Chapter 19
When had he drawn Father?
Ares glanced down at the stack of discarded pages on the floor to his left, checking to make sure he’d turned them over when placing them there. Sure enough, no one could see the sides where he’d drawn Mother in thick charcoal strokes. When had that been? A couple of hours ago?
He’d skipped his first class with Fisher, coming straight here instead. There’d been another group led by some TA a half hour ago, but they hadn’t interfered with him, so he’d ignored them. They’d left the bowl of fruit behind, and he’d only just decided to switch to still life to distract himself.
This morning had been a setback. A mistake. It was too soon to make threats like that. He’d risked scaring the Starling off, and if Eden ran…
“You’re the one who wanted honesty.” Ares stopped drawing, took a breath. That wasn’t the right thing to say either.
“Lucifer,” Eden set a hand on his shoulder. “Focus. I’m asking you what that is. Why did you draw that?”
“Father used to call me the perfect specimen.” He stared at the smudged outline of the shadowy figure.
“I had the best constitution, that’s why it had to be me.
When I wasn’t enough, Mother brought Zar, but he didn’t bend the way I did.
He struggled too much. Fought back. Father didn’t like that.
Whenever I step off the correct path, he turns that disappointment on me. ”
Eden was quiet for a moment and then asked, “Are you seeing him now?”
He glanced over at the empty space by the fruit bowl. “No.”
“But you saw him earlier?”
“He left as soon as you arrived. I don’t think he likes seeing us together.” Probably didn’t enjoy having to watch Ares screw Eden into oblivion. Was that proof that wherever he was, Father could see him back? Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
“Was he…here because of this morning?” Eden questioned.
Ares risked glancing up at him, finding the Starling's expression unreadable. “I don’t like that we fought. I don’t like that I felt cornered into saying those things to you.”
He scowled. “It isn’t my fault you said those things, Lucifer. You’re responsible for your own actions.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then don’t make it sound like the blame is on me.”
“That isn’t how I meant it.” How did he put it in a way that it could be understood?
“Father used to call me the perfect specimen,” he repeated.
“Until he stopped. Until I wasn’t so perfect anymore.
By the time they realized what was happening, that the seams of our reality were shredding, it was already too late.
The most they could do was halt the experiments to try and come up with a way around it. ”
Those had been the best four days of Ares’ life.
Up until he’d experienced what it was like to be inside Eden.
“Experiments?” Eden’s grip on his shoulder tightened.
“Zar can see the branches, the possibilities,” Ares tried explaining. “I can see the pockets and the overlaps. The cracks.”
“I’m not following. Dumb it down for me.”
“Reality is a concept,” he said. “Time is a concept. They tangle and bleed. There’s nothing linear about space.
Everything happens all at once, layered and folded together.
When you die, you go to one of those other places.
When you make a life-altering choice, you create a new branch of reality parallel to the first. Everything is potential and possibility. ”
“And…you can see that?” It was hard to tell if Eden believed him, but at least he was trying to.
Ares didn’t talk about this.
Ever.
It was no one's business.
No one could understand.
But Zar had called earlier, and his passing comment still lingered in Ares’ mind.
“There’s a reality where you lose him. Play smart, little brother.”
Ares couldn’t lose him.
He refused.
If he was Creation, as Zar said, he would simply create a new reality wherein Eden couldn’t leave.
But he’d already decided on that anyway, and if he already planned on trapping him, then why did all the secrecy matter? Why not share with him the things he claimed to want to know? If the outcome was the same no matter how freaked out by Ares’ past Eden became, why not tell him?
“Not by choice. Zar is stronger than I am. All he loses is himself, but I…I struggle with staying present in this reality,” Ares admitted.
“Sometimes, I can’t tell what’s real. I can’t tell if I’m dead again or still alive.
I need things I can fixate on, like art.
” He motioned to the drawing, taking in the perfect still life and the shadow that marred it.
“Art pulls your focus. It provides an outlet. But I can’t go around with my head in a sketchbook or hunched over a lump of clay forever, so I turned to gaming for those times in between. Vanity is the best one.”
There were so many storylines and side quests. New banners released monthly, along with mini games and events. There’d been days Ares had played for eight or nine hours straight, forgetting to eat, only stopping because the blissful tendrils of exhaustion had finally called out to him.
“I know I exist,” he continued. “I’m solid. I have a heartbeat. But what about the rest of it? How can one properly discern whether or not the reality they find themselves in is the real one?” He shook his head. “If I stop to think on it, if I let myself slip, it all starts to bleed.”
“Bleed how?” Eden asked. “Do you mean the shadows come then?”
“Sometimes.” He didn’t always see Mother and Father.
“It’s hard to explain to someone who’s never experienced it.
It’s like…Have you ever had a dream that felt real?
So real, you go through most of it without realizing, but then all of a sudden, something happens that makes you aware it’s just a dream, and everything feels wrong all at once? ”
Eden pursed his lips, considering, and then ended up nodding. “Yeah, okay. I think I can see what you mean now. You’re saying that’s what every day is like for you?”
“Something feels off,” Ares confirmed. “Wrong. Like the color of the wallpaper isn’t right, or the first letter of my best friend's name is something different. Little things. Big things. It varies. It’s exhausting.”
“It sounds like enough to drive a person slowly insane.”
Ares chuckled darkly. “You have no idea.”
“But I’ve only seen you…fracture a couple of times. It doesn’t seem to affect you as much as you claim.”
“It doesn’t happen as often when I’m around you,” Ares said. “You make everything feel real to me. There was never another version of you in any of the cracks I’ve fallen through before. That means you exist, just as I do. If you’re here, this must be reality.”
“Zar said it’d been a while since you had a break,” Eden seemed to recall suddenly. “What about that? Why were you able to stave it off?”
“I told you. Vanity.” Ares risked linking his pinky finger with Eden’s free hand, grinning when the Starling didn’t pull away. “Ransom. In our past life, the Starling kept Creation vigilant. It seems like you’re my touchstone in all possible realities. I love you in every iteration.”
Eden gasped and retreated, breaking their connection, and Ares couldn’t help but frown.
What had he said wrong this time? What had he risked?
“Don’t use big words like that.” Eden ran a hand through his hair.
…Iteration?
“I just mean—” Ares didn’t get the chance to finish.
“What about before Vanity? How long has this been going on? You mentioned experiments?”
“I—” A group of students entered the room, their chatter immediately stopping the moment they spotted Ares and Eden. They bowed and were about to retreat, but Ares waved them forward and stood.
“It’s fine,” he reassured them. “I’m finished.”
This wasn’t the type of conversation to be had in such a public place, and since his art had been disturbed, he doubted he was going to be able to get back into it.
Collecting his things, he was careful not to flip the stack of used sheets from the ground, not wanting Eden to see how many times he’d actually sketched Mother and Father before his arrival.
They went into the trash along with the still life.
Slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder, he reached for Eden’s hand but caught himself. He’d promised to give him a few days to adjust and make an impression on his students.
Which meant no public touching.
Why had he agreed to something so stupid?
With a low growl of frustration, Ares stormed out, leaving the Starling to either fly after him or not.
Eden caught up with him on the stairs. “Why’d you avoid the elevators?”
Perhaps he was taking a page out of Ryker’s playbook. Or maybe he didn’t want to risk being crammed into close quarters at the moment. The truth was never simple, set, or a singular thing.
Ares was good at pretending. At ignoring the frayed edges of reality and acting like everything was fine.
During those times he couldn’t, the people around him usually assumed he was spacing out or daydreaming and didn’t press the issue or comment.
Only those close to him, like the other Black Harts, understood what really went on in his mind.
And now there was Eden.
“Telling you this makes me feel crazy,” he muttered, taking the steps quickly, not even sure if the older man heard him from a few paces behind.
The fracturing didn’t happen all at once. It’d started small, harmless. Barely noticeable. He’d been in his early teens by then, around thirteen or fourteen. Even though he knew better now, Mother had excused his odd behavior as hormones.
When Zar started predicting things, they called it a gift.
Ares went from the perfect specimen to the problem child within a couple of years. Good for him. Bad for Zar.
“Hey.” Eden latched onto his arm the second they stepped out of the building, pulling him to a stop before he could take the path leading toward Castle Black. “Where’s the nearest coffee shop?”
He pointed across the way toward the library. At the bottom level, there was a separate café attached. “Velvet Brew.”