Lust

by Hildred Billings

  What did counting tonight the last night of her life really mean? To anyone?

  Her foot slipped off the edge.

  “Oof!”

  What was that? Was it her own voice? What was that on her torso? Arms? A pair of arms wrapping around her?

  The force of her pulling back against gravity was enough to snap open Mercy’s eyes. The river fell away from her as she began to – float? fly? – across rocks and hills. What in the fucking fuck… This wasn’t happening. This was a dream. It has to be. There is no other explanation. Mercy Devereux had experienced her fair-share of flying-based dreams. The other night she had imagined herself “bouncing” against the earth, each point of impact sending her farther and farther into the air, until all she saw were hot-air balloons and endless fields of grain miles below her flying body. Was this really so different? Just because a pair of arms had encircled themselves around her and flown her away from the fray didn’t mean shit.

  She was dreaming. That’s why Mercy was crying as she watched the suburbs of her humble city light up beneath her and a jet plane tear across the sky above her.

  The moon sure was lovely that night.

  So was the sheen of white light shimmering before her. No, all around her. A curtain of ivory luminescence protected her against the high cold winds threatening to tear her apart. She could still see beyond the glistening, clear crystals, but she didn’t dare touch them. Not with her arms dangling beneath her, and her legs kicking at the air behind her. Every time she attempted to look up and catch her rescuer, all she saw was hotter, whiter light.

  Her guardian angel blinded her from the truth. All Mercy could do was trust that, should she fall, it would still be the swift death she had been searching for earlier.

  Slowly, they began their descent. Mercy almost recognized the clearing they flew toward. Did she know the name? No. She had an inkling it was a state park on the edge of town, but it was too far away from her stomping grounds to appeal to her. Never mind the fact she had long given up on having a life at parks. Who had time for a run or a gathering when she was married to her job? That job kept me sane through my breakup. Now I have no sanity left.

  Mercy was unceremoniously dropped on a small hillside sloping toward the vast clearing beneath them. She collapsed into a small pile of flesh and mixed fabrics. All synthetic. All stained by the bits of mud and grass now sliming the side of her business jacket.

  Twigs dug into her skin. Mercy spat out a rock after she lifted her head and tossed her long hair aside. Gravity was on her side again, but the bastard attempted to drag her down the hillside. Her ass found an especially slick patch of wet grass and began the ardent slide downward.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Hands reappeared, grabbing Mercy by the collar and giving her much-needed leverage. “Easy does it. Don’t move too much. You might hurt yourself.” That voice, though high, was softer than the skin brushing against Mercy’s cheeks.

  It took a good minute for Mercy’s eyes to refocus. She found herself in the arms of a woman, although this woman was far from normal. Her skin was as pale as the moonlight, icy-white hair tumbling in a torrent of curls that soon covered her beaded gown of silk. Was it silk? Mercy had never beheld anything like it before. The fabric was not made of man. Woven from the stars? Born from her subconscious? Anything was possible when a woman was dreaming.

  A dream also explained how this stranger’s frame could be so lithe, yet she held Mercy so securely.

  Bile leaped into Mercy’s throat the moment the white light faded and she realized this woman had a pair of large, feathery wings to accompany the Heavenly aura encompassing the entire hillside. Leave it to me to dream about angels at the lowest point of my life. She supposed there were instances of church during her childhood that didn’t completely traumatize her. After a sermon speaking of warriors of God wielding flaming swords and readying for battle with their horrible, terrifying visages of Heavenly wrath, a little girl sometimes retreated into the childlike renditions of androgynous beings and the lambs they carried.

  That makes me a lamb. Baa.

  “Are you…” Mercy could barely find her voice in the depths of her momentary fears. “Are you an angel?”

  Firm fingers dug into Mercy’s back. “No.” Although such a soft voice carried no poison, chills claimed the length of Mercy’s spine. “I told you, darling. I am a deity. I doubt you’ve heard of me, though.”

  “Yeah? Fair enough. If you’re not in the Bible, I probably haven’t heard of you.” For the first time since college, Mercy regretted not taking any of those religious studies classes. They might have come in handy now.

  “No one has heard of me or my avatars for years.” The so-called deity leaned back, but did not loosen her hold on Mercy. “Perhaps you know the meaning of my name in your language, though. You can call me Acedia.”

  “You’re right. I have no idea who you are. Sorry.”

  “It is all right.” Acedia placed a hand atop Mercy’s forehead, brushing aside her dirty hair. “I suppose you’re wondering why I stopped you from making such a terrible leap.”

  “Does it matter now? You’ve gone and done it.”

  “Your cynicism continues to shine without the aid of your other vices. It’s almost like you don’t want my help. Our help.”

  Mercy nearly choked again. “There are more of you, huh?”

  “There are nine aspects. Or perhaps you could call us the nine avatars. We have gone through many iterations beyond the ages. Once upon a time, myself and my aspects were called the Avatars of Acedia. Except that’s not quite correct, either. I can be many people at once. Many thoughts. Many aspects, of course, but it is difficult for a mortal like you to understand. You are trapped inside your own head. You cannot escape into others. You cannot see through the eyes of your own sister like I can.”

  “Yeah. That definitely doesn’t make any sense.”

  “The easiest thing to say is that we nine are comprised of myself and my sister. Then there are the Seven Sinners. They are my avatars. They do not exist without me. Soon, they may be a part of you. If you will let us help you.”

  “That’s… great.” Mercy freed herself from Acedia’s grasp, landing on the hill with a triumphant thump. Another stick dug into her ass. “Why are you bothering me, again?”

  Acedia followed Mercy down the hill, although she did not trip into holes or slide down wet patches of grass like Mercy. Of course not. Wasn’t that unbecoming of a goddess? Instead, Acedia glided, her ivory aura leaving behind trails of lovely light where her feet once supposedly stepped. “I make it my business to look for the kind of woman who once sought my aid. Lest they fall into the hands of my sister after their deaths.”

  Mercy stumbled over bramble and landed, hands extended, at the bottom of the hill. Her car keys fell out of her pocket and reminded her that her vehicle was parked on the side of town. Probably. She couldn’t remember how far away she was from the bridge anymore. “What kind of woman is that?” Mercy followed the nearest trail leading toward the road.

  “Sad women. Needy women. Soulless women.”

  “I’m a bit beyond sad.” Mercy wouldn’t touch soulless. Like goddamn, lady. Thanks.

  “I see that,” Acedia said behind her. “It is my fault that I waited so long to intervene.”

  Mercy pivoted in the dirt, facing that gliding woman in white for the first time. “I didn’t ask for you to intervene, lady. Stay away from me!” Mercy took off down the trail, heart thumping and hair flying behind her head.

  “You did ask.”

  Acedia’s voice was right in Mercy’s ear. She stopped, hands on her knees and breath knocked from her chest. “When did I ask, huh?” This was ridiculous. Actually, it was way past ridiculous. A goddess, for fuck’s sake! What kind of sad dream was this? “I don’t recall praying to anyone or anything in the past twenty years.”

  “I heard your pleas in your heart, Mercy. So did my sister, whom you would have seen instead of me should you have gon
e through with your tragic deed.”

  “Your sister, huh? Is she a meddling asshole, too?”

  Acedia withdrew into the shadows. Only then did Mercy realize how much light the so-called goddess claimed. “My sister has a dire role to play in the cosmos, yes. Surely, you have heard of the seven cardinal sins?”

  “I may have heard something once.” Here came those churchy memories again. Memories of Mercy’s mother dragging her to the pews to listen to brimstone, hellfire, and the deadly sins that would take them there. “How the hell do I get back to my car? How do I get home?” Fuck that. How did she wake up from this nightmare?

  Acedia continued to follow her, always a few feet behind, but not far enough that her aura could not extend toward Mercy. “You need our help,” she said. “There is so much sadness inside of you, that if you do not learn to overcome and reclaim your vices, you will…” Acedia’s words faded with the passing breeze.

  Mercy spotted what miraculously looked like her car not too far away. Right there in the parking lot pressed up against the boundary of the park. You have got to be kidding me. This was how a woman subverted her dreams, all right. The closer she got to her car, the more she saw the rust. The dents. The terrible gas mileage.

  “I’m not joining some church, sorry.” Religion had lost all appeal to her. Some two decades ago. Maybe three. How old was she, again?

  “We have no church. Or temple. Nothing like that.” Acedia followed Mercy all the way to her car, standing behind her while keys fumbled into the lock. “We will come to you.”

  The door finally opened. Mercy slumped into the driver’s seat. “Great,” she mumbled. “I can’t wait to have a bunch of home invaders after a day like today.”

  She started up the car and didn’t bother to look when pulling out of the parking space. The last thing Mercy saw as she turned down the road was a faint white light disappearing among the trees.

  Once she knew she was truly alone again, Mercy cried, allowing her tears to hit her hands as they maneuvered the steering wheel. What a shitty dream, indeed. All she needed now was the Devil himself to rise through the pavement and claim her for his clan.

  Either way, Mercy was bound to wake up. That was the only solace left for her broken, embittered heart.

  2

  Mercy awoke with a terrible start.

  Terrible not because it frightened her, but because it alerted her to the raging headache killing her from the cranium.

  “Mother. Fucker.” Mercy attempted to roll over, but her whole body was made of dead weight. Every time her finger twitched or her crusty eyes fluttered, she was treated to a wallop of pain that broke her spine and crushed her pelvis. But, mostly, it shot a bullet right into her skull.

  She wished she could say that was the worst. Such an honor went to the smell. As soon as Mercy opened her eyes for more than a few seconds, she noticed that she was still wearing the simple department store pantsuit she had been wearing the day before. Only now it was imbued with sweat and God-knew-what. Had she bothered to get beneath the covers? No. Of course not. That was crazy talk!

  “Fuck.” Her arm lazily smacked against the edge of the bed. More pain, naturally. “How much did I drink last night?” This was a woman who still didn’t remember the craziest detail of her night. Of course, Acedia’s existence hung out at the edge of her consciousness, but Mercy was in no position to fully remember the woman in white or her insistence that she was a goddess, of all things. Mercy was barely capable of sucking her spit back into her mouth as she dumped herself off her bed and crawled toward the bathroom.

  What time was it? Daylight filtered through the window. Too much daylight. Was it the hangover making it seem like it was noon already? Or was it actually noon?

  Wasn’t she supposed to be at work?

  Funny, wasn’t it? Last night, Mercy was not concerned about showing up for work at all today. I’m supposed to be dead. That bitter taste in her mouth, which took much too long to wash out in her dark bathroom, wasn’t from the leftover vodka still stuck beneath her tongue. That was the harsh realization that she had arranged for everything to be taken care of. She wouldn’t leave her decomposing body in this house to fuck up its salability.

  Why hadn’t she jumped, again?

  Did I make it out last night? Knowing her, she had drunk until she passed out. Funny. Mercy could have sworn she had been sober enough to drive out to the bridge and look over the edge. I want to die. I don’t want to take other people out with me in a car accident. Then again, she was desperate enough. A self-fulfilling prophecy was a guaranteed way to go out. Maybe Mercy had that much assholery flaring within her, after all.

  She turned off the faucet and hung her head over the sink. Tangled, greasy hair fell toward the drain. After bracing herself against the counter, Mercy briefly recalled having a couple of drinks at home before driving out to the fateful bridge that had a million signs warning her away from “a grave mistake.”

  At some point, she must have gotten back in her car and driven back home, where she attempted to drink herself to death. Hence, the hangover from hell.

  Her phone was on her bed. A blue light flashed, alerting her to God-knew how many notifications. Probably from work. They were the only ones who would miss Mercy. Only because they need me to sign off on grunt work. Also, replacing me would be a great inconvenience, and that’s the end of the world for my company. Shareholders didn’t like it when pesky middle-management and worker drones had crises that impeded their ability to work. Didn’t they know that the corporation was a person itself? A person in need of “nurturing,” as Mercy’s boss had put it during the last meeting. I’m sorry, I mean “brainwashing circle.” They had really compared their finance company to a preteen experiencing puberty.

  Ugh. Guess I should… Sure enough, three voicemails from her boss and HR lit up her screen. The first was a polite inquiry. The second was a warning. The third was a decent freakout about her whereabouts.

  Mercy summoned the wherewithal to call her boss and tell him she had overslept. There. Simple. She wouldn’t try to make excuses or lie about being sick. Yeah, right. I’m definitely sick. Unfortunately, her company didn’t care about mental health. That was made clear when she asked for a leave of absence due to her nasty breakup, and all they said was, “Sure, take some time, Mercy. We’re not paying you for the pleasure, though.”

  She was supposed to pay for a three-month leave with what money in her savings, exactly? Oh, right. She didn’t have enough to cover the mortgage, never mind everything else. Who needs lights and food? Give me more vodka. A part of her hated how dependent she became on alcohol after her breakup. Another part embraced it. Why not?

  “Pull yourself together,” she muttered at her reflection. “You’re a fucking mess, Merce.”

  What did it matter?

  She lay back down. No point rushing to work before her lunch break, which was supposed to start in fifteen minutes. She could have a hair of the dog, shower, and put on some clean clothes to be at work by the end of her lunch break. She would numbly sit in her chair (one without lumbar support, because why would middle-management need that?) and read through boring emails, sign off on vacation time, and yawn into the back of her hand. Very productive. Great use of her life.

  Remember when you used to, like, do things? That seemed so far away now. Mercy couldn’t have a drink for the thrill of it. It had to be for self-destructive reasons. Marissa made sure of it.

  Marissa.

  It was Mercy’s fault. Everything.

  Most of all, right now, it was her fault that she still kept a picture of the two of them on her dresser. What better way to self-inflict pain than to stare at the woman she had loved more than anything? More than her own useless life?

  Mercy hesitated before the picture as she pulled off her smelly clothes and left them on the floor. She stepped into the shower with memories trickling through her brain like water dripped from the showerhead. She gave me everything. All the joy in
the world. Mercy had been content before meeting Marissa. Then she was introduced to pleasure. Going out to dinner was an adventure. Finally, a reason to do all that traveling! Was it possible to get married one day? They sure were! How about a house for them to make into a reflection of their tastes? A garden full of flowers blooming with love? Kids? Kids, for fuck’s sake!

  Marissa was the one who brought up adopting. Mercy was the one who imagined transforming a child’s life. She was, after all, the one who knew what it was like to be cast away by one’s family.

  She showed me the love my mother never showed me… And yet, that love was expressed the same exact way. Once Mercy crossed a woman too many times, she could kiss her fantasy-world goodbye.

  Mercy wiped her hand towel over her shoulder. She still had the scar from the time she fell and hit a dining chair. We were more upset by the broken $300 chair than the cut on my shoulder.

  Mercy pressed her head against the wall and allowed the water to run down her back. Her muscles were always so tense. Not even the hot water hitting her worst spots could soothe them.

  The shower left her a little more refreshed, but she needed something in her system. As soon as she had a robe on, she went downstairs to the kitchen, which was a fucking mess from her party-of-one the night before. She pushed aside Hot Pocket wrappers and an empty bottle of vodka to find the hangover cures. She thought about eating. I’d rather vomit, which is what it would make me do, anyway.

  She filled a glass with water and turned to the dining table. Before she sat down to swallow her medicine, Mercy did a double-take at the small bouquet of flowers in the middle of her table.