Chapter Thirteen
I alternated between hating and loving Rune. I was so furious with him for giving me hope, for allowing me to fall in love with him before he left. But in my heart, I knew he loved me too. He hadn't been on the verge of falling; he had fallen. So, he was hurting as much as I was. But he was also the one who had decided to end us.
I also alternated between hating and loving Hermes. Not love like I had for Rune, but I did love Hermes as a friend. Someone who I had once loved romantically and who had given me a great gift. Even letting me go had been a gift. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have met Rune. Again, that sent me swinging back and forth between love and hate.
It goes without saying that I cried. I did so often and violently. I got drunk. I ate a lot of food, then I didn't eat at all. Jenny ran the gallery for me for over a week. Yeah, a week. I knew it was going to be a long mourning period. Otherwise, I would have just closed the gallery for a few days. But this was Rune Demos I was trying to get over. Hound of Hades. The most incredible lover I'd ever had. And that included Hermes. I was pretty sure he was the love of my life. Again, that included Hermes. But maybe that was just heartache talking.
I wallowed for nine days and then got my shit together. I put away the alcohol and cleaned up the pizza boxes, ice cream cartons, and other detritus of delivered food. Then I took a hot shower. I scrubbed everywhere. I washed the filth away and maybe a little of the sorrow. When I finished drying off, I felt strong enough to face life again. Eternal life. Without Rune.
“I'm going to be all right,” I said to my reflection. She didn't seem convinced.
So, I pulled on a power suit, pulled back my hair into a war braid, and painted my face. I mean, put on some make-up. My heels felt like weapons, stabbing the hardwood as I took the stairs down to the gallery. I was alive. I had survived the shattering of my heart. Again. And now I had to face every day as if it were a battle. Because, just for a little while longer, it would be. But at least now I had healed enough to fight.
“Fuck these men,” I growled and slammed open the gallery door.