Chapter 47

I didn't change my clothes for him even though I had the urge to. I stayed in my baggy, ripped, black, high-waisted pants, a tight corset at the waist, and a baggy, short T-shirt, like the ones I wear all the time. Incidentally, and I swear it's just that, I make it with the image from Hunting Season, a single by Ice Nine Kills. His favorite band. My jacket over. Boots. I fix my hair and put on perfume. I check my makeup. I reapply my lipstick in the rearview mirror and hum Ex Mortis by the band on my T-shirt. I drive and listen intently to the GPS instructions. As obedient as a schoolgirl.

I recognize Hades' garden only from our conversations. Before I was told where it was. I recognize the white house, the pavement. The door. I open it because it's not locked and a strong smell of lime hits me. The floor is clean. There's no furniture anywhere.

"Hades?"

I hear my echo.

"Here!"

I start and look to my left. I pull my jacket close to my chest and approach. Stairs. I look up and see him going down them but he stops. He waits for me to reach him. He hugs me tightly, in the middle of them, and playfully kisses me on the forehead.

"Go ahead. The first room, the door is open. I'll go lock the entrance, it's safer that way. We don't want any surprises, he explained. I'm not waiting for anyone, I hear his voice from the hallway. But you understand. You can never be too sure. Does Travis know you're here?"

I go out into the hallway to answer him. The place is empty, the sound travels well.

"He knows I'm with you. He doesn't know where."

"And he wasn't angry?"

I hesitate.

"He said you were willing to share too."

I'm glad he's not with me right now. Honestly. Because if he was I would have had to see his expression and I already know he knows exactly what I mean and he's grinning.

"There were different circumstances then, I hear him. The hunt was coming. I had to make sure you were okay, no matter what. And he was kind enough to keep an eye on you, even from a distance, which I couldn't do because Apollo would have gotten into my head. You see. Travis always had more room to maneuver, as they say. I was always jealous of that, he confesses as he climbs back up. Why don't you come in?"

I feel like Travis and Hades have never been friends, or at least not in the healthy, natural sense. I feel like their friendship is mutually consuming and the only reason they still get along is because each has what the other desperately wants. Each is exactly what the other can't be. I can't see anything remotely healthy. They keep each other close to each other to hurt each other. What's a severed finger between friends? I hesitate. I look at his hand. At the finger that's completely missing. It makes me wonder how far this tolerance of theirs goes because they're friends. It's about motives, Hades once told me. If I had a good motive, would Travis forgive me for being alone with this man here?

"I was waiting for you, I smile crookedly. What do you want to talk about?"

He shrugged.

"We haven't spoken in a long time. And I know you, if I had given you too much time to think you would have refused. We can talk about Delilah if you want. That way we know for sure that neither of us will be encouraged to..."

"She's your wife. And somehow you got her pregnant."

"I didn't say I don't have a relationship with her. I just said I'd prefer to... No, he puts his hand to the back of his head and scratches himself awkwardly. I promised myself I wouldn't put you in awkward situations. So we can't talk about that either, he laughs embarrassedly. I don't know Kassie. I just want to spend time with you. What are you writing?"

"We can watch a movie," I suggest. "I have my laptop in the car."

"And that's an idea, approve. What are you writing? Insist on knowing. Don't tell me it's nothing!"

"I have a lot of ideas but none of them stick, I'm afraid. I was thinking of working on something with Rory. Her story, as they say. But I'm not sure it would work."

"Why not? Because you were in a relationship?"

It's my turn to laugh nervously as I reach for my laptop.

"It wasn't exactly a relationship, I stand up. It was... It's hard to explain."

When I'm standing next to him again, when he seems to want to lead me back into the house, his hand goes up under my shirt, right to my skin, right to my back. I know what he's looking for. He stops when he feels my bra. Four years ago, this touch was the most natural thing in the world. It burns me. It paralyzes me. He pulls his hand back and doesn't make a sound. He looks at the ground and makes me think of a guilty child, the kind of child who doesn't feel sorry for being caught eating the whole cake. A good person, with clear principles, would tell him why he shouldn't do this anymore. I look at him and swallow hard. I head back into the house, to that furnished room. We sit on the bed, quite close to each other. We make hotspot on our phones and search for something on Netflix together. We need, we both know it, something innocent. Something pure and that won't stir anything up between us. Cartoons or something. Mirror Mirror, a kind of live action for Snow White. A strange version, honestly. Well, it would be strange.

I know I shouldn't be the one who approaches until I can feel his breath next to me. I know I shouldn't squirm when he suggests that maybe, just maybe, I'd be more comfortable without my corset. Not to let him undo the Velcro at the back of my shirt and expose my skin. I know I shouldn't grumble halfway through the movie, when I'm already leaning against his chest, that the buttons on his shirt are irritating me. That I'm practically asking him to undo them and I definitely shouldn't be sitting still when his hand goes up under my shirt again and this time he undoes my bra. Not on the first try. Which is why I should have told Timo not to do it.. I let him and let him remove the straps on my hands without taking off my shirt, like I'm a rag doll. Travis could never mold me like that. With him I always knew I had to have a dose of control. As much as I love him, as good friends as we are, a part of me will remember him as the man who watched. Not because I expect him to choose me over his sister, or because I have expectations of him. Because I know that by some miracle he will do what is right. It's just that it's difficult to forget.

I squirm when Hades' hand reaches my abdomen. His fingers touch my breast, timidly as he taught me, as he taught me. I feel his breath on my neck. My hand moves up, to the nape of his neck. I pull him closer and hold on to him at the same time. It's a matter of opportunity. Of time. I know now, when I feel his lips on my neck, that maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually we have to have sex. There's too much tension building up, too many emotions pent up for too long. I've felt like he and I... Hades and I haven't been a choice for a long time. And I'm starting to think I never had a choice. I forget about the movie when his hand grips my breast more firmly. I forget about the Wade brothers, both of them. His free hand positions me better until I feel his erection beneath me. My hips move involuntarily as he undoes my button. The zipper comes down. I squirm. We both know the limits, a discussion about them would be useless now. And I think neither of us is ready to go all the way. Not now. Not like this. We deserve better. We can do more. We are better than that. We have to be.

"Look at me," he asks.

He slips his hand into my underwear. I look up at him. He looks back at me. I breathe. I breathe. Hades is a Greek god and he's paving my way to hell. He starts to touch me. I move to his rhythm, on top of him. I let out a groan as my phone rings, making us both jump. Liz-Hide and seek. I pull back immediately and answer. Travis.