The following file had been found on the personal laptop of Jordan Andrew Diaz, Graduate student of theology, University of Nebraska.
The man leaned back in his chair. Running his fingers through his long hair, he smiled at me with a grin that seemed too perfect for a typical drug-addict. He had a full mustache and beard, like some kind of hippy rockstar, but he also had a student ID; name- Remy Desilva, a third-year freshman.
“My papa used to beat me really bad,” his voice was a gravely, yet undeniably seductive combination of Cajun, Hawaiian, with a touch of California surfer.
Remy’s dark eyes seemed to stare into my soul. I was more than a little uncomfortable but as a volunteer counselor I was there to listen; it was my job, as part of my graduate thesis.
“Maybe that’s why I’m so screwed up.” He proceeded to tell me the story of how when he was six years old, growing up in Hawaii, his father would hold a phone book over his face when he beat him. Sometimes his father used fists, other times a foreign object like a rock or even a piece of pipe. “As a way to avoid leaving bruises,” he said with a chuckle. “But holy f**k I blacked out a lot. I think I even had a few seizures,” his voice continued in a slow, almost melodic tone. “I figure that’s why I am the way I am. No one ever loved me enough- or too much- however you want to look at it.”
I suspected the individual was high at the current time, despite the fact that he had completed a urine test as part of his probation. “That doesn’t explain why you were arrested for smoking meth outside the student union.”
Remy licked his lips and smiled a devious smile. “I think it does. I need to be saved,” he glanced at me with eyes that looked, sleepy, tired, but above all- innocent. I was starting to believe his stories. “So, Jordan, do you want to be the one to save my soul?”
Those were the last words I remember.
I awoke in my bed covered in sweat. I assumed it had all been a dream, but laying next to me was the strange man.
Remy Desilva was naked, eating a pint of strawberry ice cream- with his fingers. “Hey, man, how’d you sleep?”
I fell off the bed. That was when I realized I was naked as well. What had happened? I was left to assume Remy had somehow drugged me. “Why are you here? How did you get into my apartment?”
“Jordon, right?” Remy asked as he licked his fingers clean, ignoring the globs of cream in his facial hair. “You invited me here.”
“No, I most certainly did not,” my eyes darted around the room looking for my clothes or ANY clothes. “I’m calling the police!”
Remy flopped back on the bed, laughing so hard he finally had to put down the ice cream. “That’s a first.”
“I usually appear to women, and they’re usually too scared,” he said casually his smile still confident as ever, “or maybe a little turned on.”
“I don’t roll that way. I’m a Christian- I’m a G******n theology major!”
My anger only seemed to entertain him more. “You were planning on preaching the word of God while f*****g little boys?”
“I’m calling the cops.”
Remy sat up, pulling on a pair boxers from the floor. “You can do whatever you want, but first- let’s watch a movie,” he snapped his fingers, pulling up a video in window’s media player.
It was as bad as I thought it would be. We had engaged in various sexual acts that deviled my body in ways I would rather not admit to on record. I appeared to be tied up, maybe even unconscious. But five minutes in, Remy did the unthinkable; he smeared a handful of ice cream over his genitalia, before straddling my face. On the video, I am seen sitting up, eagerly licking the confection from his body. “What are you?”
Remy, of course, was doubled over in laughter. “Well, my papa was a demon, my mama was a siren.”
“So you’re the devil incarnate?” I no longer wanted to call the police, I wanted him dead. And with the images on the video, I would easily be able to pull off an insanity plea. “What do you want?”
Remy looked at me with bedroom eyes, “What do YOU want?”
OMG, that was a fun night. Let’s see what the rest of the police report says. “The police found the body of the twenty-five-year-old male, naked and brutalized. The cause of death was determined to be… this will be good. – blood loss due to internal injuries. The assailant appeared to have sexually assaulted the victim using inhuman force, most likely foreign objects. The assailant then proceeded to cover the body in a sticky, viscous liquid. This liquid was later determined to be melted strawberry ice cream.”
This is too funny!
Unfortunately, the police leave out the parts when we were actually in a relationship. I poured out my heart to Jordan for a little over a month. During that time, we never had s*x, nor did I want to. Why? Because I loved him.
I told him about all the times my papa beat me, sold me, sometimes he even r***d me himself. It was never sexual, only about power; hate makes you strong. But every time he hurt me, he would buy me ice cream. Sometimes it was the cheap stuff. But sometimes, after a particularly difficult task, (like entertaining a demon king when you’re just nine years old) he would buy me the most delicious Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream.
I was born of demons, but I truly would have allowed Jordan to save my soul. Too bad he had to go and break my heart.
This was fun.