by S. L. Stacy
Apate flinches, her mischievous grin faltering. “You should be nicer to me. After all I’ve done for you.” I shut my eyes and breathe out in frustration. When I open them, Apate is gone.
“She’s one of them, isn’t she?” Jimmy looks around the lobby in confusion.
“Yep, and one of the most dangerous.” I recall the hungry way Apate looked at Jimmy. “I’d stay clear of her if I were you.”
“That’s the plan.” Jimmy gives up trying to figure out where Apate went and glances over at me. “It’s a nice night. We could go sit outside for a bit…I mean, if you want.”
“Um…sure. Why not.” I’ve put off my work for this long—what’s another hour or so?
Outside, we sit down on the lawn with our backs against the slender trunk of a young birch tree. Jimmy takes out his guitar, strumming it idly while I tear into my food. Waves of students roll past us, going back to campus for evening classes and recitations. Some pause to listen while Jimmy plays part of a song.
“I see they’re starving you at the sorority,” Jimmy says eventually, eying me as I shove another forkful of lo mein into my mouth.
I finish chewing. “Ha, ha. Our meeting cut right into my usual dinner time. At least it didn’t drag. Get reps from all of the Greek houses into one room, and it can take hours to reach a unanimous decision.”
Jimmy nods slowly. “Sounds painful.” He carefully sets the guitar on the grass. “So, how’d it go after the dance? Did things work out between you and what’s-his-face?”
I realize a noodle is hanging out of my mouth and slurp it up. “Jasper’s gone. Forever.”
“He’s dead?”
I give a short laugh. “No, I meant he went…home. Back to Olympus.”
“Ah, I see. I’m…sorry?”
“Don’t be. It’s for the best. What he was trying to do here was wrong, and he just kept getting in the way of…everything.”
“You don’t have to convince me.”
“I know. I’m just trying to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let him ruin things for us.” I cringe in embarrassment. “Again.”
“I’m sorry, too. I was an ass at the dance.”
I put the lid on my empty food container and throw it back in the bag. “I feel like all we ever do is apologize to each other for things.”
Jimmy’s smile is resigned. “That is all we ever do.”
“I miss you. I miss having you around. I miss your friendship. Maybe we can’t pick up exactly where we left off, but we can try being friends again,” I propose, my voice going up at the end.
“Of course,” Jimmy says. “Friends.” He sticks his hand out, and we shake on it. “And while we’re at it, let’s promise that—unless we’re reminiscing about a make out session behind the bleachers—to never talk about high school, ever again. You’re over it. I’m over it. It’s in the past.”
“It’s a deal.” I’d like nothing more than for the past to just stay in the past, but it likes to come creeping back into my life. Even with Jasper physically gone, I have jumbled memories from my past life to sift through, and two versions of the same man to reconcile: Psyche’s golden angel and my dark prince. Both almost irresistibly magnetic. One dangerously so.
Sometimes I wonder what I would have done if the ritual hadn’t worked or had been saved for another day. I had a moment of clarity at his apartment and made up my mind that he was a hopeless case—that I was done. I still believe Jasper was beyond reforming, but would I have gone back, anyway? Not to save him, but to join him? I think I’m mostly a good person, but how does anyone really know that about themselves? Eros was mostly good with a streak of mischief before Psyche died and Ares got to him. I used to think one’s penchant for goodness or evil was inherent, something you were born with and couldn’t change. But maybe it’s fairer to say that most of us are born with both, and our circumstances bring out either one or the other.
“I was awful in high school,” I realize, staring out at the neon sunset.
“Remember that thing we weren’t going to talk about?” Jimmy says.
“This is the last time,” I insist. “I just want to know—was I really that bad?”
Something about my tone of voice makes Jimmy frown. “Where is this coming from?”
“I think I’m a good person, but I don’t really know that. I was horrible to you. I was probably horrible to other people, too. I just don’t remember because I’m a bad person—”
“Hey.” Jimmy covers my hand with his and moves his head into my line of sight so that I’m forced to look at him. “You aren’t a bad person. You’re a good person who did something that…well, I’ll admit, it was pretty crappy. But to answer your question—no, you really weren’t that bad. One moment of unkindness doesn’t make you evil. It doesn’t make you like them.”
“I guess you’re right.”
Jimmy and I both look down at our hands at the same time. He releases me and busies himself putting his guitar away. I leave my hand where it was, fingers pressed into the soft, dewy grass, feeling a little tingly and disappointed. So much for all of my “friends” talk. I’m the one who can’t seem to see him as just a friend.
But “just friends” is what we’ll have to be. I can’t string him along. Because, no matter how my body perks to his touch or how much I enjoy being with him, he’s not the one. I’m pretty sure my one is on another world right now. I’ve had second chances with two guys, and so far both have been epic failures.
“I gotta go,” Jimmy says, slinging his guitar case over one shoulder and standing up.
“I should get going, too.” I get up, bundling all of my belongings into my arms. “See you around,” I say as I start in the direction of the Greek Quad.
“Goodnight…friend.” Jimmy grins and winks at me before turning and walking in the opposite direction.
I have to tiptoe into the sorority house to avoid waking up the seven thirty nap shift. There’s a sister curled up on each couch and the love seat, abandoned notebooks, calculators and pens lying on the floor. It’s probably for the best that I can’t flop down on the sofa and turn on the television. I need to get started on that work I keep putting off.
“I can’t believe you’re not more concerned about this.” Carly’s anxious voice is the first thing I hear when I go upstairs. The door to her bedroom is open. She and Victoria look over as I cross the last few stairs. “Tell her about Becky and Samantha,” Carly says to me.
“I think Rebecca’s exact words were ‘watch your backs.’ It was kind of scary,” I say.
“The Alpha Rhos just want someone to blame—to take their anger out on,” Victoria says. “They don’t stand a chance against the real enemy. We’re more on their level.”
“They’re blaming us for Genie’s death,” I tell her. “That’s not a small accusation. I think they’re up to something.”
“We have more important things to worry about right now. There’s recruitment, and we have to send Apate back to Olympus. We don’t have time for drama.” Victoria’s tone makes it clear the discussion is closed. Carly makes a noise like she’s going to object, then clears her throat instead.
“Whatever you say, Prez.” I salute Victoria before going into my room.
I settle in at my desk, staring down at a page in the Walt textbook without reading it. Carly’s reassuring words from earlier today are stuck in my head like a song that’s skipping on a CD: It’s okay, you know. To miss him.
I let myself sink into one of Psyche’s memories. Instead of the cream colored page and the bleached wood surface of the desk beneath it, I see nothing except my feet burrowed in sand. A few yards away the ocean stretches like an endless swatch of blue satin. Its foamy waves lap at the beach, which glitters like millions of tiny white and pink diamonds under a fiery orange sun. An arm slips around my waist and pulls me against a solid, familiar chest, its usually marble white planes shimmering a faint gold. He brings his lips down to mine, and I can almost taste them, moist and tinge
d with sea salt. The kiss is slow but passionate, smoldering like the sun above us. A moan of protest escapes my lips when he breaks it.
“I love you, Psyche,” he whispers against my neck.
I twist my fingers in his dark hair, gasping as his hands slide up and down my hips. “I know.”
He lifts his head, and although I fall into his midnight blue eyes, it’s an exhilarating dive into familiar, safe waters rather than a scary plunge into the unknown. “You are my world. My whole universe. Never forget that.”
I close my eyes as another wave of kisses pulls me under.
Just as suddenly as it resurfaced, the memory recedes. Jasper and the beach retreat into the furthest corners of my mind. I’m still sitting at my desk, staring down at the book, its tiny, black words out of focus. Sniffing, I swipe my cheek with the back of my hand. It comes up dry. I haven’t been able to conjure a tear since I watched the portal swallow Jasper. Recalling how I crawled around the living room floor afterwards, wailing his name, dries up any tears that might have pricked my eyes.
I dog-ear the page and close the book, then get up to flip the switch to the overhead light off. Crawling on top of the quilt, I drift off to sleep, my dreams disrupted by glimpses of black feathered wings and a pair of haunted blue eyes. An hour later, I jolt awake. My eyelids feel heavier than they did before I laid down, but when I close them, sleep doesn’t overtake me this time. I open my eyes and study the dark ceiling.
It doesn’t matter whether I’m asleep or awake anymore. I can’t escape the memory of him.
Chapter 6
I wake up ensconced in pale gold sheets and two sturdy, protective arms.
The feel of his fingers through the flimsy silk of my nightgown makes me burn with longing. With my head tucked against his chest, I feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. I skim my hands along the bare skin there and plant a few chaste kisses on his face. He stirs, his heart giving an excited patter.
“Mmmm, Psyche,” he whispers huskily, “go back to sleep.”
“I can’t,” I say. “Not with you so close to me.” His shaft swells against my abdomen, making even more heat blossom between my thighs. I try to look up into his face to meet his gaze, but in the dark bedroom his face is an even darker blur, a shadowy suggestion of a man’s chiseled features. I can reach up to caress a cheek slightly rough with stubble and to trace a sensuous mouth, but I can’t see the face.
He grunts in frustration. “If you keep touching me like that, you’re going to push me over the edge.”
“Good.” I press my lips to his in an eager but closed-mouth kiss. A beat later his mouth engulfs mine, our tongues twisting and spiraling as his hands move up my calves and thighs to firmly grasp my behind. His mouth slips from my lips to my neck to my collarbone, his teeth gently grasping the strap of my nightgown and lowering it until one of my breasts is exposed. He draws his tongue over the nipple just as his fingers slide across the wetness at the juncture between my thighs. For a while he continues a simultaneous assault to my senses, tasting and nipping my breast, massaging my bud with his thumb. As his other hand reaches around to cradle the back of my head, he lifts his face to bury it in the fall of my hair, stroking the strands lovingly as the cries of my orgasm shatter the pensive night.
“There you go, my darling,” he purrs, kissing my forehead. “I should go now, and you should get your beauty sleep.”
“No,” I protest, reaching for him even as he coaxes me away. “I want…more.” Even though I’ve just climaxed, I’m still burning for this man so much it’s painful. “Please.”
Perhaps I can’t see his face, but I can feel his hands shaking as they comb through my hair. “You know we shouldn’t. I told you what happened to…the others. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“But I do,” I insist, crawling closer to him. “It will be different with me. With us. I just know it. Now, please. Make love to me.” I dip my head and tease the tip of his shaft with my tongue.
He lets out a guttural groan, fingers tugging my hair. “Are you sure you’re a virgin?” he manages to croak as I take him entirely in my mouth. As I pleasure him, his breaths growing raspy and uneven, excitement and determination course through me. I feel powerful in a way I couldn’t have even imagined before this moment. With my lips and tongue I can unravel this man who makes me burn for him.
“Enough,” he pants. “I want to be inside you.” Reluctantly I release him, and he scoops me up only to lay me down underneath him. As he stretches out on top of me, something rustles above his shoulders, enveloping us in a dark curtain.
“This might be painful at first,” he warns me. I bite back a gasp of pain when he enters me, easing himself inside inch by inch until he fills me up. He stays like this for a moment, bringing his face down to kiss me, then slowly withdraws. The next few thrusts are the same—careful, measured—but, as my body adjusts to accommodate him and I dig my nails into the taut muscles of his back, he picks up the pace, pumping in and out of me until I unravel once again…
I wake up again, alone this time, with familiar carnation pink sheets pulled up to my chin.
Sun seeps between the curtains. I can’t remember at what point during the night I fell asleep. My phone says it’s a little before nine a.m. I take a shower, thinking about the dream I had just before I woke up. It was a flashback to the first time Eros and Psyche made love. I recall the way his features blurred, blending with the dark bedroom. By day, Eros came to Psyche only as a seductive voice—at night, he would camouflage himself in darkness, hoping she would fall in love with the man behind his glorious face. He sounded so worried in the dream—about what, I can’t seem to quite put my finger on.
I throw on white washed jeans and an old t-shirt. I go downstairs with damp hair still sticking to my neck. Stomach growling, I peek into my assigned cupboard in the kitchen, only to find a half-used, expired container of instant cappuccino and some cobwebs in the back corners. I heat up a mug of water in the microwave and make the cappuccino anyway. I don’t think coffee and chemicals really expire. I’m not even convinced there’s real coffee in it.
“Twin!” Tanya says as I’m coming into the living room. She’s standing at the window and motions for me to join her. “Get over here!”
I follow her out onto the patio. “What are we looking at?” I ask, shielding my eyes from the morning sun.
“Boys!” Tanya points to the small herd of Sigma Iotas running shirtless through the Quad toward campus. Max brings up the rear, lagging a few feet behind even though he’s in decent shape. “The Sigmas look good,” she gasps, sipping from her own cup of coffee. “Like, Abercrombie good.”
“They’ve never looked bad,” I tell her, trying to remember the last time I saw one of them with his shirt off.
“But they haven’t looked this good. I could wash my clothes on those abs.”
“Maybe they’re on steroids.” Shrugging, I turn to go back inside.
“Get back here!” Tanya commands. “Stop pining over you-know-who and look at the abs!”
“I did, and it was nice, but now I’m starting to feel creepy,” I say.
Tanya heaves an exaggerated sigh as we walk into the house. “Guys check out girls all the time. We should be able to do the same thing without feeling creepy.”
“Equal opportunity objectification?” I call after her as she jogs upstairs. I drain the last of my cappuccino and set the mug in the kitchen sink. Shouldering my messenger bag, I head out in search of breakfast.
The line at the Zebra Café in the Student Union is short, so I quickly procure a blueberry bagel with cream cheese and another cup of coffee. I pour half and half into the coffee until it turns a creamy brown. While I’m stirring, I survey the café, eyeing a currently empty red armchair by the window. An eruption of hissing laughter pulls my gaze to the table closest to me. Six Eta Taus crowd around an open laptop, their eyes darting between the
screen and me, lips pulled back into sloppy grins. One of them curls his fingers like a cat might its claws and shrieks, “Reee-EEER.”
I recap my coffee and walk over to their table. “Watching cats do adorable things. Always a great way to pass the time.”
“Don’t pet the Gamma Lambda Phi,” says another. “I hear they bite!” His brothers double over with laughter.
“I didn’t realize the Gammas had their own version of fight club,” the owner of the laptop snickers, skimming a finger over the touchpad.
“Let me see that.” I swipe the laptop from the table before anyone can stop me. The homepage of “The Grapevine: Thurston’s Juiciest Gossip” is pulled up, but all I see is a post about a study abroad student supposedly descended from Russian royalty. I scroll further down the feed until I get to a photoset posted by screen name LadyBlahBlah at seven a.m. this morning.
The first picture is of Tanya and Carly fighting at our Find Your Sister a Mister formal. Tanya is pulling Carly’s hair while Carly digs her manicured fingernails into Tanya’s arm. Their lips are curled like those of snarling animals. Its caption reads: When Gammas attack!
I keep scrolling.
I was late to the dance, but when I finally got to the Riverfront Bar and Grill, the house lights were off, the strobe lights were on, the music was pumping and everyone was eating, drinking, dancing and having fun. We have plenty of pictures from the dance before it dissolved into madness. But in all of these candid shots, dresses are torn, hairdos unraveled and everyone is chasing, hitting and trying to bite each other. There’s even a picture of me kicking Liz when she tried to stop me from warning the others to get out.
“Promise us you’ll show some of that spunk at our next mixer,” the owner says as he reaches across the table, trying to pluck the laptop from my arms.
I hold it just out of his reach and let the computer drop to the table with a thud. “I promise we’ll never mix with you again,” I tell him, giving him an earnest smile as I walk away from the table.