by Corin Cain
Tears come to my eyes as the bright light burns through the portal. I gather my bra, the one I let fall like autumn leaves the night before.
Before.
Before our lovemaking.
With my heart breaking, I pull it onto myself.
There’s a grunt and a murmur from behind me. I turn. The light has assailed Brigg’s eyes, and he grunts, trying to lift himself. His eyes are fogged with the mushroom paste, and he’s so badly wounded he can barely move, but he reaches out for me.
I stand, shuddering, entranced by the portal that could close at any second.
“These three… These three will never leave my side…” I murmur to myself, looking down at Brigg.
His face is so strong, his body so powerful, and he struggles to try to lift himself up despite the pain of his wounds.
For a moment I imagine life here. Learning their language, and then learning what lies behind the stern exteriors of these three starkly different men.
The warrior, Stryker, who at first seemed so ferocious – but then splashed me playfully in the pool of water.
The mohawked Haleon, who’d fight any foe for me; fearless and devoted.
Then, finally, the wounded Brigg – who I have yet to taste and experience, but so keenly hunger to do so.
“These three will never leave my side… and they’ll die never having a son.”
I say it out loud, and a deep coldness washes over me. One that isn’t caused by the New York winter. I finally understand fully the reality of this situation. I feel it so deep in my heart – that these Greek-Gods of men are utterly devoted to me, even though they barely know me. It’s as though they waited their entire lives for me.
And I will never bear them the sons they want.
They’ll grow old.
They’ll die.
And, because of their devotion to me, none of them will pass on their legacy.
“I can’t give you what you need,” I whisper to Brigg, my heart wrenching. I quickly grab my mud-soaked skirt and purse, pulling the fabric up around my waist, and feeling the familiar weight of my apartment key that I’ll never use again. My credit card. My phone. All the things that are so obsolete on this planet. The tattered remains of my shirt are still on the ground, but I grab my coat instead, and pull it over my shoulders, hiding any trace of my bare skin.
Brigg can’t understand my words, but he knows what my tone of voice means, and he can see me collecting my belongings. The wounded warrior growls in pain and pulls himself to his feet, his face a rictus of agony. His eyes are so wide that I can see the white circling the green of them. He reaches out, trying to pull me back. I dart away, and before I can second guess myself, I throw myself through the portal.
The cold air hits me like a slap. I turn to get one last look at Brigg, but the portal snaps shut almost instantly the moment I do – disappearing into nothingness as if it never existed.
It’s as if my time with the Aurelians never happened.
The cold sludge chills my feet and I rush out of the alley. Even for New York, land of the free and home of the weird, I look crazy – with disheveled hair, and barefoot in the cold of winter. My feet are freezing as I rush to the closest hotel, and I’m not sure if the man at the front desk who looks at me with wide eyes is going to take my Amex, or call security.
Ultimately, though, he hands me a room key; as if this is just any other day in New York, and I’m just any other weird-ass customer.
I take the elevator up. When I close the door of the small room behind me, the surreal nature of the situation hits me. I crawl into the rented bed – and despite receiving exactly what I’d been desperately begging for – a way back home – I instantly feel the greatest pang of loss.
This is far worse than losing Joshua. This is the loss of comprehension – of not knowing if I’m insane, or really here... Really back home in New York.
A New York that no longer feels like my home.
I feel grief. Grief for the Aurelians. I barely knew them, and yet I ache for them – for their touch.
If only I could have given them what they needed. Then, the temptation to leave every dark and dirty mistake of my past would have overwhelmed me. I would have stayed on that jungle planet in a heartbeat; embracing a bold new life with those gorgeous Greek-God warrior-aliens.
But instead, I spared them that disappointment.
I spared myself that shame, and self-hatred.
Instead, I turn on my phone, waiting to see the inevitable missed calls and emails.
I’ll be back in my old life in no time.
But how the hell can I live my old life? Now that I know there is so much more?
12
Aubrey
Twelve years later
“You’ve made such excellent progress, Aubrey. Despite a traumatic experience that caused a fugue state and audio-visual hallucinations, you’ve managed to recover admirably. Most victims of that level of delusion are unable to succeed professionally like you have.”
“Thank you, Dr. Rosewood,” I reply, my voice flat and dull.
I’ve accepted that it was all a lie. But I dream of them every night.
Even twelve years later, I dream every night that I’m back in that cavern. Every night I feel the touch of their hands, the softness of their lips, the hardness of their bodies pressing against mine. I imagine them in such vivid detail that it’s so much more real than my own dull, grey life.
I still see them in my mind’s eye, fighting and killing on that paradise planet – so filled with danger.
Dr. Rosewood is my therapist. In her late-fifties, she has an impeccable sense of style and an affinity towards purple. Her violet nail polish reflects the warm light of her office.
“We’ve spoken about your trust issues. We’ve made some great progress together. You suffered a trauma when you confronted your fiancé’s infidelity. You’ve grieved. You’ve grown accustomed to the new reality. You’ve spent more time being single now than you were ever in a relationship with Joshua… So, have you considered sharing the beautiful life you’ve built with someone?”
I force a smile. “Not yet. There’s so much work, you know?”
She nods, smiling with real warmth. I know Dr. Rosewood wants only the best for me. “There’s always going to be work. You’re a beautiful soul, Aubrey. Why, you don’t look a day older than our first session.”
She’s right.
I haven’t changed since that fateful day, when I had a nervous breakdown and entered a fugue state. It really is strange. There’s not a single new wrinkle, a grey hair, nothing – despite the fact that I’m now forty-four. I’ve watched Dr. Rosewood age gracefully over the last twelve years, but I haven’t changed at all. When I look in the mirror, I see the person who woke up and was betrayed over a decade earlier.
“Maybe you’re right,” I say blandly. Dr. Rosewood latches onto my response, which is more positive than any I’ve given before.
“Not all men are unfaithful,” she promises me.
Haleon, Brigg and Stryker would never be unfaithful.
I try not to think of them, but it’s impossible.
Remember my plan? It feels so far away now.
Partner at the law firm by thirty-two. Married by thirty-three. Two kids by thirty-six.
I feel a wave of nostalgia for a time in my life where such things made sense. I invested fully into my career, losing myself in my work, and I made senior partner sooner than even I could have hoped for. I was soon running point on accounts worth hundreds of millions of dollars.
Then I branched out with John Gold, another talented lawyer, and we started our own firm: Wells, Gold and partners. We poached Marissa, who’s now gone from a secretary to a vibrant young lawyer – eagle-eyed, and able to spot any inconsistency in a witness’ story.
On paper, I’m making it. I’ve got a penthouse in Manhattan and summer home in the Hamptons. The beach house is beautiful – with waterfront views to die for and rentals on either side that welc
ome Hollywood celebrities every summer.
But the beach house should be filled with children laughing, and playing. Instead, it feels empty; as lonely as my penthouse when I take my two weeks of vacation to destress by the ocean.
Professionally, the choices I’ve had have advantages – especially for the people who work for me. I’m the one who’s always on call on Christmas and at Easter. But the price of that is being the one who doesn’t have a family to spend those holidays with, even at the venerable age of forty-four. Everyone told me I’d start to feel differently about that as I aged – I’d feel the pull to ‘set down roots’ – but that never happened for me. I’ve felt the same for all these years; never once able to forget that day and night on another world...
…even if it never really happened at all.
“You’re right,” I tell Dr. Rosewood. “Maybe it is time to put myself out there.” Yet I cringe at the thought. I haven’t been with a man in twelve years. I could have, sure. I got set up by coworkers and friends all the time. I even went on a couple of blind dates; but I felt nothing towards the men I was set up with; as handsome and successful as they were.
No matter how handsome and successful any human man is, it’s impossible to measure up against three towering, Greek God, Aurelian warriors.
It’s wasn’t just the tattoos, the pale marble skin, or the bright green veins. It was their brutal strength. The viciousness when they lost control. The power they emanated – that could keep you safe from anything. I know I could have felt safe in a war zone with those three by my side.
Delusions! Remember – let the thoughts flow through you, but don’t engage them. Then go about your business.
I might have told my therapist that I’m considering putting myself out there, but it’s a lie. In my heart, I know I won’t date. The one thing I have is work. I’ve put myself fully into it. I consider eighty hours a week a light workload. I even have my assistant transcribe notes to audio, so I can listen to them while I’m on the recumbent bike.
The only time I’m free from work is when I’m there. When I sleep, I’m back on that distant, jungle planet – replaying the day and night I spent there, over and over in my mind. The way I surrendered control, the spanking, the fucking, the love I felt from those three men.
Oh, God. Why did I ever come back?
I’ve long since stopped caring that it was all a delusion. I’d go back in a heartbeat. It felt so real. For years, I’ve been going to therapy to deal with it – but secretly, at night, I still say out loud:
“Please! Please open a portal.”
I’ll beg, to no one in particular. Wishing. Hoping. Sometimes, when I’m walking to and from the office, there’ll be a trick of the light, or a reflection that makes me suddenly think I see a portal for an instant…
But it’s always just that – a trick of the light, or merely the reflection of something that turns out to be utterly mundane.
“We made some excellent progress today. I’ll see you this time, next week,” says Dr. Rosewood, smiling. I leave her office and take my company car to our brand-new, downtown offices. The firm has exploded recently, expanding massively, and we’re now billing among the top ten law firms in New York.
But our massive success has done nothing for me.
All I feel is dull.
I take the elevator up to our office.
“Incredible work on the Tolmouth file last week! You were a force to be reckoned with. They increased their billings by thirty percent!” It’s Marissa, greeting me as I walk into the main floor of our office building. She’s juggling a stack of papers in one hand and a venti macchiato in the other.
Marissa’s the rising start of our firm. She’s working her way up the ranks, already showing huge promise. I took her under my wing. It was the only thing about returning to New York that made me feel good. I hoped that somehow my own success – despite being meaningless to me – could mean something for somebody else.
She’ll make partner maybe even younger than I did. Marissa blossomed from a secretary to a junior lawyer, fighting aggressively and smartly in court in a way that reminded me of myself when I was her age. Seeing her rise is the only thing that can make me truly smile from my heart anymore.
“Flatterer, you,” I quip back, feeling a little lighter. Marissa gives me a nod of respect and ducks away into her office, probably just as buried in paperwork as I am.
Well… Nobody is as buried as I am. I’ve got a reputation for accepting any work.
You know what they say – if you want something done, you give it to the busiest person. As long as the work is high-level and will increase billings, I’ll take it and use it to distract myself from the pain and emptiness I feel every day.
I take a folder from one of our assistants. I know it’s old-school, but I still prefer to have paper copies of important accounts. It cements the importance of the work more than an email could ever do. I’m about to start flipping through the folder when I glance over at a flash of color on the computer screen of our new secretary, Lila.
The brunette is pretty enough that men would discount her as nothing more than eye candy – but I’ve discovered that she’s clever as well. Yet, she has a flaw – the work is too easy for her, which leads to distractions and the appearance of a terrible work ethic.
Lila can do her job just a little too easily, thanks to her quick brain, and it makes her think she can afford distractions. As her eyes dart up to meet mine, I notice that whatever she was looking at suddenly disappears from her screen – and she has an Excel file open instead.
I walk over to her and put my file down next to her. If she wants to do more than be a secretary, she needs some tough love.
“How can I help you, Mrs. Wells?” Lila says, smiling so sweetly and innocently that anybody without my legal background might have thought she’d been diligently working away.
“You can switch your tabs back now, and show me what you were doing instead of working.”
Her innocent expression disappears into guilt. Lila shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “Um, it was nothing, okay?”
I raise my eyebrow. I’m not about to ask twice. Lila sighs, then opens the other tab.
It’s some kind of online forum.
“Well then. What’s so important you decided to stop paying attention to your job?”
I keep my tone firmer than I actually feel. Truly, as long as she gets her work done, she can go on whatever forums she wants to. But that’s not going to be the sentiment of the other lawyers, and if one of them catches her wasting time she could lose her job.
I’ve already heard a couple of rumblings that Lila isn’t suited for the job. Worse, if she continues with this bad habit, she might never develop the attitude about work that could help her reach her full potential.
“I was paying attention, I can…”
Lila wilts under my gaze, and gets the message to stop making excuses.
“It’s just some dumb website. Reddit. People say random stuff on there. I was reading some post about things people saw, but that no one would believe them.”
I snort, and peer at the page. I look at the comments with mild interest, trying to keep my face stern so Lila doesn’t think she’s going to get off easy.
“I once saw a dog shoplift a sandwich from a gas station. Full on knew what he was doing! The little guy had the smuggest, sneakiest look on his face.”
“I once saw a toddler juggle. The kid was like, three at the most, and he legitimately juggled Lego pieces! No one believes me! Not even the mom, who honestly should just be proud of her kid.”
“I know you guys aren’t going to believe me. I’ve never told this to anyone… but 12 years ago I saw something truly insane. This happened in New York. There was this cute chick, real professional looking, and for some reason she walks into an alleyway. So, of course, I follow to see what the hell she saw in there. And I swear – I swear it – these three shirtless albino giants appeared out of nowhere, s
natched her right up, and then just… disappeared. I don’t do drugs, I’m not crazy, and this really fucked me up over the years – because I honestly know I saw it… Think I saw it… But it makes no sense.”
“Uh… Mrs. Wells? Aubrey? Are you okay?”
I come back to reality. I’ve been standing stock-still for over a minute, reading and re-reading the last post. I point a shaking finger at it, not sure if I’m imagining it.
“Can you read that? Do you see that?”
Lila is uncomfortable – confused. I don’t care. She doesn’t know if I’m going to chew her out, or I’ve gone off the deep end. “Umm… It’s just some crazy guy who thought he saw an alien abduction, or something.”
I nod, and walk away.
“Mrs. Wells? You forgot your folder!” Lila’s voice calls from behind me. I keep walking, barely seeing my surroundings until I’ve finally taken the town car back to my penthouse.
I fire up my laptop and search for the Reddit thread – and then I spend the next half-hour wide-eyed, staring at it like it might be a trick.
Then I break down crying.
It happened. It happened! Oh, God, all of that was real!
Tears stream out of my eyes as I feel a horrific grief overcoming me. All this time I accepted that I was mad – and yet, even then, I felt a deep sense of loss at something I’d told myself was only in my mind.
But it wasn’t…
Twelve years ago, somebody else saw me snatched from that alleyway by those three towering, shirtless aliens.
Knowing that it’s all real twists the knife deep into my old, unhealed wounds. I could have spent the last twelve years loving and being loved. I could have spent the last twelve years without the constant anxiety and stress that follows me like a dark cloud.
I pick up my iPhone and call the office. Lola picks up. “Wells, Gold and partners. How can I help you?”
“It’s Aubrey. I’m taking a leave of absence. One week. Marissa will step up on my caseload. She has my cell.”
“Mrs. Well? Are you okay? That’s…”
I hang up before she can finish her sentence. If anyone is up to the task of handling my files, it’s Marissa. She’ll prove herself under the doubled workload. None of that really matters though. Not anymore, does it?