“Of course not, I wouldn’t deign to piss on that rat if he was on fire! I … the young chap at the gluten-free donut stand! He led me to believe that you’d just be a bit uncomfortable for a night. A little bloated … maybe a bit flatulent. He said that most people with gluten intolerance were doing it as a lifestyle choice!”

She was silent again. It stretched on for interminable moments. My chest tightened with each ticking second with no reply from her.

And then a faint whimper.

I couldn’t sit here and listen to her hurt like this.

My fingers closed around the handle and twisted until the silly little lock snapped.

* * *

She was seated on the lavatory, a metal waste bin clutched in shaking hands. She looked up, her face pale, sweat plastering her fuchsia hair to her clammy cheeks.

“Get out!” she hissed, but her voice was reedy.

“Let me help you,” I pleaded.

She glared at me with a shadow of that feistiness I was used to. “Help? This is all your fault! I don’t care what weird little fake dating scenario you’ve got me stuck in … I’m not interested in this level of intimacy with you!”

All my fault.

“Is there nothing I can do to … to ease you?” I longed to touch her, to comfort her. But even I knew that was insanity.

I satisfied myself with turning towards her sink, finding a small, towelling cloth and dampening it under the faucet.

“Here,” I murmured, handing it to her. She glared at the cloth as if it had offended her.

“If I take that, I’m going to spill this puke bucket all over the floor.”

She was right. And I was stupid.

“Let me, Mouse.” I reached towards her, daubing her face with the cool cloth, swiping that hair off her skin.

She let out a little breath. “I hate that this feels nice.”

“Hate it all you want. I just … I need to make recompense for tonight.”

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling remorseful?”

I swallowed hard. “I’m a Lucifer. I don’t feel remorse.”

But I did. Because these feelings in my stomach, in my chest … this prickling behind my eyes, that could only be remorse. And … maybe something else?

But I couldn’t be feeling … that way about her … could I?

“Would knowing about this have changed your mind?” she asked suddenly, catching me completely off-guard.

“Knowing what?”

“Knowing how much your task was going to …” her eyes widened, and she stuck her head into the pail, her body heaving. My entire being ached to fix this for her.

If I’d thought I felt powerless when she explained how she could never complete her degree, never realise her dreams … that was a drop in the ocean compared to how I felt now.