by Maya Daniels
I tried to join her in the Otherworld, but always at the last minute, that damn voice that I hated now would convince me otherwise. Sometimes with threats, sometimes by making me feel guilty because she died so I could live and I wasn’t honoring that. So, I kept breathing and hating every breath.
I was empty inside. There was a gaping hole where my heart, my soul, used to be and now, I was just a hollow shell. I ran. I don’t know what I was running from. Whoever took her from me? From myself? I didn’t know but I kept running. I changed my name and slept on streets, in abandoned buildings, anywhere I could find until someone called social services and off I went to foster care. I still think I was better off alone. It made me feel like a sitting duck but at least they made me go to school again so I concentrated on that. I could read again. It got me through many days.At around nineteen, I met a wonderful guy that was all sweet talk and looked at me like I was the only girl in the world. My hollow shell felt a little better, the hole closed down a little, and I even smiled from time to time. He wanted us to live together, share our lives and I couldn’t agree fast enough. After a few months it felt like I was living one of my nightmares. The mental abuse started. When you are not sure if you are dreaming or not, my grandmother used to always say look at your hands and feet. I tried not to look because I liked pretending it was just a dream. I would wake up anytime now.
Words! Those damn words that mean nothing, yet they mean everything. They still feel like someone is draining the blood from your heart one little papercut at a time. Until there is nothing left, not even you inside your mind and your body. But he didn’t stop there, no. Then the physical abuse started. There was nothing of me left inside by that point, so I took it as a gift. If this was the story I was to live since I could remember, then it is how it should be. I deserved it. I truly believed that. The next trial came soon after. I’m still debating between this trial and the day I lost my grandmother because I can’t decide which one was the hardest. It was just another one of those days, you know, when he was upset because someone looked at me and I made the mistake to protest by saying I’m only wearing what he told me to wear and look how he told me to look. Arm candy. I despise that word and what it stands for. The fists started raining and I curled up into a ball and just breathed. “It will stop soon, it always does” I said to myself. Then he pulled me by the hair and got on top of me while I kept my eyes closed praying for him to just let me be, but he didn’t. I don’t really know what happened next because I left my body and I was sitting in a clearing where the trees were green and beautiful and there was an elven song somewhere in the background. It was safe here. I will go back when it’s over, it has to stop. It stopped a lot sooner than usual but only because of the pool of blood beneath me. He panicked too. It was like seeing my mother again. I almost laughed.
He took me to the hospital. I was expecting him to go to get a doctor like my mother did and to never see him again. I felt fortunate. Well, I did until they checked me in the hospital and told me they are sorry that I lost my baby but from a fall down the stairs like mine, it’s to be expected. Yes, that was my story. I was clumsy and fell down the stairs. We lived in a one-story house. They told me I’m young and I have plenty of time to have children. They kept talking, but after hearing I lost my child, I couldn’t hear anything really.
Should I mourn that soul that never got the chance to release that first scream as it exited my womb? Would I have loved it like I wanted to be loved? Could I? Can you love a child if you have never felt how it feels to be loved as one? Or should I be grateful that it would not live to have the black hole in its chest that never closes but you keep holding on to that damn hope that something, someone will come along and close it a little. Just so you can breathe. Maybe I should be grateful. Yes! I think that is what I should feel.
I kept my hand on my belly for days, not saying a word, not sleeping, not eating. Only tears kept flowing until they eventually stopped too. I thought losing my grandmother took my soul, but I think there was some small part of it left behind because I felt it ripping and leaving my body. Now, I was a shell. A body moving around with nothing in it, a puppet controlled by an invisible master. I believed myself dead. It sure felt like it.
The voice returned when I had no more tears left and lead me through each day. Telling me what to do, what to say, when to sleep. I obeyed. I was dead anyway. It led me through many countries, moving from place to place, always staying one step ahead of something. What that something was, I have no idea and I couldn’t care less. I even got my college degree. I was a quantum physicist but it was the voice that got it not me. I just did what I was told. She taught me about frequency and energy, about the Universe.
One day, after many years, she made one mistake. She started telling me the things she used to when I saw a cute boy back when I was younger. It brought back all the memories with a vengeance so I did the one thing I knew how. I got myself a therapist and he silenced the voice for good. Well, as long as I took my tablets and I made sure I never missed a day. I took control of my life. I immersed myself in my work, stopped paying attention on how my hair looked, my clothing style changed, too, as well as my desire for makeup. I was not arm candy. I was a physicist. Not a victim, not a survivor. I was, and still am, a fighter.
Don’t get me wrong, I still have my moments where I wish I were no longer breathing. There are still days where I feel like a soulless shell. The nightmares never stopped from the day I lost my grandmother. I met people, good people in the last few years that I care for. I can’t call them friends. I don’t know what that means to be honest, but I do care very much for each and every one of them. But not even they closed the gaping hole in my heart. So, I just work and breathe. It’s the only thing I know how to do and the only thing I’m good at.
Well, the only thing I was good at until recently, I should say, but that’s a whole other story. I’m still looking over my shoulder, running from something but I still don’t know what that something is. I just have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that it’s coming. Another trial? I’m already a pro at those.
So, that’s my story. Hopefully, you still have some tissues left in your box. Do me a favor and don’t feel sorry for me, pity is not something that people like me want or need. Learn from this that life is what you make of it. Every new day is a new beginning and it’s up to you if you make it an epic tale or a tragedy. Life is not that hard I promise and it does get better, as was recently proven to me. We just need the right people and the right mindset for it. Most importantly we need to believe in ourselves. We need to find what sparks those ambers deep within our hearts and fan the shit out of them. Turn them into an all-consuming fire, an inferno. Make yourself burn for what you are and what you believe in. Only then will you find your purpose and your true self. That’s what I did and if I can do it, so can you.
My name is Alexia Semiramis. I am a water elemental, a woman, a fighter and a rebel. Most importantly, I am a witch! Welcome to my world!
semiramis.Copyright © 2018 by Maya Daniels. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by, Ravenborn - Book Cover Designs
Edited by Cassandra Fear
If you are unable to order this book from your local bookseller, you may contact the author at [email protected]
www.authormayadaniels.com
Arps, this book is for you, in gratitude, for holding my hand when the ground opened under my feet but you never let go.
“Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me,
The Carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality”
-Emily Dickinson
Chapter 1
“Again!” I say as I take my stance and get
ready to attack.
“No! That is enough, Alexia! We shall continue tomorrow.”
I glare at the damn angel in front of me through the sweat dripping on my face. We have been at this for hours, practicing my magick and close combat. My yoga pants and my sports bra have been stuck to my body for hours now, and little rivulets of sweat are going down my spine and sides. My muscles are screaming, but it’s not enough. I need to prepare more. I need to be stronger, faster. Through it all, the screams of the people I love crash through my mind while flashes of their bodies crumble down like a house of cards. The louder I hear it, the angrier I get. If I don’t practice harder, it feels like it’ll consume me again, and this time there will be nothing left of me to come out of the ashes. I observe Lucifer. His dark eyes are staring at me with anger and pity, which pisses me off even more.
“What’s your problem? You can’t keep up with a witch, angel?” I taunt.
“It will not work anymore, Alexia. You should know that by now,” he says with a sigh. “This is not healthy for you. It has been a long time and you haven’t stopped unless you pass out from exhaustion and I carry you to your chambers, or I make sure I knock you out just so you rest. No more!”
“First of all, it’s called a ‘room,’ not ‘chambers,’ Milord,” I sneer just to get him to fight. “And what do you mean long time? It’s only been a few weeks,” I snap.
“Don’t I know it! Your realm is horrible. Honestly, I can’t believe I agreed to stay here. I still think we should go do this in my realm. It would be much easier to teach you and I have other options available there that would not alarm the humans.”
He is talking so longingly that I almost feel bad for making him stay in the cottage. Almost.
“Well, we can’t go there because by the time we’re done, it’ll be two lifetimes later in this realm, so we just need to try harder here.”
I don’t know how to stop being angry, and it’s not from the lack of trying, I swear. I know I need to be calm and focused, but the harder I try, the more elusive that state of being is for me. I’ve changed. I can’t recognize myself anymore. Do you remember me from not long ago, all love, light, and unicorns pooping rainbows? Yup, neither do I. Is it anger I feel or guilt? That’s what I can’t decide. Whatever it is, it makes me hate myself along with everything and everyone around me. It’s not that I want to. I just don’t know how to leave this dark place I find myself in. Crawling, dragging, walking … everything I’ve tried to get out of this darkness has failed. I can hear my soul crying somewhere deep inside for me to hear it and get back to it, but the sound drowns the screams of the people I lost.
Lucifer is watching me, waiting patiently while I’m stuck in my own head. It pisses me off that he is so patient and kind with me. I want him to hate me, to yell at me, anything but be how he is. Like he has read my mind, he straightens and starts walking away.
“Where are you going? Hello? Earth to Lucifer!” I yell after him.
He is slowly walking away from the clearing in the woods like he can’t hear me. I run after him and as I get nearer, I jump and try to kick him in the back. He turns around, grabs my foot, and instead of blocking the kick as always, he flings me towards the trees and I slam shoulder first into one of the trunks. I can’t stop the cry that comes out and it makes me hate myself even more. I see Remi’s body being flung around in my mind, Jezzinta’s eyes before her body crumbles to the ground, Meda dropping like a doll, Philip’s body not far from Remi, his arm outstretched like even in death he is trying to reach her, and Derik’s unseeing eyes. I bite my lower lip until I taste blood in my mouth.
“Is this what you want me to do, Alexia? You can’t do it yourself, so you want me to hurt you instead? Wake up, woman!” His voice thunders all around us and lightning strikes somewhere above.
“Wake up and you get yourself under control. I don’t have any more time for this stupidity and self-consumed, spoiled attitude. I’m sorry to tell you, but the universe does not revolve around you. We all have things happen to us that are out of our control, angels, gods, and humans alike. What we do after that is a choice we make. That choice will make you or break you. From where I’m standing, I see a broken human.” He spits the word “human,” his power crackling in the air and stinging my skin like someone rubbing poison ivy all over my body. He turns around and starts walking away again. He hurt me as I asked, all right, but not as I wanted. I wanted lasting physical pain, something to take my mind off the emotional anguish I feel. Well, I didn’t get what I wanted, but I did get what I asked for, didn’t I? Now I’m angry for a different reason.
“I’m not human,” I whisper through clenched teeth, still holding my shoulder as I lie at the roots of the tree. Looking up at it, it feels like even the tree is accusing me of the same things the angel is. He keeps walking, getting farther away.
“I said I’m not human!” I yell louder.
“Huh? What?” He stops and glances over his shoulder at me.
“I’m not human!”
I hop to my feet. Holding my right arm close to my body, I think my shoulder is dislocated, so I turn around and slam it into the trunk of the tree and cry out again. Hey! I said I changed. I never said I got smarter, so don’t judge.
“What does you’re not human mean?” He watches me with narrowed eyes.
“It means I’m not human. Obviously I forgot that for a bit. Just because I like to pretend I’m normal and don’t possess magick doesn’t make it true, now does it?”
My head ducks down. His words ring in my head, so I lift my gaze and pin him harshly with it. “And I’m not broken!”
I raise my chin and my spirit rejoices at someone finally getting through to me. What can I say? I’m as stubborn as any other woman, you know. Sue me! Turning around I slam my shoulder into the tree again, grinding my teeth so I don’t make a sound.
“What are you doing, Alexia?” Lucifer inches closer, and when he is within reach he tries to touch my shoulder.
“No!” I step away from him. “It’s dislocated. I’ll fix it myself.” I stare into his eyes, daring him to stop me.
We have a staring match for a few seconds, and as though I have just proven something to him, he nods his head, crosses his arms on his chest, and waits. It takes a few more painful tries, but finally I feel it slide back in place. I can tell there’s going to be a nasty bruise. It’s okay, though. It’ll be a reminder—for a while, at least—of the lesson the angel has given me. His words take over my entire thought process. The screams are still there but much, much quieter. The anger is there, too, but now it’s aimed, and the thought of being broken … helpless … useless … I am none of those things, yet here I am acting just like he says—like a spoiled brat. The pain will not go away until I find the people I lost. Somehow the goal has been lost while I am too busy pitying myself.
We walk quietly towards the house. The chirping of the birds is soothing, and the cool breeze passing through the trees caresses my hot skin. As we exit the tree line, I lift my face towards the sun and breathe in the smell of the sprinkled flowers blooming every which way around the front of the house. I have walked this path with my sisters many times, and the thought hits me like a ton of bricks. It feels like I just got back from the dead. What a strange feeling, like I have been absent from my body ever since that awful night. There, but not really there. I couldn’t smell or feel anything apart from anger. I couldn’t taste the food I had to eat. I couldn’t hear the lectures from Lucifer. Now it all comes back, and at this moment, I’m a little overwhelmed. As we near the porch of the house, I start feeling heavier by the second, like suddenly I weigh a ton. I can barely move my legs, so I drag them slowly. In a split second, like a switch has been flipped, the dam breaks and I drop to my knees and sob. The sobs turn to anguished cries wrenched from my core. At some point, arms wrap around me, picking me up and holding me in a tight embrace. I don’t know how long I cry, but when I finally stop I have no tears left and darkness greets me. T
he automatic light on the porch adds a golden hue to everything around me, like even the world is stopping to mourn with me and witness my pain. I lift my head peeking at Lucifer, who has been sitting still as a statue for hours while holding me in his embrace like a child.
“I don’t know where that came from,” I say to him as a way of apology. I feel stupid. Like a weakling.
“I’ll take a wild guess and say from your soul.” He is searching my face with sadness and I give him the biggest hug I’ve given anyone.
“You needed this! You were fighting not to face the loss and pain and thinking it would go away, but it only made you lose yourself. I was starting to worry that I wouldn’t be able bring you back,” he finishes with a relieved sigh, rubbing my back with his hand. I’m ashamed of my behavior.
“Thank you.” I know it’s not enough. There are no words to express how grateful I am for him being here for me when I have nothing and no one left.
“For what, exactly?” he asks as he raises an eyebrow.
“For everything. Mostly for dealing with my stupid ass. I would’ve given up a long time ago if I were you,” I tell him honestly. He smiles at me and kisses my forehead.
“You are welcome, Alexia. Now, let’s get inside. I am starving!” He rounds his eyes, trying to act dramatic and I can’t help but smile at him. “That’s much better, witch. Let’s go.”
We both stand up, go inside, and head for the kitchen. Rummaging through the kitchen, we pull out whatever we can find and eat in pleasant silence. It feels like I can finally breathe. While munching on a celery stick, I observe the angel out of the corner of my eye. His dark hair is shining in the lights and brushing the collar of his shirt, his long, dark eyelashes making crescent shadows on his high cheekbones, and his full lips hold a smirk under a perfectly-shaped nose. His strong jaw moves gently as he is chewing his food like he is savoring every bite. His presence feels like a safety blanket for me and I’m starting to wonder how he became such an important part of my life in such a short time. Well, that and it pisses me off that he is so perfect. It doesn’t feel natural—come to think of it, I suppose there is nothing “natural” about being an angel.