by Elena Monroe
Swallowing, I sank down against the leather, letting her words beat me up more than I thought she was capable. She wasn't wrong. I couldn't fix her. Nothing I was doing was working, and we both knew it.
“Then I'll wait it out…” I was soothing myself, but it came out of my mouth anyways.
“All the better to defile me? Isn’t that what you love? To take something so pure and turn it into coal?”
I couldn't take anymore of her snarky-ass remarks. They were seeping into my armor, like black magic trying to poison my perfectly already damaged mind.
Her black magic was really trying to aim for my little black heart.
Good thing her aim was off.
I contemplated what else Cheyanne left her in her untimely death—certainly not her fierce ability to love someone the way she did.
“Maybe you’re already coal, and the pressure of me—this, bullshit—is supposed to turn you into a diamond, Luna.”
I wanted to give up.
I wanted to cut ties between us, including my heartstrings which so intricately webbed us together that I was going to be left heartless.
Not exactly a deal breaker, since the only time I paid attention to the damn thing was when Luna was around.
She stood there, still and silent, like I hadn’t said enough.
She was the only one with so many of my words.
Hold them close, Little Lamb. I’m going radio silent.
Letting our eye contact soak in for one last time, I pressed my foot to the gas and let my vintage car jeer forward, leaving her in the rearview mirror.
Luna
“N o sweaters, Luna! It’s summer, and it’s your birthday.” Kate stole the sweater out of my hands before I could protest.
I let my exhale inflate my cheeks, before I exhaled letting her have control. I didn’t care what I wore or really any part of my birthday. We never celebrated birthdays beyond using the abandoned building to drink semi-cold beer and listen to the same playlist on repeat.
This year, we weren’t trapped, and we were reinventing ourselves to be whatever we wanted.
Kate was thriving; all she wanted was to be human and normal.
None of the rest of us knew how to even be ourselves—never mind humans. We were ignoring our godly gifts, the birthright of being royalty, all that was left was our signs—what made us unique. The only catch was that what made me unique ran away as soon as I acted out of character.
Now I am trying to figure out who I am all over again, and ignoring the stars, fate, the crowns, and everything else dictating who I’m supposed to be.
The battle in my head wanted me to be who I used to be, until the dark side screamed and there was no going back from what I’d invited inside.
“What if I don’t remember how old I am?” I muttered to myself, but the girls overheard, and I watched their heads snap my direction.
With a hand on her hip and a defensive scowl, Kate responded before Arianna had a chance, “You can be whatever you want. That’s the beauty of this world. Make something up.”
Arianna was practicing immersive therapy, less seclusion, and expertly avoiding everyone. She was sitting on a velvet-covered stool with her legs twisted up like a pretzel, even with her chunky boots on. She wasn’t paying one bit of attention.
This was the first time I had been face to face with her longer than five minutes when she would come to pick up stuff at the apartment.
I kept texting her, even though all my messages went unanswered.
I was shocked she even showed up.
If Kate sent me threats, I would probably show up too. She wasn't ever joking when it came to vanity and gods help the person crossing that line with her.
Arianna wasn’t missing much.
Kate was basically putting on a fashion show filled with do’s and don’ts—one neither of us were fully paying attention to, while both of us were currently suffering a midlife crisis.
“You two are literally the worst. You couldn’t even pretend to pay attention? Seriously?” Kate stood there, hip popped, all mean girl ready in her pink, ruffled-edge crop top and cropped leather jacket hanging before the pleated plaid red skirt.
Kate was perfect; every part of her was glazed over in a gloss that made her seem impeccable. It made me wonder what kind of ugly lurked under her surface.
Prone to anxiety and control had to be on the top of the list. No one could look as complete as Kate if they loved chaos and danger.
Chaos and danger would leave a mark—one you couldn’t cover up.
She left that up to our resident badass, Arianna.
It reminded me to send Bolton a thank you message for dragging her back to reality. Without him dragging her back, I couldn’t see her stumbling back to us on her own.
Without her, I felt like a tripod missing a leg. She balanced Kate’s upbeat and constantly girly personality. In short, we needed her.
I needed her… as selfish as it sounded.
Kate tossed hangers in our laps and started clapping her hands. “Can we please stop moping? I’m getting sympathy wrinkles. Go try them on.”
Kate’s job at Nordstrom couldn’t be more perfect for her. She was rubbing elbows with the poised and elite, while working as a personal shopper.
Thriving.
Taking the pile of clothes cascading off the hangers, I picked a room and started to get undressed. It wasn’t until I faced the mirror in my bra and panties that I truly saw myself under the bright lights.
I was as pale as I think they came, almost transparent, and the blue veins were the only pollution.
My natural red hair looked darker, like I was suddenly matching my new insides, new mindset, new morale beliefs.
Freckles were sprinkled randomly on my arms and legs.
My body was petite, overtly small, unassuming, and most unlikely to be considered a threat.
Everything about me was petite, except my boobs. Those were disproportionate, sitting on my frame like a bad cosmic joke.
Good idea… give the virgin big tits.
Nyx was the only one to ever notice. At least it was an inside joke.
We had been stuck in a box, forced together for so long that it was easy to fall into each other deeper. Nothing or everything.
I was nothing with everyone in the circle, letting them nickname me mom when I became the annoying voice of reason.
I cared too much about everyone else, but the favor was never returned… until Nyx transferred in, taking notice of my cosmic jokes and refusing to call me mom like everyone else did.
I wish I remembered Olympus just for that reason: It would give me someone else to think about.
There must have been someone for me back home.
Slowly, things were coming back. But right now, Bolton was still holding our memories hostage, and Arianna’s trip down crazy lane apparently gave her a head rush of memories.
Nyx’s memories were Arianna focused; her touch elicited things from him I never succeeded in prying out of him, like kindness, loyalty, and friendship. Instead, we were messy, fragile, and ignorant. Left in a room alone together, I could see us burning it down and arguing about whose fault it was.
Match made in Hell.
As I zipped the dress up, the tag tickled my side pulling a small, insignificant memory forward of Dorian's feather touch.
He liked me and was seemingly normal, despite Nyx on some rampage about a feeling he has.
Didn't know Nyx had those...
Kate strong armed the door, exposing me, still fighting the zipper, and she made her way over to help me. “You look gorgeous, Luna. I told you navy blue is your color.”
She stood next to me pulling the leather jacket off the hanger and dropping it over my shoulders. Leather wasn't very me, but when I looked at the silk navy dress and my exposed collar bones, my mouth dropped open. The body of the dress was like a second skin, and the slit up the thigh ended at my hip bone. It was something my sweaters didn’t do for me—made me
look sexy.
“Leg forward slightly. It's a peek-a-boo slit; it won't open unless you stick a limb through there.”
Arianna stomped her way out of the room across from mine, and we both turned to face her. With her hands on her hips, she already looked mad that she needed to attend anything requiring more than a hoodie and her beloved Docs.
I was guilt-free; this was payback for making me sleep alone in our apartment for months.
The black, see-through lace shirt Arianna had on was paired with a leather mini skirt. I wanted to bow down at Kate’s feet, praising her talents. She had captured us both perfectly, and being the first time I was celebrating my birthday, that I could remember, it felt more epic.
Arianna leaned against the door frame. “Who's Dorian?”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Have you been under a rock?”
I watched the lace heave with a long inhale. “Basically. That ritual really messed me up. It was like she forced me to remember everything I forgot...”
After a long pause, she continued, “I needed to pause.”
Kate was analyzing her when I pushed past her to wrap my arms around her. Darkness or not, I couldn't neglect people needing me.
Once we changed back into the less glamorous versions of ourselves, I took Arianna’s hand, letting it swing between us aimlessly. “A lot has changed while you were MIA...”
She stopped walking and chewed on her lip. “Luna, I'm sorry I disappeared. I just...” Twisting to get a better visual, I saw her eyes coated in I shed tears.
As much as I was going through in my identity crisis I was in the middle of, at least I was past this stage: the crying and remorse. Hugging her to my chest again, I rubbed her back, trying to silently let her know it was all okay.
No matter what changed, that part of Arianna that spoke to me was always going to be there. Friendship runs as deep as love, maybe even deeper.
“So no more Nyx?” Her face twisted into sympathy, pulling away enough for me to see it clearly, as I plopped down on the same plush couch in the women’s section of Nordstrom.
My lips fell open, but nothing verbal came out. I didn't even know where to begin.
I killed Cheyanne. That's how this all started.
Nyx wanted to love the darkness too, when all I wanted was to forget it existed inside me, like some viral disease, felt and not seen.
Dorian was my boss—one with pretty grey eyes and a habit of touching me when he complimented me.
With Dorian, I was begging the old me to come back.
With Nyx, I was wishing it to stay.
“He hasn't talked to me in weeks... he won't even respond to texts.” I looked down at my phone habitually to confirm there were still no messages from Nyx—not even the dirty ones toeing the line of vulgar.
“Oh, wow… So who's Dorian?”
Her popped eyebrow made me laugh, pressing my hand to my lips like I wasn't allowed. “He's actually my boss... it's nothing, really. He's just friendly.”
“Says the single and ready to mingle one.” Her smile was something I felt like I was seeing for the first time; it had been so long.
“Now you. Bolton hasn't told us anything. Where did you run off to?”
Arianna shifted in her seat, looking down at her fingernails, and she instantly started fidgeting uncomfortably. I didn't think anything made her uncomfortable. She ran into danger fearlessly and into Bolton of her own free will.
She was exactly who I wished I was. Maybe I wouldn't be in this position if I was.
“Housesitting for some couple. They have two huskies I walked every day. I just needed some space. I didn't mean to be gone so long. Bolton was supposed to tell you...”
Something about her last sentence threw up a red flag inside me. It was a lie and not a very good one.
It occurred to me the red flag had to have been that Bolton wasn’t privy to her whereabouts either.
Bolton didn't know.
“Wait… Bolton didn't know? Does he know you're back?”
Arianna’s head snapped towards us like I had just solved her darkest secret and announced it to the world.
Kate even stopped organizing racks of clothing in shock at my question. “Wait… Bolton doesn't know you're back, and the first place you came was here? Oh, girl, that's not even the fun kind of cruel.”
Austin, her Reese's Pieces, as she often called him, was the perfect gentleman. He was quirky but not made up of the same kind of obliterating, heart-wrenching that the boys were made of.
He was a good guy with dad jokes and funny button-downs. Yet Kate often made remarks eluding to an adventures sex life.
Maybe none of us were meant to be determined by the stars.
Arianna
B eing outside my safe bubble felt like a kind of danger I didn’t want any more part of. I had been strongly committed to adventure, until the ritual came and went, along with my sanity.
As soon as Cheyanne touched me, I felt her pull inside my memories, stirring them together and whipping out new ones I didn’t call my own. She rustled things loose I wasn’t prepared to face.
Nothing Henry Jon’s journal described.
Trust me, I must have read it fifty times while I was housesitting in the mountains, trying to get my head back on straight.
Bolton knew where I was, but he was respecting my space. Half of me suspected he needed some space too. Everything he trusted was a lie, and things had happened that we couldn’t undo.
Loyalties were tested.
We both needed space; I just supported it wholeheartedly.
I didn’t expect to come back so soon, but when Kate texts you threats that you aren’t completely sure are empty or not… you just come back before someone drags you back.
It didn’t help that my housesitting gig ended the day after Kate’s text forced me to either find a new one or go back to Seattle.
I didn’t text Bolton I was back. Hell, I didn’t know I was truly back. I was here. I looked like myself, but everything lurking underneath was something different.
Remembering everything wasn’t what it was cut out to be. There wasn’t one memory missing from pre and post Olympus. I even remembered Bolton—all the good and bad that made me eventually be his queen.
Nyx still held a fondness in my heart, being my first true love, but I knew that being one of the few with memories, I would be the only one feeling the past.
His present was laser focused on Luna.
Indulging the girls and getting filled in wasn’t the worst kind of torture… it was bearable if you blinked often and held your breath before saying any snarky comments. I kept reminding myself this was for Luna, not me.
I wasn’t the only one who got messed up from the ritual.
I don’t remember any of the actual ritual, other than Cheyanne snooping around inside my head. Bolton filled me in later, and not being the only one who turned into a different person oddly comforted me.
The girls squeezed me so tightly that I felt unable to breathe before I shooed them off of me in search of Bolton. Kate gave me a heads up that he was working an afternoon shift at Starbucks.
Smirking to myself, surprised, he had held down the same job, and it became a silver lining of coming back. Bolton wasn’t a follower and certainly wasn’t capable of providing customer service at any level.
I couldn’t wait to see Bolton in action as a barista.
It took weeks of demanding he get a job before we landed on needing space instead of the same trite argument.
He was throwing himself into finding us all a way out of humanity, this world, instead of just accepting it. We argued every day, while his head was in every book imaginable, searching and gathering any speck of information that could lead anywhere but here, while I walked as many dogs I could to scrap together rent.
We went from sexual tension and secrets to being a middle aged couple arguing about who was bringing more practicality to our relationship.
Things certain
ly had changed since I left, if he was working now. I pushed open the glass door with the two-tailed mermaid, better known as a siren.
Adequately named, this shit was addictive, and every time I saw its green logo, I felt reeled in.
Bolton was behind the counter making some kind of drink with an immovable pout glazing over his sharp features. I couldn’t help the smile igniting over my own features. I wasn’t heartless; I missed him every day I was gone.
I sacrificed him just to not find any answers any quicker.
I skipped the register and the girl with two-tone hair—blue and pink pigtails split down the middle that seemed more edgy than cute. She had a nose ring and wore a tight choker around her neck. Nothing innocent about this one giving me daggers.
Good to know Bolton had the same charms.
“Hi, can I get an espresso, iced, with almond milk?” I felt the butterflies rage in my stomach just like no time had actually passed between us.
His annoyance grew ever more apparent when he lifted his head to give me some awful remark, but he stopped when he saw my purple hair cut short at my chin—a decision I had made after a fight with my own reflection.
Bolton dropped what he was doing, and his face dropped into shock, like he wasn’t sure if I was really there or a bad joke.
“What are you doing here?”
“A little bird told me you were working, and I couldn’t wait to see you…” The space between us that he was maintaining was suffocating me. “I’m still me, Bolton…” I added to the air, with a little shrug, letting it hang there like an apology.
Finally, he took big steps towards me. “Still purple, huh? I still hate it.”
“Good, I’m still expecting you to be my throne.”
I barely got my snarky statement out when his lips pushed against mine. His tongue licked my lips demanding entry into my mouth, when really I knew he was deprived of so much more: my heart, my warmth.
A king without a queen is simply a man on a power trip. A king always needs a queen to anchor down his crown.
