I declared war on Steve. It wasn’t anything personal or anything, just that he was drinking the milk out of the carton again and eating the last packet of beef ramen so I felt that it was justified. Although it is kind of sad to see that food has become an issue worthy to start a war over. Of course, it wasn’t so much him that I was started a war on but more on public transportation because that morning Steve, the local bus, was late. Normally this wouldn’t matter seeing at the devil incarnate was taking some time off since his first child was being born, let’s see, last Saturday? And maybe normal people take some time off to take care of their children but it must be different when you’re evil. He just came back to work today and he’s a royal bastard and must have something up his ass for he wants me to begin making the salads at exactly 8:01 even though no freak is going to order a freaking salad at 8:02.

So he was like “Linda,” he tapped obnoxiously at his $200 watch “Those salads aren’t going to make themselves.” I had to resist the temptation to salute and marched off into the Realm of no return. The kitchen is usually a good place for some solitude and a drink or two if you were daring enough to steal one from the fridge, but this definitely was no “get drunk and spike people’s salads day” considering that those only happen when the Devil hid into his lair, aka when his children are being born. Damn, we should definitely convince his wife to pop out a couple more.

I grabbed my nametag and clipped it onto my collar before opening the fridge to collect all the salad makings.

“Stupid people want to save the world but they don’t want to do anything with it,” grumbled one of the inmates. Ah yes, the hounds were restless today.

“Aw, what’s the matter Saguaro?” I asked as I washed the overly-ripe tomatoes in the sink. I toss the tomatoes onto the counter and begin shredding the lettuce, not expecting an answer.

“Hey cowboy, you got anything to say?” I call over to Duck. He doesn’t say anything. But then, Duck never does.

“Those imbeciles at the embassy,” Saguaro complains, waving around his favorite butcher knife. “I swear, one night I will take Lulu and castrate those morons.” Lulu is his vegetable peeler.

“Ah, I see,” I muster what I hope can be a sincere look on my face. “That is unfortunate.” He whirls around, carrying his knife so that it’s merely inches from my jugular.

“For them, yes.” And at this exact moment, if it wasn’t bad enough to have a knife threatening my neck why not add in the Devil (don’t you know, a pinch of evil always spices thing up)?

“Linda!” Of course he didn’t see the knife, just me standing there juggling a phallic cucumber in my hands. He stares at me the same way a mother would at a pedophile.

“I was just about to cut up the cucumber,” I held up the cucumber in my right hand as if to prove my statement.

“Linda,” he said seriously. “What did I say about being inappropriate at work?”

“What? I’m not! It’s not my fault the freaking cucumber looks like a penis,” I tried to defend myself. He looked taken aback.

“I was talking about your nametag,” he recollected himself and swiped my nametag from my shirt collar. He held it out in front of my face so I could read it. I felt my face burn. My name is… cock.

Fuck.

“Uh, I must have grabbed someone else’s name tag by mistake,” I mutter. I could hear Saguaro and Duck snickering from behind me.

“Just make those salads.” He turns to leave. “And please don’t put condoms on the cucumbers,” I gaped at him. Did the devil just make a joke?

Of course, joke or no joke, the devil still felt the need to dock some of my pay. Not only for my ‘indecent’ behavior but for being late also. Damn Steve. It was my week to get groceries for the apartment and I had a lot of stuff to get too. Freaking Steve ate like a freaking Goliath (Steve my roommate, not the bus). And since he docked some of my pay, all of the money went to food so that I didn’t have any left for bus fare. I was stuck walking home. Meh.

As I was about to cross the road, a cherry-colored jeep stopped right in front of me in the intersection. Just as I was about to give the finger to the driver, the window rolled down revealing Duck.

“Oh hey Duck, I didn’t know it was you.” Duck didn't bother to reply but instead gets out of the car, much to the annoyance of the cars behind him, and walks around to the passenger side. He takes my shopping bags from me and beckons me to get into the vehicle. After handing me my groceries, he climbs back into the driver’s seat.

“So you’re gonna give me a ride home?” I laugh to myself; do I seriously expect a mute guy to answer my question? I tell him to turn left at the next intersection.

When we arrive at my apartment complex Duck gets out of the car too. He takes the groceries from me. “You really don’t have too,” I mumbled in complaint but Duckwasn't listening. He was already walking towards the building. “Hey, wait up!” I yelled after him. “You don’t know where I live.”

I appeared to be wrong since when I get into the building Duckwas already a flight of stairs ahead of me. “I live on the fourth floor,” I call up to him, wondering how the hell he can climb the stairs so fast when even after living here for two months, I still can’t climb faster than a turtle. “Freakin’ Duck,” I mutter to myself.

When I get to my floor my apartment door is already ajar, Steve’s head is sticking out of the gap. “Hey, Linda, you wouldn’t believe what just happened,” he tells me.

“Did a man with black hair, about 5 feet 9 inches tall, wearing purple converse just walk into the apartment?” I proved him wrong.

“You know him?” Steve asked. I nod. He seems relieved for some reason. “Good, I mean, I thought some hobo was just waltzing into our apartment.” He lets me in and locks the door behind him.

“Duck?” It didn’t take long to find him. He was in the kitchen, doing what appeared to be the act of cooking. There was a pot on the stove, filled with what I assumed was water. Duck was standing behind a counter and was cutting potatoes on a cutting board. He looks up and sends me a smile before handing me the knife and shoving a potato in my hand.

“So, um, are you Linda’s boyfriend or something?” Steve finds this opportunity to join us in the kitchen. He leans against the wall nonchalantly. I’m about to deny it when Duck’s hands clasp me around the waist. He holds me for a moment before pressing his lips onto my cheek. I can instantly feel myself get a fever. He then lets go of me and returns to his cooking. I can feel Steve smirking at me.

“So, your boyfriend is cooking us dinner?” He peers into the pot on the stove. Duckjump away fromhis celery andshoves Steve out of the way. “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters. “I’ll–” But it seems that Duck isn’t finished. He drags Steve out into the hallway and begins to push him out the apartment door.

“Hey… hey now! Linda!” He sends me a plea for help. “Your lover is trying to evict me, give me a hand here,” I shrug. “Oh C’mon,” he complains. “I just want some food. I’ll leave you guys alone. I mean, if you guys want some time alone I totally understand. I’ll leave right after dinner and then you guys can get as kinky as you want… Linda, you love me don’t you?” The door shuts behind him. “Oh I see how it is. Well… I hope the sex sucks.” I hear him kick the door. “And I hope the food is burnt,” he adds as an afterthought.

I look over to Duck. He’s grinning. He reaches his hands out towards me and pulls me to him. “I think I like you too,” I whisper to him. I can feel him smiling as he kisses me. And you know what I think as I’m kissing him back. Maybe, instead of declaring war on Steve, I should thank him. Because if he wasn’t late then this might never have happened.

(But I think I’ll declare war on him anyway.)

Thank you for reading.

Comments are welcome.