Holy Socks And Dirtier Demons Read Online Free PDF

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    wife. She made me drink tea, said it was good for my mental health. I found
    out later she’d been spiking it with anti-psychotics.
    “I’ll make you a deal. You put on some pants and I’ll make coffee.”
    She gave a vague wave to my genitals. “It’s too early in the day to face that
    over the breakfast table.”
    “Fair enough. I’ll be right back,” I said, disappearing into the living
    room. On the floor, the angel laid curled next to the heater. I kicked him in
    the butt as I passed. “For God’s sake, you’re a fucking angel and you
    couldn’t win a coin toss.”
    He rubbed his sleep-crusted eyes. “She hit me. I offered to flip a
    coin, but she growled and struck me like some kind of animal.”
    I liked this girl more and more. Too bad she drank tea and dated
    demonic assholes.
    Inside my bedroom, I searched through a pile of dirty laundry until I
    located a pair of Levis that didn’t smell like baby puke and alcohol.
    Five minutes later, I arrived in the kitchen, awaiting my promised
    caffeine fix. Lilith sat at the table, twirling a shiny object in her fingers. A
    cup of rich, black coffee sat across from her. She gestured for me to sit,
    which I did. The table wobbled, and coffee splashed over the rim.
    Dammit. I looked down.
    “Looking for this?” She tossed a gold heart shaped medal at me. It
    skidded across the table, and landed face up. The noble face of General
    George Washington stared up from the purplish inlay.
    I picked the medal up with a smirk and stuck it back underneath the
    too short table leg. Once in place, the table stopped wobbling, a regular Mr.
    Fix-it.
    “Better.” I took a sip of my coffee and wiped the spill up with the
    edge of my shirt.
    She looked at me as if I was crazy. “That medal is a Purple Heart.”
    I nodded.
    “Is it your Purple Heart?”
    I nodded again.
    “Care to explain?”
    I shrugged. “I was in the Army. I got hurt. They gave me a medal.
    Hell, they give them out to guys who stub a toe.”
    25

    “How long were you in?”
    Why I answered was beyond me. I didn’t owe this girl shit, least of
    all my life story. “Since I was eighteen.” It felt like a lifetime ago. I’d been a
    career soldier, a killing machine. Then suddenly I wasn’t.
    Lilith shook her head. “I can’t see you taking orders.”
    “I grew up in a small farm town, so it was either join the Army or
    drink myself to death.” Which reminded me, I opened a cabinet door and
    poured a healthy dose of whiskey into my coffee. “I stupidly joined up and
    the rest is history.” Recent history since I had only been discharged three
    years ago and still I hadn’t quite adjusted to life on the outside.
    “How did you get hurt?” Her eyes flashed with compassion.
    “I.E.D.” I swallowed, thinking back to the day an improvised
    explosive device changed my life. It had been a routine assignment, a simple
    sweep of the area until a roadside bomb exploded.
    It was my second tour in Iraq. The first, Desert Storm, went off
    without a hitch. No one shot at me or tried to blow me up. I was golden.
    The second tour, ten years later, was a far different story. The first
    week of the invasion, I lost seven men in my platoon to a roadside bomb and
    ended up in a M.A.S.H unit with my brains scrambled. It was touch and go
    for a while, but I made it through. Or, so I thought until the voices started.
    “I’m so sorry,” she said, and for a second I believed her.
    “Yeah well, shit happens.” I took another drink. “I was lucky.” Was
    it luck? Would I have been better off dead? I had been asking myself that
    question for over two years.
    Shrinks and doctors tried to stop the rising tide of voices inside my
    head, but to no avail. I was labeled paranoid, schizophrenic, dissociative, and
    depressive. I’d taken handfuls of pills, swallowing lies and half-truths fed to
    me in hopes of quieting the voices. Nothing worked.
    Then eight months ago, I sat on my couch with my