by Nora Weaving
“I claimed her!” Damianos roared. “I respect her! I care for her!”
“I care!” Spyro gasped, still trying to catch his breath.
“Lies! You beat her!”
Spyro took a gulp of air, and stood up, his eyes wild and frightening. “You don’t always get your way, Damianos! You can’t just take everything that you like! You cannot always take what’s mine!” he shrieked, lunging for Damianos. Damianos wasn’t quick enough, and Spyro punched him in the eye.
Damianos yelled with pain, and cupped his eye. When he pulled his hand away, Kalliope could see blood from a cut just above his brow line.
Frantic, she tugged at her restraints, desperate to get up and help in any way she could.
Spyro laughed again, circling Damianos as he wiped blood from his eye.
“I will kill her before I let you keep her to yourself,” Spyro promised spitefully, his voice barely audible.
Kalliope gasped, feeling more tears stream down her face. Every fiber of her being was filled with terror, and she suddenly and desperately wished she had never come to Hera Selene. Her life with Gaia may not have been ideal, but she was comfortable there, and she felt loved and safe.
All the treasures and luxuries of Hera Selene were not worth the additional fear that came along with it.
Damianos had straightened up, and his eyes were cold steel. Kalliope shrank back against the bed, frightened. She had never seen another human with such hatred and violent determination in his eyes.
“You will never lay a hand on her again,” Damianos vowed softly, moving towards Spyro in slow, calculated steps.
Spyro threw his head back, erupting in nasty laughter.
It happened so quickly that Kalliope wasn’t sure it had actually happened.
Damianos lunged for Spyro, grabbing him by the throat, and throwing him against the wall.
Except, he didn’t let go of Spyro’s throat.
Shocked at Damianos’ quick movement, Spyro’s eyes popped open, and he grabbed at the hands around his throat.
As Damianos threw him against the wall, he pulled back on Spyro’s neck and with all his force, slammed Spyro’s head against the stonewall.
There was a sickening crack as his head hit the stone.
Kalliope heard herself scream, and squeezed her eyes shut.
There was no sound.
Slowly, she cracked her eyes open and saw Damianos release Spyro’s throat. She watched Spyro slide slowly down the wall onto the floor. His eyes were wide and glazed over, a look of surprise frozen on his lifeless face.
Kalliope gagged when she saw the red blood stain on the wall that followed Spyro’s head. Spyro coughed and spluttered, no words coming out, and bright red blood began to bubble from his mouth.
Kalliope closed her eyes, turning her head from the sight, and letting her tears fall. She kept her eyes closed, sobbing, as every emotion washed over her.
Damianos was at her side, crooning words of comfort, and swiftly untying her tight restraints.
“It’s over Kalliope. It’s over,” he repeated, taking her into his lap once she was free.
Kalliope choked on a sob, clinging to Damianos.
“Open your eyes,” he begged, stroking her hair, and wiping at her tears.
Reluctantly, Kalliope did as she was told, and she found herself looking into the bright blue eyes of Damianos, no longer filled with hate, but filled only with concern.
“It’s over,” he promised, tilting her chin. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Kalliope knew she should feel sorry over the loss of life, but she didn’t. She felt nothing but relief. Once Spyro came for her tonight, she knew that he would never leave her alone. He didn’t care what people told him, he was determined to hurt Kalliope.
“Why-why did he mention your mother?” Kalliope stuttered, remembering the strange comment. She kept her eyes trained on Damianos, not wanting to look at the lifeless body on her floor.
Damianos sighed. “I don’t like to talk about my past.”
Kalliope gave him a pointed look and he nodded in concession.
“My mother was a whore. And not in the beautiful and sophisticated way of the women at Hera Selene. She was a whore of the streets. Begging for money, performing sex acts in dark alleyways. I was a bastard. My mother slept with so many men that my father could have been any man in Athens.”
Kalliope reached up to touch his face; she had not been prepared for this kind of story.
“She became very sick when I was eight years old. I’m not surprised. We lived on the streets and ate scraps. Sometimes she would disappear for days at a time, and I would hover in the dirty streets, waiting for her. When she finally became so ill that she could barely walk, she sucked up the small sliver of pride she had left and went to stay at her sister’s house.
My mother had come from a respectable family, and her sister, my aunt, lived a respectable life. She had married a war hero, and lived extremely well and had a son that was only a year older than me. My mother’s dying wish was for my aunt to take me in.”
Kalliope felt sick as her mind began to make the connections.
“My aunt gave me more love than I had ever known...and I flourished. I missed my mother of course, but I desperately loved my aunt. Her son, my own cousin, became jealous and came to hate me. Everything was a competition to him and I excelled in every category - academics, looks, business, women. He let the hate turn him into an ugly and disgusting person. It broke my aunt’s heart, but he continued to be mean, cruel and vicious to her. He forced her to choose one of us. He said she could only have one son. She refused to choose and he broke her heart and destroyed the family.”
“Spyro,” Kalliope breathed.
Damianos hung his head. “Yes, Spyro was my cousin.”
Kalliope wrapped her arms around Damianos’ neck, kissing him hard on the lips. Surprised, it took Damianos a moment to respond, but he responded just as eagerly, pulling her tightly to him, and sealing his mouth over hers.
Kalliope felt her body come to life under Damianos’ touch and her skin hummed as Damianos ran his hands along her thighs.
“He was evil,” Damianos whispered between kisses.
“I know.”
Damianos broke apart and pulled Kalliope up with him.
“Enough,” he said to himself, and Kalliope looked up with confusion.
“Are you happy here?” Damianos asked, turning to her. “Do you like your life here? Is this what you envisioned for yourself?”
Kalliope wasn’t sure if this was a trick question.
She took a deep breath. “I’m happy with you,” she said carefully. “I appreciate the luxuries here which I never had before.”
“And is this how you envisioned your life?”
Kalliope wondered how to answer. How to tell Damianos that as a little girl, she never thought she would be a whore. How she had hoped to get married and have babies, dreams that her father tore from her when he sold her to Gaia.
“It’s complicated, Damianos. I came from a good family. I imagined I would have been a wife and mother. But then I was sold to a brothel. And then once I was there, I imagined that I would grow old running that brothel. Everything was going the way I had planned but then I was sold and brought here. So honestly, I don’t know what I envision my future to be now.”
“Come with me.”
“What?”
“Come with me,” Damianos’ eyes were filled with excitement. “This doesn’t have to be your life. Come live with me. I have more than enough room, plenty of servants, and if you don’t like my home here in Athens, we can live somewhere else!”
“Are you insane?”
Damianos laughed. “Yes, maybe. But I don’t want to be without you, Kalliope. And coming to visit you in these five little rooms a few times a week is not enough. You are not some pet that should stay locked up underground. Come live with me. Out there.”
Kalliope knew she should ask a thousand questio
ns. That she should be wise. She hadn’t known Damianos for long. But instead, she let her heart answer.
“Yes. Alright.”
“You will?”
Feeling lighter than she ever had, she laughed. “Yes! I will come live with you.”
And with that, he smiled broader than she had ever seen him smile before. Damianos wrapped his arm around her shoulder and led her away from her room. Away from Spyro’s corpse. Away from Hera Selene, forever.
Kalliope was never looking back.
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