Lust

by Hildred Billings

  White lilies. Four of them, all neatly arranged with sprigs of green inside a round, clear vase. A lacey doily separated the bottom of the vase from the varnished wood of the dining table. It looked like the kind of centerpiece Marissa would have created. Except Marissa hadn’t been there in months, and Mercy sure as hell hadn’t brought any flowers home since.

  She took her medicine. When had these flowers appeared? Was she already losing her memory to her depression? It had happened before. Probably would happen again. Entire days of her life lost to the void expanding in her mind.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop thinking about the day ahead. Mercy was needed at work. Otherwise, she might lose everything she had earned since becoming an adult. What have I earned, again? My life is going nowhere.

  She bent down to smell one of the lilies. Definitely looked like one of Marissa’s concoctions, but wasn’t she seriously allergic to lilies? That’s why Mercy could never bring them home around Easter. The first time she did, Mercy never heard the end of it. One would have thought she was trying to kill Marissa.

  Mercy went back upstairs. When her back was turned, the lilies were arranged in their little vase. Not that she could see the entity fussing with the moonlit flowers. Acedia had expended most of her energy the night before. Besides, she was always much more powerful at night.

  She looked up from the lilies. Mercy had disappeared, but her presence remained. That luminous cloud settling over a house of pain and misfortune. Nobody but Acedia could see it. The trail of turmoil.

  Somewhere, in the corner of the room, Acedia’s sister lurked. All Mercy had to do was turn around and fling herself into the shadows, her soul lost for all eternity.

  Acedia had to act quickly. Not only did she have to get Mercy’s attention, but the healing must begin.

  Tonight, preferably.

  3

  By the time Mercy stumbled into work a little after one, she was met with her coworker’s curious stare.

  “Slept in, huh, Mercy?” Bill chuckled, coffee mug brushing against his lips. The man worked in another corner office not too far from Mercy’s – God forbid they have an office big enough for the number of employees churning out money for their corporate overlords. That’s me. I’m a cog in that system. More like this system. What a lovely thought to have after a night of hating herself for her role in this game. “Almost did that myself this morning. Arnold isn’t too happy, but if he let me off the hook for coming back from vacation a day late, he’s not going to care about you being behind a few emails.”

  So. Much. Unnecessary. Talking. Didn’t bill see that Mercy had a hangover? What did he want from her? Actual conversation?

  “You were waylaid in Vietnam.” From Thailand, Mercy wanted to add, because of course he was taking his girlfriend to Thailand over New Year’s. Thailand. Paris. Hawaii. Barbados. That was the circuit most of the men in middle-management and up followed when they had someone to wine and dine into bed at least once. Who was Bill’s latest girlfriend now? Some twenty-one-year-old excited to go somewhere the sun shone for ninety-percent of the year? “What was Arnold going to do? Tell you to get your ass into work on risk of being fired?” Mercy scoffed. “Anyway, I’ve got those emails to catch up on, don’t I?”

  Bill let her by, but only because he was busy quaffing his coffee and Mercy had places to go. Yet if she thought she was making it all the way to the office without anyone interfering, she had lost the plot before opening the latest book she bought for her Kindle.

  “Devereux.”

  Mercy didn’t hold back the deep-chested sigh tumbling inside of her. Arnold, the man from one floor up, could call it insubordination if he wanted. Maybe Mercy was itching to get fired. Start over again with an in-home Etsy store selling random things Marissa left behind when she moved out. Etsy is the new eBay, right? Close enough. Meanwhile, Mercy could collect unemployment for a few weeks. Until the goods dried up and she was forced back into middle-management at her company’s rival two blocks away. At least she could probably argue for better pay…

  “Arnold,” she greeted.

  The man in a black suit and gray handlebar mustache bristled. “You’re late.”

  “I thought we went over this on the phone, Arn.” Mercy shoved her shoulder into the door of her corner office. The light flicked on. She needed it, too, since she had the corner-corner office. The only one on the whole floor without a window. All of her light came from the fluorescent monstrosity shining above her head. During the summer she could get away with a golden-bulb desk lamp, but that was still a couple months away. “I accidentally slept in. Didn’t feel too hot last night. Not much I can do about it. I’m here now.”

  “Your attitude…” Arnold followed her into her office. Mercy wasn’t sure what he was trying to accomplish. Was this a half-assed scare tactic? The man was about as frightening as a bumblebee hovering over a giant rose. Where did those lilies come from, anyway? “We need to talk about it, Devereux. Everything has been… lacking… since you came back from your leave of absence.”

  Right. She had gone on leave earlier that year. How could she forget? Like I forget everything else. Most of her month-long leave was spent in bed, with the TV on and the covers up near her eyes. Whenever she wanted to punish herself, she grabbed Marissa’s old pillow and pretended her ex-girlfriend was still there. Sweet words. Sweet caresses. Sweet, sour lies. And the occasional smack to Mercy’s face, in case she was missing some of the “spiciness,” as Marissa called it when she thought domestic abuse sooo fucking funny.

  You’re better off without her. Mercy always told herself that, but could she help it if she desperately missed the only woman she truly loved?

  “My therapist says the grief process is real, Arnold.” Mercy flopped into her chair. The top button on her too-big blouse popped open. I’ve lost more weight. Mercy didn’t have too much to spare to begin with, since Marissa made sure they did every juice cleanse, fast, and smoothie diet she could find. Too fat. Then too skinny. I was never hot enough for her. Every once in a while Marissa threw her good dog a bone and called her pretty. Mercy lived for those moments.

  She doubted she would care now.

  “Grief or not, we need to talk about…”

  Mercy held up her hand. “Remember the other thing my therapist said? That I went on leave for mental health reasons?” Mercy clicked her tongue. “You don’t want to be on the wrong side of the law, Arnold. Tread carefully.”

  He was left speechless. Never before had Mercy shot some words right back into his face. And now? The extra, delicate cherry on the sundae was completely ignoring him as she logged into her computer and checked her corporate email. Indeed, she had about nine messages to respond to if she wanted to be out before five-thirty. She wasn’t sticking around longer than that. Not that she wanted to deal with complaints from Arnold in the morning, either.

  “Well, I…” Arnold took a step back. “I’m sorry to hear that you’re not feeling well again, Ms. Devereux. Be sure to speak with HR if you ever need anything.”

  Because they totally had my back last time? Mercy barely acknowledged her boss as he closed the door and left her to the silent hum of her computer. If only she was allowed to play music while working. She’d love to pop in her earbuds and blast some Mariah Carey, but not only would she get in trouble, but she might like working. They couldn’t have that.

  Besides, she wasn’t feeling music lately, anyway. As much as it bummed her out to admit, she hadn’t actually enjoyed a single song on her playlist since the last time she heard Wham!’s “Last Christmas” playing in the grocery store.

  Did those next few hours go by quickly, or did they drag? Was it possible for both realities to exist at once? Mercy didn’t often question the laws of physics, but she was pretty sure neither Isaac Newton nor Albert Einstein prepared her for this. Every time she typed out an email response, another five hours flew by. Whenever she glanced away from her computer and contemplated a spot on the wall, four of
those hours were reclaimed by reality. She didn’t know how it could both be three in the afternoon and already midnight in her mind. I want to go home and sleep forever. At least this was better than the day before, when she sat in her chair and thought about the bridge everyone called “cursed.” Marissa had once said that bridge was only good for two things. Getting people from Point A to B, and dumping them into Hell.

  Was that what Mercy was trying to do the night before? Dump herself into Hell?

  A chill claimed her. The same chills she had felt all week. All month. All year. Ever since Marissa cut the cord and left Mercy to take it like a pro, she had felt chill after chill. Sometimes, she could brush it off as nothing but the frosty winter air. Yet as it became spring, she no longer had any excuses. It didn’t help that she sometimes swore she heard a voice whispering in her ear.

  “Do it, Mercy. Come join me. Down here in the cold depths of your despair. Together, we can forfeit the world.”

  Mercy tugged on her ear. Was it the chill? The voice? Perhaps she wasn’t destined to say.

  Mercy swore she wouldn’t stay past five-thirty, so she did herself one better by getting out at exactly five. If she avoided Arnold, all the better. That would leave Mercy Devereux in the enviable position of having nobody give a shit that she was leaving without doing a little more work to make up for missing the morning.

  Well, almost nobody would care.

  “Heeeey.” Bill hovered outside her door, coat slung over his arm and hand in his pocket. “Hope you don’t mind that I came by to say good evening. I heard you talking to Arnold earlier about being in a bad mood again.” The way he said bad mood put yet another foul taste in Mercy’s mouth. “Just wanted to say that I totally understand what’s going on, Merce. I, too, have been through a bad breakup or two in my life.”

  She furrowed her brows. “If you know that’s why I’m not feeling hot. Then you also know that I was in a relationship with a woman. I’m not really interested in guys.” Bill had been tragically “flirting” with her since she was first promoted three years ago. He only had a year’s worth of seniority on her, but he acted like he knew the whole office inside and out. Let’s not forget when I waltzed into the office with my box of personal items and he stepped up to “help me with that heavy box.” It had two picture frames and some pens in it. Mercy wasn’t one to turn down genuine help, but everything Bill did screamed desperate. Like now, when he hovered outside her office door to… what? Creep on her?

  “This is just between friends,” Bill attempted to reassure her, “but I thought you might like to go grab a drink. Maybe some dinner. Depends what you’re up for once we get there.”

  “Sorry,” Mercy replied with clenched teeth. “I did a little too much drinking last night as it is. Think it’s better if I go home and have a hot bath.” She probably shouldn’t have added that part. Now Bill was going to think about her in the bath.

  “No worries. Maybe tomorrow, huh?” Bill cocked his head up as he took a few steps back. “Stay cool, Merce. See you in the morning. Maybe? Huh? Haha.”

  Mercy remained where she stood until she was sure that man was out of the office. Stay cool? Merce? Good God. She didn’t usually mind it when people called her “Merce.” Hell, her nickname during high school softball had been “Mercenary,” and her seventeen-year-old self wore it like a badge of honor.

  Yet, somehow, coming out of Bill’s mouth… wasn’t great, huh?

  Mercy cinched her jacket around her abdomen before heading toward the office door. She was polite enough to say goodnight to the secretary every day, since the poor woman was stuck there from eight to six, with an extra day off every Friday. Mercy often wondered if it was worth it, working such a thankless job for so many hours a day. Sure, the corporate overlords also worked that much (usually,) but they made millions. Lucia at the front desk made twenty bucks an hour.

  Only that wasn’t Lucia at the front desk. And the only reason Mercy realized that was because of the small vase of white lilies on the corner of the desk.

  “Good night, Lu…” Mercy stopped, her hip almost knocking into the glass vase. The same one as on my table back home? She whipped her head around, expecting to see the raven-haired secretary with scary-long nails and lashes powerful enough to blow a woman out the door.

  Instead, she saw another face. One almost familiar enough for her to place.

  “Good night, Ms. Devereux.” Acedia tucked her brown hair behind her ear and continued to write nonsense on the pad and paper before her. “May you have an interesting time at home.”

  “You…” Mercy nearly dropped her purse by the handle. She looked around, and while there were plenty of other people in the office still, none of them were perturbed by the lack of Lucia at her desk. In fact, a woman in a blue pantsuit flew by, calling, “Night, Lucia!” as if she hadn’t seen someone completely different sitting at Lucia’s desk. “Holy shit. I am hallucinating.”

  “Maybe.” Acedia picked up the stapler and conspicuously attached two pieces of unrelated papers together. “Maybe not, but I’m looking forward to seeing you later tonight.” Her smile was wide, her cheeks ballooning and her dark eyes glittering like she was in a star-studded romcom. Yet the moment Mercy blinked, she forgot what the figment of her imagination looked like.

  “What is it?” Lucia asked, sitting where Acedia had been only two seconds before. “Did you forget something?” Her long, blue nails picked up the papers Acedia had stapled together. “Need me to call… what the hell happened here?” Both of her hands braced against her desk. “What is going on? I think… I think I need to go home.”

  Mercy scuttled out of the office as quickly as she could. Although Acedia’s words – of, what, warning? – rang in the back of her mind, Mercy couldn’t get out of there quickly enough. She was seeing things. Perhaps the whole day had been nothing but an illusion. Maybe she was dead, and this was some strange purgatory meant to lull her into a false sense of security before she was dumped into that Hell Acedia told her about.

  She didn’t look back. She was too afraid to see anyone but Lucia sitting at her desk.

  —-

  For the first time in a hundred years, Acedia split herself apart.

  It took considerable effort. Naturally. Even an immortal deity with the power to change a human’s life only had so much energy to expend. In ancient times – when she was young, since lesser deities such as herself could age, too – she served many women at once. Her bountiful energy always went to the common good, whether it was inspiring a maiden to look forward to a lifetime of experience, or reminding a middle-aged matriarch that there was much for her to love. Acedia never thought about it. As soon as she heard the cries of a woman bearing too much through no fault of her own, she not only transformed. She became.

  Mythologists somewhat familiar with her existence often debated what Acedia really was. Besides a myth, of course, because how dare anyone genuinely believe in entities like her any longer, hm? Yet whether they read Ancient Greek, Babylonian, Egyptian or Latin, such scholars concluded that she didn’t transform into other entities. Who did she think she was? Durga? Everyone knew that ancient goddesses, be they of fertility or war, kept to the precious plants and animals if they wanted a new form. The concept of her containing multiple aspects of her personality made no sense to stuffy old scholars in their towers of knowledge. All they knew about Acedia was that she had been booted from the canon of deadly sins. All because a few translators didn’t truly understand her power.

  She couldn’t fault them for it, though. They were mortals, after all, and no modern writings spoke of her healing. That’s how long she had gone without success. Dormant. Listless. The personification of her very name. To not know love. Care. Concern. That is who I am. Acedia was the final step of a tragic woman’s healing process. She was the amalgamation of the seven deadly sins, the one burdened with their necessary existence. To be human is to sin. To be alive is to sin. Why must it be a terrible thing? Only when a pers
on embraced those seven sides of themselves could they truly know Acedia – the act of unloading the burden of the world from one’s shoulders.

  Mercy was a tough nut to crack, however. She wasn’t like some of the lovely ladies Acedia had assisted before. Acedia could not simply cut herself into seven and send one avatar after another to the crying child inside a grown woman’s heart. Mercy lived in a different world from the slaves of Rome or concubines of a Chinese emperor’s court. She wasn’t anything like the Incan priestesses or Malian peasant girls. She was a woman of the modern Western world, whatever that meant. Acedia hadn’t really stayed on top of history for the past few hundred years. It was exceptionally bad once the industrial revolution took over. There was little thought for entities such as herself. Why would there be? God was uttered upon lips, but the world rarely meant anything anymore. The revering of the natural world had been set aside for modernization. No wonder Acedia hadn’t been in a hurry to return, no matter how many cries for help she had heard during her slumbers.

  Now was not the time to think about that, though. Now was the time to focus on a woman named Mercy Devereux, who sorely needed Acedia’s assistance.

  Creating an avatar of herself and sending her out into the world did not hurt Acedia. It tickled, a little. Her true self was still tethered to whoever stepped away from her, but one would not be incorrect to call the feminine shape emerging from Acedia’s aura anything more than her sister. Or, perhaps, her daughter.

  The world was a canvas. The moon the ultimate source of light. That made Acedia the prism, the translucent nature of her very existence splintering not only her soul, but the moonlight into a gradient of fantastical colors that briefly covered the city. Not that anyone noticed. Nobody ever noticed.

  Certainly not Mercy, who was fast asleep in her bed.