The Deep End of the Sea (4 page)

“My point being that after such a lengthy amount of time, I don’t think you’ve ever come to terms with what has happened to you.”

I laugh. I mean, really. How can he say such a thing with a straight face? “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I have.”

The snakes under my wrap hiss loudly; I tap on the mass to quiet them down.

“If that is the case, then you surely won’t mind if I talk to the Assembly about the matter.”

“No!” The word echoes throughout my statue-filled, yet unbearably empty home.

Hermes studies me for a long moment. I try not to squirm under his gaze, but it’s difficult. His eyes, a beautiful blue-green that alters with his moods, are piercing, like they can see straight through skin and into cells that make a person whole. Today, they are a happy medium of the two shades. I have to look away, though. It’s too easy to get lost in such eyes.

“Give me a good enough reason not to.”

We’ve had this conversation more times than I can count. “You know why.”

He runs a hand through his sandy hair, a bit longer lately than he’s worn it for years. I rather like it this way, all askew and artful at the same time. “While I can understand your hesitation—”

I know him well enough to not fear disagreeing. “You most certainly do not.”

He sighs in quiet frustration.

“Hermes.” I lower myself onto a chaise, as it’s the only kind of furniture suitable for reptilian bodies, and pick at a worn spot near the seam. I’ve put off reupholstering it far too long. “We’ve gone over this.”

I sneak a quick peek over at him as he leans forward, arms against his knees. He’s wearing one of my favorite t-shirts of his, a thin and fraying red one whose picture of a surfer has faded to the point of obscurity. The first time I saw him in it, I thought him to be exactly what a beach bum traversing the Mediterranean ought to look like—all gorgeous and golden in skin and hair. As I find him to be the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, inside and out, I can only imagine how the ladies in the outside world must fall at his feet.

I often imagine what his life—and everyone else’s—must be like nowadays. What it’d be like to walk in a city with buildings as high as the sky and transportation as fast as the wind. And I wonder, as I have for the bulk of our relationship, just what it is he gets out of these visits, and from me. Because he is a god, a beautiful one who’s charming and intelligent and witty, and I am a monster that kills unsuspecting adventurers.

In all these years we have been friends, I’ve been too afraid to ask why he keeps coming back. Because there’s always the fear that, one day, he’ll choose not to.

“Do you trust me?”

His quiet question snaps me to attention. I blink from behind my dark glasses and offer a smile. A far cry from fangs, at least there is no need to hide my teeth. “Of course.”

“Then trust me with this.”

As much as I do wholly trust him with my life, I do not feel the same toward the rest of the Greek Assembly. To face the gods and come away with a potentially worse punishment? Thank you, but no. “Hermes—”

“You cannot possibly tell me you are content living in isolation on an enchanted isle for the rest of eternity.” He stands up, his gray slip-on Vans squeaking again. It’s a soothing sound, despite his words. “Don’t lie to me.”

Well, of course I don’t enjoy being a cursed monster, but it’s not like I have a lot of options right now. If I go to the mainland, the opportunities for murdering innocents skyrocket. Plus, there’s always the excellent chance that I’ll be captured and a) be experimented on, b) locked away in an even more restrictive place, or c) outright killed (although I’ve actually debated whether the risks for that one are worth it or not). If I face the gods, something even worse than what has already happened may be forced upon me. What if they make it so I lose the vestiges of who I am and I turn insane and rampage against innocents? It’s a prospect too terrifying to risk. “You know I am not. But—”

“There are no buts.” He squats down in front of me, far too close to where my tail is, which shames me even to this day. I have a tail.
I slither around on a tail
. You’d think by now I’d be okay with this, but I’m not.

I hold a hand out so he doesn’t come any closer and ask something I’ve long wondered. “Why won’t you let this go?”

His head tilts to the side as he studies me. “Because a wrong has occurred.”

Over the years, I’ve learned that Hermes has a bit of a knight in shining armor complex. He is always trying to right wrongs, save people, and make the world a better place, which is one of the things I love best about him. His goodness is a beacon I can’t resist navigating toward, especially when I commit such atrocities myself. Even still, I tell him softly, “You can’t save everyone.”

He stands up and looks away for a long moment. It gives me a chance to get up and put proper space between us. I can’t risk anything happening to him, either. I would find a way to kill myself before I ever let that happen. So I pretend to examine a few pots of recently seeded plants over by a window, like they’d somehow managed to burst out of their casings in their effort to reach for freedom in less than a day.

I’ve been trying to do it for over two thousand years.

From behind me, Hermes murmurs, “You’re right. I can’t save everyone; that much is true.” He pauses. “Dusa, I’ve respected your wishes over the years, even though it’s been hard for me.”

I turn to find him a couple feet away. His shoes didn’t even squeak against the polished floor. I jerk back, knocking into one of the pots; thankfully, he’s quick enough to catch it before it hits the ground. I gingerly take it from him, careful to maintain no skin-to-skin contact.

“I find that I cannot sit back and allow for this to happen anymore,” he continues quietly. “The simple fact is, my uncle raped you, and somehow my bat-shit insane sister blamed and cursed you for it happening in one of her temples. In no way did you deserve what happened to you.” He shakes his head slowly as he closes in on me. “You’ve born it better than any other person I could ever imagine. It’s time for it to end, though. I sorely regret not doing anything earlier.”

As with any recollection of those events, I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. But really, it does little good. In my mind’s eye, that series of catastrophes is still crystal clear to the most minute of details. The smell of Poseidon’s salted hair; the feel of his rough yet water wrinkled hands against my skin; the sound of his voice, so bloody reasonable and soothing, as he rationalized why I ought to feel privileged he’d taken notice of me. The sounds of my screams. The sight of Athena’s eyes, crazed and bloodshot. The feel of my body twisting into a monstrosity. Every last, horrible action is right here in my mind like it happened earlier today. I shove at the memories, plead with them to stay away.

Time doesn’t heal; or, at least, it hasn’t healed such wounds for me, no matter what I told him earlier. Time is just another captor of mine.

“She is the goddess of wisdom,” I whisper. “She must have had good reason to do as she did.”

His voice matches mine. “No. It’s like I said—she’s
insane
. Her being named the purveyor of wisdom is one of the greatest of cosmic jokes.”

I open my eyes and suck in my breath, as I always do, at the sight of him. “She is your sister.”

His lips tilt up at the corners. “Which is the unfortunate reason why I know her character so well.”

The fear of the unknown is too much, though. I just can’t give in, not when I can’t weigh the variables fairly beforehand.

“Dusa.” We’re now mere inches apart; sunlight glints in his golden hair, spilling out in a dazzling array that highlights his divinity. “I’ve already submitted my petition for the next meeting in two weeks. I’d hoped for your blessing, but I cannot idly stand by anymore. Not when you hurt every single day.”

What? My head snaps up and the glasses shift. Both hands slap against them in horror. “Personal space, Hermes,” I croak.

But instead, he places a hand against my arm. It feels alien ... yet wonderful. It’s warm and so
real
. Despite wanting to sink into the foreign sensations seeping through my body, I try to shake him off, but it’s no good. He’s so close to me now—close enough that I can smell the wind on him. Stars above, it’s intoxicating. I squeeze my eyes shut and send a prayer to the Girls, begging them to not move a muscle.

They must sense my fear, because they do as I wish. And then the unthinkable happens: Hermes’ arms go around my thin, misshapen body, pulling me into the warmth of his chest. I resist, my own limbs as stiff as those inhabiting the island with us, but my friend will not let common sense dictate the right choice.

And I am too weak to do what I should do, because, instead of shoving him hard and fleeing, I give into the impulse overtaking my sanity and rest my head against his shoulder. The Girls do not move, but I get the sense they are in a fragile state of relieved joy to be touching him. Touching anyone, really.

Much like I am.

“You are not alone,” he murmurs, his face much too close to my glasses. I’m sure to develop a headache later, my eyes squeeze shut so tightly. But the words on his breath feel too good against my skin to let me do anything other than stay where I am.

When was the last time somebody held me like this? I can’t recall the last instance. Mikkos is never allowed this close. He may be able to touch the Girls, and occasionally hold my hand, but I’ve otherwise kept him at a distance. This is the first time I’ve ever broken down and allowed Hermes to touch me, and it’s stupid, I’m stupid, because if he was to die, to become one of my statues ...

How would I survive?

“My father will listen to me,” he tells me, a strong hand gently rubbing my back. He believes in me, and this realization—while assumed before, now solidifies into assured truth. It’s a glorious feeling, knowing somebody out there is willing to do this for me; but he’s risking so much, going to Olympus to argue against judgments made by his sister and uncle. I shouldn’t let him do this. Over the years, he’s conveyed to me of the epic showdowns that rage amongst the assembly—and the gods and goddesses of Olympus are just as vindictive and unforgiving toward their own as they are toward mortals. I cannot let him risk himself for me.

“Athena—” I’m horrified my voice is so broken.

“Don’t think about her. She’s—what she did to you is unforgiveable. She’s not worth a single one of your thoughts.”

I shiver as his words trace my neck. “Your uncle—”

“Him, either,” he tells me, in direct contradiction to his earlier statement over how I need to deal with such matters.

What would life be like, outside this temple? I know the basics, thanks to computers and smartphones Hermes and Mikkos have provided me over the years, but I’ve never actually set foot off of my isle of exile in ages. It would be ... terrifying, I think.

But, here in the circle of his embrace, I allow myself to imagine how it could be a blessing, too, especially if there was no fear of harming innocents. He has already petitioned the Assembly. Come next month, it will be discussed with or without my blessing or participation. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that maybe he has a point. Before—I had no say in my punishment. I’ve born it quietly.

Maybe it’s time I finally take a chance.

When I tell Hermes this, he lets out a relieved exhale of a laugh, like he was holding his breath, not truly believing I’d agree so easily after years of fighting otherwise. Gooseflesh breaks out up and down my neck as his breath once more caresses my skin.

His head tilts down so his forehead presses against my temple, rendering me into a facsimile of the statues surrounding us. I can’t help but pray silently,
Zeus above, if I ever had the smallest bit of luck, let me experience it now and ensure my glasses do not shift
.
Keep your son safe.
“I knew you’d eventually see reason.”

The laugh that comes from me is tiny, but inside, joy begins to bubble.

A hand presses against my cheek, and then I am flying and falling and freezing and all over the place, because his lips press gently against my temple for a delicious moment. Surely I must have drunk too much wine, because all of this—his touch, his concern, his friendship—it’s left me heady and hopeful. I marvel at how easily he can touch me right now, me, a monster, and he’s as steady as always.

My eyes remain closed until he lets go and steps away. Irrationally, the hint of tears taunt me by this loss. When he’s in the entryway, I find the courage to ask, “Why are you willing to risk your brethren’s wrath, Hermes?”

“You’re worth it,” is all he tells me, his face illuminated by a grin that Apollo’s sun would envy. And then I hear the rush of wings, and my friend is gone.

They’re hidden behind my dark glasses, but thanks to the bright light reflecting off of the Aegean’s vivid blue waters, I have to shade my sun-sensitive eyes as I watch Mikkos’ boat angle toward Gorgóna’s small landing and dock. This is an unexpected visit; Mikkos told me during his last trip he had a series of doctor’s appointments this week, ones he’d put off far too often in the past but meant to finally fulfill as the ache of age in his bones became too much. His fear of the unknown must have matched my own, though, because here he is coming to my isle rather than visiting with a doctor.