Loki hadn't expected that reaction. He'd never seen Cerys' face sink the way it did the moment she saw him, and the way she stood and stared at the wall was haunting. He was frozen, mesmerized by the emotion rising in her eyes—complete and utter betrayal. Even though he'd done nothing of the sort. He had no obligation to her. Imposed an inconvenience, perhaps, but she was intent on maintaining her commitments, so there should have been nothing more than slight displeasure.

Despite his rationalizations, when the tears began to pool, his legs moved ahead of his thoughts, and he stepped toward her—even reached for her a little. But the look of grotesque horror as she recoiled struck Loki like a heavy weight, and only then had he realized that his arm was extended toward her. But why? The idea was boorish—to be intimate with one woman and then reach for the next. Distasteful.

Still, Loki hadn't felt like he was crossing a line. Not while it was happening. Not after all he'd had to endure—he too, had to watch and witness the man receiving Cerys' affections. Everywhere and anywhere she went, he was there. Anyone would have found it sorely unpleasant. And considering her demonstrated love and care for him, to the point that she dared to magically manipulate Loki, this strong reaction was unanticipated. If it were, Loki perhaps would have empathized beforehand.

Cerys disappeared into her room, and when the door slammed shut, and Loki heard one stifled sob. A single, sharp breath that disappeared into silence—most likely, she knew that he was listening. And sure enough, he stood there for some time, waiting for more.

The realization was slow to creep in, but it did; whatever this was, whatever was happening to Cerys behind that door… Perhaps it wasn't worth it.

There were no real winners in what was done—save for Rita, who seemed to enjoy herself quite a bit more than Loki had. Courtesy of his skill. Granted, Loki had marginally enjoyed the encounter, but he found it hard to tear away from his thoughts for long. There was also some fundamental awkwardness between the two of them, which further precluded him from fully enjoying the sensations. He hardly managed to find completion. And if nothing else, it only reminded him of what he'd lost. What he once had—and, by the look on Cerys' face—was surely gone for good, now.

Loki slid his hand down the wood of the door, tempted to turn the doorknob. He felt no glimmer of satisfaction in what had happened, but he hadn't anticipated the small knot that'd formed in his stomach. He hadn't anticipated running into Cerys the next morning, and seeing her obvious partialness to what he'd done.

In a stroke of resolve, he shoved away the thoughts altogether. The whole thing was ridiculous. If he could feel no pleasure from this, so be it—he refused to feel any pain. Not for a woman that so pointedly made it clear that she did not belong to him. Who was she to him, for Loki to expend his energy on guilt?

Walking in a smooth, calm stride, Loki stalked down the hallway, to the bathroom. There was nothing for him behind that door. Or in this house. Or in this place.


What a fucking mess.

Sunday goes by without my noticing. At some point I hear Rita come out of her room, and assume that the door closing in the living room is Loki. The dulcet tones give him away too. The sound of her own voice as she walks back and forth is gut wrenching, and I cover my face up with the covers—shoving away the images of her and Loki that appear again and again, punctuated by the imaginings of her voice.

Fuck. Such a pitiful state to be in.

I roll over in my sheets after silence settles in, feeling numb. At some point, closer to evening time, I turn on the television—just to be able to hear something other than my own thoughts buzzing in my head. Michael continues texting me throughout the day, and tops it off with a quick good night call before going to bed.

I'm slightly mortified at my ability to mask my tone, like nothing is going on, though I guess it helps that Michael isn't around to read the raw fatigue in my face. I'm a singer, I suppose—a singer and a dancer. I should be able to manipulate my own voice just fine.

Sleep deprived and severely dehydrated, I barely manage to trudge out of bed the next morning. Movement rustles in the kitchen as I slowly get dressed, and my face scrunches uncomfortably with the dried up tears in the corners of my eyes. As more doors open and close, voices begin appearing in the kitchen—prompting me to leave at the last possible moment. So I dress and put my hair up slowly in a bun before sauntering out, pointedly avoiding the prospect of breakfast.

By the time I'm out, I see that Rita's sitting at the end of the kitchen isle, along with Andy. Lalita's making breakfast, and there's no sign of Janie.

"Hey Cerys, you want pancakes?" Lalita asks.

I give a friendly grin. "No, I've got to get going—thanks, though."

The moment I lock eyes with Rita, I immediately look away—blinking away the image that rises, and mentally patting myself on the back for maintaining my composure. Rita seems perfectly blasé when she sees me—not even a hint of curiosity as to how I'm feeling.

Fuck.

I release a long sigh as I walk out the door, and a troubling thought occurs to me immediately after—this just doesn't feel like home anymore. I doubt there will ever be a single part of me that can come back to this place again at night, and relax. It had taken so much just to crawl into bed and sleep, knowing it was Loki's, and I only managed to do it when exhaustion overwhelmed the… jealousy.

The stress of work hasn't abated either, and though I thought it'd keep me busy, it just becomes more difficult to keep focused. Even Michael finally begins to notice my distress, though he doesn't show much concern about it until after rehearsals are done.

I hadn't wanted to go home at any point, so when Michael offers to have me over, I jump at the chance. Later, he has me sitting at the foot of the bed, watching as he changes into his home clothes. Truly an attractive man—if anything happened to our relationship, Michael would assuredly find someone else quickly.

Pain twinges in my chest at the thought. Though despite everything that's been going on, I settle into a place of uncertainty. I always thought I was strong and resolved enough to never find myself in this situation—juggling feelings between two men—it's the sort of thing that strips away the integrity of your commitments.

And when Loki had left for Norway, obviously I had imagined scenarios of him coming back. Trying to win me back. But I never imagined that going through something like this would be so difficult. I thought there would be more clarity about which path to take, which one your heart wants you to take, but I couldn't have been more wrong.

I love Michael enough to be terrified of losing him—of losing our amazing life together. But I understand now that my feelings for Loki were never gone, only buried.

And that is so unfair to the man in front of me.

"You okay?" Michael suddenly says.

I look up at him. "Hm?"

"You got a weird look on your face," he chuckles. "Did you hear what I said?"

I part my lips reluctantly. "Uh, yeah, I—I did and I didn't, I'm sorry. I just zoned out a little."

"Something on your mind?"

"Sort of, yeah," I murmur reluctantly, knowing that what I'm about to say out loud will make it real. "I'm thinking of moving out of the loft."

Michael pauses briefly, before settling onto the mattress. "Oh—why, what happened?"

"I'm just not really dying to keep living in the college atmosphere. I make enough money now to where I can afford my own place, and I think I'd like the privacy, too," I grin amusedly, trying to sprinkle some comic relief into the conversation. "Can't walk to the bathroom naked these days."

Mischief flickers over Michael's expression. "Well…" he nods. "That's cool. I totally get it. And, you know, if that's the case, then… well, my contract's gonna be up soon too—maybe we should move in together?"

My train of thought hits a brick wall, and I blink at him surprisedly. "What?"

He shrugs. "We've been together long enough I think—the time seems right, doesn't it?"

It takes me a second to realize that I'm staring blankly, before all the thoughts start seeping in. I'd hardly agree that given the state of things, this is the right moment for this… But maybe this is the clarity need—one of those moments in life that comes along and just nudges you in the right direction.

"Huh," I breathe out, nodding slightly. "Yeah, that—that could be… good."

Michael makes a face, like he's unpleasantly surprised by my demeanor. "I mean… you don't sound that excited about it."

I perk up a little. "No, no," I answer earnestly. "No, I think this is a good decision—we'll be even closer, and it'll take us out of this level and put us somewhere else."

He raises a brow confusedly, but nods. "Uhh, yeah—that too," he grins. "Okay, cool. Well that's that, then. Do you want to start looking at places soon?"

"Yeah," I nod again—still trying to process the decision I'm making. "Definitely, let's craigslist it up."

I watch as he crawls under the sheets, while I remain seated at the foot of the bed. "Let's both look at some listings and then send them to each other."

"Sure," I say, crawling over the blanket.

"Can you get the light?"

"Mhm." I reach up to the lamp on the nightstand.

Though, even after I switch it off, I still don't sleep. Not after Michael snuggles up to me, not after I stay up several hours staring into the darkness, and not even after a full day of work the following morning. If nothing else, I would've thought that that would tire me out, but no.


Michael's roommates are too polite to say anything, but I know they're getting tired of his live-in girlfriend. I've spent the last few nights at Michael's place in the same manner, and finally shoot a text to the roommates on Wednesday morning—when it's time to start thinking of going home:

Wed, 9:27 AM/Cerys: Hey guys, I know it's been a while but please text the group to let us know if you're having any guests over!

Wed, 9:28 AM/Lalita: Yup

Wed, 9:47 AM/Janie: Kk

Wed, 10:02 AM/Rita: No prob

Wed, 11:47 AM/Andy: Will do!

I stare at my phone screen for a bit—particularly at Rita's message. If she was planning on having Loki over tonight, then that would've been the chance to say something. So I figure it must be safe to head back home, and make my way over there after work.

It's dark by the time I get there, and first thing I notice is that the apartment is dark. Pitch black—no signs of life. Immediately upon walking in, I'm hit with the ensconcing darkness and silence—which is strange, considering my roommates are usually home around this time. And just as I start wondering whether they could be on campus for exams, a subtle movement in the living room indicates otherwise.

Movement spurs on one of the couches, and I immediately reach for the kitchen lights. The pale glow of the ceiling lights pours over two figures on the couches—Yuriko, and some other woman that I don't recognize.

I freeze, feeling the blood rush from my cheeks. "Yuriko?" I murmur. "You're… in my apartment? Is everything okay?"

Yuriko exchanges glances with the dark haired woman opposite her, who shoots her a knowing grin.

"It will be," Yuriko muses as she stands, and both women stride toward me. "This is Nisha." She gestures toward the woman. "Newest member of our troupe—our very own telepath."

"Telekinetic," Nisha corrects her matter-of-factly. "Common mistake between the two—but that's closer to what I am."

Yuriko offers an unamused grin as she looks back at me, across the kitchen isle. "As it turns out, we do have a little bit of a problem, and she's here to help…"

The tone of her voice is just unsettling. And as she lays her hands on the countertop, I step back imperceptibly—preparing to lunge toward the knife set. "Okay," I say, laying my hands on the counter. "Well what's the problem?"

"The problem is that we have a mole." She tilts her head, pausing for a bit as she narrows her gaze on me. "And… you know, I really can't help but wonder just how long you thought you could conceal it from us."

I keep my face still. "I don't know what you're talking about…"

Nisha chuckles shrilly. "Don't even try, darling."

I stare at her for a moment, meeting her amused grin with an icy glare. And in the instant that my eyes flicker toward the knives, she lunges toward me—slipping around the kitchen isle and grabbing my wrist. I gasp as hot energy courses under my skin, paralyzing every muscle group as it makes it way through my limbs—stripping me of movement and control, but not awareness. Green slivers of light collect in her irises, emanating throughout her limbs, before pulsing into mine.

When she lets go, I feel my body stumble back a little, and then straighten up—outside of my control. Panic rises in my chest, but no matter how hard I struggle, my arms refuse to move.

My voice refuses to work.

Everything, save for my thoughts and senses, is unresponsive.

My eyes continue staring, ears continue hearing—and my core tightens at the approving look on Yuriko's face, as she watches my arm rise with a demanding gesture from Nisha.

"Excellent," Yuriko says. "How long does this last?"

"She'll never get out, now that I have her," Nisha glances at her.

"If that's the case," Yuriko steps toward me. "Let's get this done."


*** AN for ch. 11 & 12 in the next one - ***