Chapter 30 #2
“Because…” Because why? Because I’m terrified of how I’ll feel?
Because I’ll get too attached? Because I might enjoy myself too much and I’ve been feeling like a martyr this whole time?
Saint Elsie the self-sacrificing? And if I take pleasure in this world and my partner, I’m no longer the martyr and that scares me?
What the fuck does that say about me? That it’s easier to be a martyr than to be happy?
I get to my feet, thoughts racing. “I need to think.”
“Of course you do. You like to overthink everything, Elsie.” He rolls back on the bed and puts his hands behind his head. “I’ll be here. In bed. Waiting.”
I know I’m retreating, but I race back out of the monastery and into the fresh air, sucking in deep breaths.
I feel the desperate need to move about, to do something to distract myself, so I climb the fence, heading into the open pasture with the goats.
Dingle is there and races to my side, butting my leg and trying to chew on my skirts.
Finding a grassy spot, I sit with him and scratch his sides and his neck while he chews on my braid.
And I think. And think.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Do I not know how to be happy? To do something for myself?
Because as much as I want to grab Kalos and jump him and into that bed with him, an equally large part of me feels wrong about it.
My head is fucked, and I know it’s because I’ve self-sacrificed for so long that I’ve made it my entire personality.
When David got sick, I immediately jumped into action, abandoning my college classes and taking as many jobs as I could handle so I could pay the bills for both of us.
I cleaned up after him, handled the bills, drove him to his appointments, and forgot all about myself, because David needed me more.
Now that I’m here in this world, am I not doing the exact same thing?
Putting aside my own needs and wants to be the perfect assistant that Kalos needs?
A romantic entanglement would be a mess.
It would change things between us. It could end in heartbreak, because he’s a god and he doesn’t think the same as I do.
Or it could be utterly glorious. It could be mind-blowing and fill whatever time I have here with incredible joy and pleasure each day.
And that might be even scarier. It’s like I’m afraid to be happy now. It won’t last.
I play with Dingle’s ears, stroking the soft fur until he gets bored and races off to play with the other goats.
The wind rustles the tall grasses, rippling my skirts and pulling at my hair, and I gaze up at the sky.
It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the weather is just the right temperature, and no one is sick.
There are no bills to pay. No monotonous day jobs to grind away at for eight hours before changing clothes and heading to the next shift.
There’s a handsome man waiting in bed to “nibble on all my pretty parts.”
Maybe that’s the bit that terrifies me. That if I’m not caretaking, I might not be enough to keep him interested.
Groaning, I bury my face in my hands. “Elsie, you really do overthink everything.”
I stay out in the field for a while longer, toying with blades of grass and letting my emotions roll over me like a storm. I’m scared and worried and ashamed of how I’ve acted. I want to take what Kalos is offering, and I’m terrified of the changes it’ll mean for us.
I’m afraid of happiness because it might be entirely too fleeting.
When the sun gets high, guilt arrives. I should be helping Omos with the chores or working to convince Kalos to help the villagers.
I could be cleaning. Doing laundry. Cooking.
There are a million things that need to be done every day, and sitting in a field of goats and moping doesn’t help the situation.
Plus, I now smell like goats, and the stink is getting to me.
I get to my feet and brush my skirts off, then pick a purple flower close by that the goats haven’t yet eaten.
It smells nice, and I tuck it behind my ear, heading back toward the monastery.
Omos is in the shade of a nearby tree, churning away at making butter. I veer toward him, duty calling, but he waves me away. “I’ve got this handled.”
“I don’t mind helping.” I approach, eyeing the covered buckets of milk he still needs to churn.
“Nonsense. Go entertain that god of yours. I enjoy the butter churning. It lets me think.” Omos gives me a cheery smile and churns even harder, liquid splashing up against the lid of the churn.
Either I’m terrible at butter making and Omos is too polite to point it out, or he just wants to avoid being inside and alone with an oversexualized Kalos. “Right. I’ll just head inside, then.”
I fill a bucket of water at the well, determined to wash and get rid of my goat-y smell, and carry it inside. Kalos hasn’t left the bed and rolls over as I open the door, smiling at me. “Well, well. Look what the Fates dragged in.”
“Oh hush.” I fill a pitcher with the fresh water and leave the bucket by the cooking area. I remove my shoes and leave them by the door. “I smell like goat and I’m going to clean up a bit. Do you want to wash up, too?”
“Are you volunteering? If so, the answer is yes, I would love for you to wash me.”
I snort, but I can’t resist a smile at the hope in his voice. “Nice try.”
Moving to the washbasin, I pour a bit of the water into the bowl and soap a hand-towel.
It’s not a full-blown bath, but I’ve learned that those things are a bit rarer to come by in this world, especially when one must lug buckets of water and heat them, and must figure out what to do with the dirty water after the fact.
A quick wash-up will do for now. Rolling up my sleeves, I wash my arms with quick strokes and do my face and neck, and my cleavage.
I bend over and hitch my skirts up to do my legs and bare feet, and when I straighten, Kalos is watching me with an intense look on his face that makes me blush.
He’s making it very, very clear how he feels.
I wonder how long this will go on. Omos has mentioned in hushed conversations between us that sometimes the gods are affected only for a short while, and sometimes they’re changed forever.
I try to recall if there was ever a time Kalos was more of a jerk than usual and conclude that perhaps arrogance has stuck around the entire time.
Does that mean I’m going to have horny, arrogant and apathetic Kalos for the rest of the time here?
If so, good lord.
I put my shoes back on and pour the dirty water outside. When I return, Kalos is still in bed, his tousled silver hair falling across his forehead. I gesture at the large ceramic washbasin. “You want me to pour you some water so you can wash up, too?”
“Are you saying I’m a dirty god?”
“I am not saying anything of the sort. Quit trying to make everything sound filthy.”
“I’m not trying.” He grins. “It just naturally sounds filthy. Have you decided if you’re going to make love to me yet?”
I’m tempted to stay by the washbasin and keep the distance between us, because it’s easiest. It’s safest. But I find myself crossing the room toward him, where he’s lounging in bed—my bed.
I sit down on the stool again, and at some point, he’s moved it closer to the bed.
Instead of being a safe distance away, my knees brush the edge of the mattress.
Kalos reaches over and takes my hand in his.
At the touch of his skin—feverishly hot—my mind goes blank.
He plays with my fingers, tracing my fingernails and running a finger along the center of my palm. “You’re avoiding me, Elsie.”
“I’ve been thinking. That’s all.”
“And did you decide anything?” He looks up at me from under the fringe of his lashes, and my pulse skips a beat. His forefinger traces a circle on the heel of my palm.
I consider my words carefully. “I know you said we can just have casual sex. That it doesn’t have to mean anything. The problem for me is that you might not have feelings…but I do.”
“Of course you do,” he soothes. “I’m a god, and I’m quite handsome. It’s a natural scenario.”
Yup. Arrogance is definitely still kicking around. “Okay, well, falling in love with a god is not a natural scenario for me. I don’t want to get more attached to you than I already am.”
That makes him pause. “Why not?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean just that. Why not?” He traces one of the bluish veins on the inside of my wrist, as if my skin fascinates him. “We are already bound together for the rest of your life. Why not get attached to me?”
Because I’m going to die? There’s no greater separation than death.
Remembering that all of this is going to culminate in my death makes me pause.
I keep forgetting that there’s no “after” Kalos.
Someone’s going to come after me and try to kill me, and if they succeed, well, that’s it.
If they fail, this Kalos—Apathy Kalos—will be the only Aspect left.
Does that mean the gods here will let me keep on with my life even after we’re down to one Kalos?
Retire me to a little cottage somewhere to live out the rest of my days?
Something inside me says no.
At my silence, Kalos studies my face. His gaze drifts over to my ear and he reaches for the small purple flower, twirling it between his fingers. “Bergamot. Good for inflammation.”
I eye him with a bit of surprise. “You know a lot about plants?”
“Of course. Who do you think gives them their medicinal properties?” His mouth curves with amusement.
“Anali prides herself on being the goddess of good health, but do you think she lifts a finger to help them towards such a goal? Of course not. You only get her blessings when you don’t need them.
She’s useless. At least I provide them with herbs and medicine. ”
“That’s rather thoughtful of you.”
He leans in. “I get a kick out of watching the mortals chew on plants to see what they do.”
I should have guessed that. “You could be using that ability to help people.”
“I could. I just don’t care to.” He shrugs and hands the flower back.
And there lies the problem. He’s got the power to do something, but he won’t.
I can’t even be upset over it, because I know how much his Apathy affects him.
If I want to make changes, I’m the one that must do it.
I take the flower back, studying the delicate petals.
If the people in town had a visual aid of some kind…
pressed flowers, maybe? But no, a dried-up plant looks a lot like any other dried-up weed.
I’d have to have amazing skill at preserving the flowers between the pages, and I suspect it’s harder than it looks.
Plus, flowers can slide out of books, and the people still can’t read.
But what if they didn’t have to read? I eye the tiny flower.
With a little concentration, I could probably draw it.
I can see what paints that Omos’s illustrator friend left behind and color it.
How to get them to realize what it’s good for, though?
I think about the warning signs back home posted in cafeterias, or even on bathroom walls.
They use stylized figures. Wavy lines can indicate things.
Arrows. Angry lines coming out of someone’s head could indicate a headache, and I could show pictures of how to prepare the flower, or a tea…
It’s not perfect, but it could work.
I tuck the flower behind Kalos’s ear and notice that his eyes glaze over with pleasure when my fingers skate along his skin. “I have a favor to ask.”
He closes his eyes, leaning into my caress. “Keep touching me and the answer is yes.”
“I want to stay here for a while and assist the village. Teach them how to heal themselves. Make a book to educate them on what they can use for medicine.” I run my finger along the curve of his ear. “What do you think?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“A kiss,” I decide, since that’s something I know he’ll agree to. It’s also something that makes my insides flutter with excitement.
He arches a silver brow at me. “Just one?”
“How many do you want to bargain for?” His response makes me breathless.
Kalos considers for a moment, then takes my hand in his again. He touches the tip of each finger, as if considering. “Five.”
“Just five?” I joke.
He lifts my hand and nips my fingertip. “As our first bargain, aye.”
The way he says it leaves no doubt in my mind that this would be the first of many bargains. Instead of annoying me, I’m looking forward to it. “When do you want your first kiss?”
“Well, if I said right now, I’d be a glutton, wouldn’t I?” He nips at my fingertip again, the smile playing on his lips. “I’ll just surprise you, how’s that?”
“Very well.” If anything, I might be even more aroused than before.
Kalos studies my fingertips, then brushes his lips over one again. “Tell me your grand plan. This book you want to make. You know they cannot read.”
It’s hard to concentrate when my fingers are being nibbled on, but I don’t pull my hand away.
I don’t think I could even if I wanted to…
and I don’t want to. I tell him all about the visual signs back home, how some common symbols help those that can’t read or are unfamiliar with the language.
How we can make a picture book of ailments and how to make cures for them.
As I talk to him, I work through it in my mind.
Organization will be key. We can use different color corners on each section of the book.
All the pages with a bright red corner can be head pain, all the pages with a yellow corner, stomach pain, and so on.
We can draw symbols of the ailment (or a close proximity) and a picture of the herb to use, along with how to use it.
It’s going to take some serious testing and working with the villagers, but I want them to be empowered with knowledge.
I want them to realize that they can tend to themselves.
That not everything is a death sentence.
I can’t imagine how scary it is to get a rash or an allergic reaction and immediately think you’ve got the plague and you’re going to die.
I remember how dark it felt when David was going through the worst of his chemo, when he was at his sickest, when hope felt very far on the horizon.
How many symptoms we’d google on the daily, determining which ones were normal and which ones meant a trip to the doctor.
I don’t want others to have that endless fear. I want them to feel relief. I want them to know someone’s looking out for them, even if it’s just me.