested.

“Okay, that can work,” Charlie replied with an enthusiastic nod. “Now we ask questions that encourage the person to talk openly and be clear that you want to work together to find a solution.”

“Angel, I know by now that you know how I feel about the Vees. Why do you think I’d ever willingly do anything for any of them?” Grace countered. “It hurts me to think you think so poorly of me and I don’t want this wrecking our relationship. You’re one of my favorite souls here.”

“Well, hey!” Kofax interjected.

Grace’s head whipped back toward her. “I said ‘one of!’”

“We’re besties,” Kofax replied with a pout, “and don’t you forget it.”

Charlie cleared her throat loudly before continuing, “Assuming positive intent means believing the best of people. Remember: they can’t be at their best if you're constantly doubting them.”

Angel nodded slowly. “You’re—you’re right. You’re right.” He glanced at Grace. “I jumped to conclusions and assumed the worst about you. I know you well enough to know that was out of character for you and that should’ve been a big red flag that something was up. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t blame you for thinking what you did,” Grace replied. “After all, that poster was very real—realistic-looking. Even though I knew it couldn’t be real, it still had me thinking ‘well, maybe …?’ Anyway, I accept your apology.”

Charlie squeaked, fanning her misting eyes with both hands. “You guys are doing great! I think this is the most successful exercise we’ve ever done!”

Vaggie beamed as she watched her girlfriend. “So … did they earn their treat?”

Everyone turned to Vaggie with raised eyebrows.

Jumping to her feet in a surprisingly acrobatic maneuver, Charlie replied, “Oh, they sure did!” 

Grace retreated to her spot beside Kofax. Angel once more took his seat.

Charlie retrieved a box from behind the couch shared by Grace, Kofax, and Vaggie, setting it on the rug in the spot she previously occupied. She opened it, pulling out several A5-sized notebooks with a variety of covers. Glittery, colorful, shiny holographic. An understated solid, matte black.

Grace leaned forward to peer into the box. There were several more notebooks with several other cover designs. Red, rainbow, aggressively sparkly pink.

Kofax eyed them warily. “And what’s this fresh hell?”

Charlie pursed her lips but then smiled. “These are gratitude journals!”

Everyone—save Vaggie and Charlie—groaned.

“Now, now, hear me out! The practice of gratitude-journaling activates the reward center of our brains in addition to the part responsible for regulating emotions, which make us feel happier. And when we feel happier, we’re able to experience more joy, more compassion, and deeper relationships—not only with others but even with ourselves.” Charlie approached Kofax and Grace, offering them the journals in her hands.

“What’re we supposed to do with these?” Kofax asked, eyeing the notebooks warily. As if they would somehow hurt her with their not being technological.

“Well … You write down people, places or things that you appreciate—as a list, a song, poetry, a story, or even as a thank you letter to someone or something. It’s helpful to identify why you’re thankful for whatever you’re writing down in order to deepen the experience of positive emotions."

“I don’t need paper for that. I’ll just use the memo app on my phone, thanks,” Kofax said. “But I appreciate the suggestion. It’s a kind offer.”

“Grace?” Charlie offered her the selection of notebooks.

Grace’s gaze swept the notebooks Charlie held before landing on the box. “I want the red one.”

“She said, to nobody’s surprise,” commented Angel Dust with a chuckle.

Kofax snorted. “You would.”

Grace nudged her sharply with her elbow amid giggles from almost everyone else while Charlie fetched the red notebook from the box.

Then Charlie turned to Alastor with a hopeful smile.

He regarded her placidly. “We all know I’m not doing that.”

Charlie smiled sheepishly. “Can’t blame a girl for trying!”

“Oh, yes I can.”

See you here again this coming Sunday, deer friends!