Till death do us part
(c) 2023 by ihatemilk
_DECEMBER 2015
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He didn't know why he did that, but before he realized it, it was too late.
He found himself in central London.
Another sad city that he'd spent too much time in back in the day; the good old 1940's.
Pimlico – of course – it wasn't like she could do with anything less snobbish than that. The polished, dark brown door with the round handle in the middle was surrounded with two perfectly carved pillars. After the second time he rang the doorbell, the door opened.
She looked nothing like the last time he saw her. The unruly ginger hair was neatly slicked in a bun on top of her head, the red lipstick making her lips so obscenely full; and the Stepford-wife two-piece, of course; although, he knew it was just a cover for lace and stockings underneath.
And she seemed to have grown some dignity as well; there was nothing left of the desperation she reeked of the last time. She held his gaze steadily, raising her eyebrows in a question; if he hadn't known any better, he would've thought she wasn't thrilled to see him.
"Are you stalking me?"
"Why, isn't it nice to be on the receiving end?"
She sighed, trying to keep her cool, but he could hear her heartbeat from the distance.
"Don't you diplomats know it's fucking rude to keep a guest standing?"
"Don't you entrepreneurs know it's fucking rude to show up uninvited?" she retorted, so very poised, challenging him with a glare and attempting to look unmoved at the same time. She wasn't the worst actress, but the color in her cheeks pretty much gave her away.
"I thought fucking rude turned you on," he took a step forward, letting himself in. She stepped back, her breath short, her face burning.
Just entering the hall he could tell this place was a far cry from the Brooklyn one.
The subtle smell of cigarettes filled his nostrils; there was bluesy music coming from the living room; Etta James, he recognized in a second, and gods, it sounded so damn good – he picked up on the characteristic crackle of the vinyl even before he saw the vintage record player; it was sitting on top of the 1960's Midcentury teak sideboard adorning one of the wallpapered walls of the bright, spacious room. She had a damn good taste; that they did have in common.
He walked over to the sideboard. There was a carafe of what he assumed was scotch – there was always scotch wherever she stayed at – and he needed a drink.
…at last…
…my lonely days are over…
…and life is like a song…
He helped himself to a glass, the rich, creamy sound of the record pleasantly resonating in his ears.
…at last, the skies above are blue…
The smell of expensive but plain perfume reached his nose when she stepped beside him, pouring herself a glass of her own.
"Make yourself at home," she brought the drink to her mouth without looking at him, the red fullness of her lips touching the rim of the glass for a moment, before she let the amber-colored liquid in.
She obviously tried to be discreet, but he noticed how she maneuvered her finger to switch her phone to mute.
He lost count of how many times he refilled his glass; and he couldn't care less. And she was still there; they were both standing there, side by side, not looking at each other; and when he finally turned to look to his right, he met her eyes; hazy, at his command.
He stepped towards her; and she took a step back, her chest rising.
"Take this off."
She obeyed and took it off; the jacket, the skirt, the blouse, and was standing in front of him wearing only what he liked most.
"On your knees," he said, although she was already halfway there. His eyes followed, watching the tiny, pale, red-nailed fingers struggle with the massive, silver belt buckle. Taking another sip from his newly refilled glass, he lit up a cigarette, his eyes never leaving hers as the red lips parted for him.
Later, sprawled all across the sofa, he finally asked. "Why did you do it?"
She was sat in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table, cross-legged, letting out a cloud of smoke through the puckered lips with the lipstick smeared all over them. "What do you mean?" she asked, like she didn't fucking know what he meant.
"The pregnancy."
He was genuinely curious; faking the pregnancy was so strikingly dumb, he couldn't believe that a premeditated strategist like her could pull off a stunt as idiotic as this; on impulse, maybe, but what she'd done – it took days of logistics to pull it off.
She sucked in her cheeks, drawing a long breath, her eyes lazily sweeping over the ceiling.
"It was hard…" she took a tiny sip of the drink she was holding. "…to know… she's given you something I never could," she swallowed with effort and took a breath in, her lashes fluttering; he was afraid she was going to cry. And he didn't even know what to say. On the one hand, he wanted to strangle her for what she had put him through when she jeopardized what was most precious in his life; but then again, a part of him felt sorry for her; the part of him that a certain someone had brought to life and nurtured, that had now grown too strong to be easily silenced.
He drew a cigarette and put it in his mouth, on a second try; gods, he was drunk. "There's nothing you – or anyone else – can do to come between me and her."
"I'm sure something could be arranged," she raised an eyebrow in a subtle grin.
"I would strongly advise you against going down that path, if you know what's good for you."
"Oh, I do know what's good for me…"
"That offer's never been on the table, and never will."
She was silent; her eyes cast down, chest rising and falling. "Are you with her because of the child?" she asked quietly.
"Yes. No."
"So, which is it?"
"What's it to you?"
"Do you love her?"
He closed his eyes, letting out a breath, dizzy from the alcohol. Gods, no, he couldn't think about her now, it was making it hard to breathe.
"You wouldn't be here if you did…"
He downed the rest of his scotch in a big gulp and forced his lids shut, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips. What the fuck was he doing? His head was spinning. Why the fuck did he come here? And yet, he couldn't leave, there was something keeping him here, like there was still something left to happen, something final; he just had no damn idea what it was.
"Are you complaining?" he opened his eyes; his head was spinning when he kept them closed.
"Just curious – there's obviously something you're missing. And I'm sure it's more than getting your dick sucked," she lifted herself from her seat and took a few teasingly slow steps towards him, red heels clicking against the creaking, wooden floorboards; and he had to give her a credit – she knew how she looked, and she knew how to play it; the nude lace lingerie set hugged her tight in all the right places.
"She doesn't appreciate what she has," she purred into his ear, nestling herself in his lap. His jaw tensed at the memory of their last argument; it made his blood boil anew.
"Doesn't she know a man like you should be treasured?" she breathed against his ear. "Treasured, worshipped…" she licked the edge of his earlobe, making him shiver, "…and taken very good care of…" she softly ran her nails down his neck. "If you were mine… I would appreciate you… day and night," she whispered, making him close his eyes as she started kissing her way up towards his ear.
His eyes snapped open when his phone vibrated in his pants. He reached for it automatically. Aphrodite. Aphrodite? Since when did she call him on the phone? He put it on silent and stuffed it back into his pants.
Then, the doorbell rang.
Julia grabbed a familiar looking black satin robe – the view of which made a knot appear in his chest – and went to answer the door.
No, it couldn't be – but it sure as hell was – his sister's annoying shrill was unmistakable.
He stepped into the hall where the two women were exchanging pleasantries. "What're you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same," her eyes said. "You texted me the address to pick you up, duh?"
He knew that he wasn't going to like what was about to follow once he would be alone with Dite, but he also knew his sister – she wouldn't take no for an answer – so he gave up and played along. "I didn't mean that early."
"Take care, honey," Aphrodite kissed Julia goodbye; he saw it from the corner of his eye as he squeezed past them through the doorway; gods, he needed fresh air. And to get the hell away from here.
He heard the door close in the distance, and Aphrodite's hurried steps behind him. There was no need to ask which car was hers – the abhorrently purple Range Rover could only belong to one person.
He laughed out loud, but there was nothing, no reaction. She was silent – his sister, who would never shut up, was silent; he didn't like it one bit.
"Seatbelt," she said curtly as they rode off.
"What – the hell – are you doing here, Dite?" he uttered, struggling with the damn belt, the damn high-pitched beeping about to make his head explode.
"Funny, I was about to ask you the same."
"Can you stop fucking spying on me, all of you? Get a life, for fuck's sake…"
"Can you please not breathe my way? You smell like a distillery…"
And then, somewhere between wondering how she knew how to drive a car and how come she knew what a distillery was – he bumped his head against the window as she took a sharp left turn, miraculously and barely avoiding the clash with the car going straight at them.
"Idiot," she muttered under her nose.
Gods damn – he hadn't realized any sooner because he was hammered, but her – she had no excuse. "Stop the car, Dite," he said, rubbing the right side of his head.
"But—"
"Now!"
"Fine, chill out…"
"Not in the middle of the road, for fuck's sake… There's a spot to the left, pull over."
She parked the car and they both let out a breath.
"Is it just me or are they driving on the wrong side of the road…" she furrowed her brows.
"No shit… who is?" he grinned.
"Freaking everyone!"
"Bravo – it's called left-hand traffic."
"What? How the Tartarus was I supposed to know that?"
"Maybe if you traveled more, instead of fucking 24/7…"
"As if..." she pursed her lips to the rear-view mirror and started applying lipstick. "Get out."
"What?"
"Out of the car! We have to find a spot to teleport – plus, I'll totally be sick if I take one more inhale of what you breathe out."
"Where're we going?" he grimaced, climbing out of the car. It was starting to rain.
She said nothing.
And he didn't like the sound of it – not one bit.
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They both materialized themselves simultaneously; funny, it'd been a while since he'd travelled the ether with another god.
His New York penthouse – why she'd chosen here, he didn't know – and he didn't like it either.
"I fucking hate this place," he walked over the bar with the carafe on it, knocking a floor lamp on the way.
Aphrodite appeared in front of him and placed both hands on his shoulders. "Oh no, you don't."
"Move."
"Babe, please – look at me – look at me, honey – hey…" she cradled his face into her palms, and he closed his eyes, the familiarity of the gesture making his stomach tighten. "Please… do it for me… do it for her…"
"I don't wanna fucking talk about her," he pushed his sister away, but gave up on the idea to pour himself a drink and headed for the upstairs terrace instead.
He collapsed on one of the two recliners, getting the crumpled packet of smokes from the front pocket of his pants. Before he had time to light it, Aphrodite materialized herself on the other recliner. He took a deep first hit, exhaling the cloud of smoke into the cold air; the sun was starting to break through the clouds, but it was still damn freezing.
"And now you're gonna tell me what the hell just happened and why."
"Or what?"
"You're not going back to Greece until you do."
"You're damn right I ain't going back," he laughed, "I've used up my powers."
"What? You can't use up your powers, babe, there's no such thing—"
"Well, guess what – turns out there is, if you don't give a fuck about your mantle for long enough…"
"What? But – it makes no sense – why would you do that?"
"I have no fucking idea, Dite, alright?!"
"Okay, fine, sorry I asked… It's Xena, isn't it… Does she still give you a hard time about it? Those are your godly duties, Ar, you don't have a say here…"
"Oh yeah? Look at you, getting smarter day by day…" he snapped his fingers to produce a drink in his hand, and slammed his fist against the table between them when nothing happened. "She's fine with it; for the first time ever, she's fine with what I do, Dite."
"So, what is it?"
"It's me – I'm fucking not!"
"How do you mean?"
"It gives me a headache to even think about it…"
"To think about…"
"…about my damn job, Dite – are you even fucking listening?"
"Fine, you don't have to yell at me…" she let out a sigh. "I think I know what you mean."
"You do?"
"After the Twilight, when I lost Hephie… I couldn't work at all… I couldn't even look at people in love… totally drifted away back then…."
"How did you fix it?"
"Had an affair with Caligula and almost died – I thought you'd remember," his sister's merry chuckle brought back the dreadful memory of when he'd almost lost her.
"Not helping."
"Why did you really go to Julia, Ar?"
"No, the question is – why the fuck did you go there after me?"
"I sensed you were hurting, so I checked on you. I heard your fight with Xena—"
"And you're still asking what's wrong?"
"You know you could lose her after what you've pulled today, right?"
"Why, you gonna tell on me?" he snickered. Gods, he was exhausted. He wished she would just shut up and get the fuck out.
"You're an idiot."
"Get lost."
"She's hurting, too, you know?"
"She should've thought about it before she opened her mouth."
"Gods, you're such a jerk… no wonder she always hated you…"
"Get out."
"Pull yourself together, Ar, because the way you're acting – it's embarrassing."
He drew in a deep breath as an unpleasant sensation stirred his stomach, covering his arms in goosebumps. "Oh yeah? Then why the fuck are you still here?"
"Because you need a lift back to Greece, dumbass? But I'm not taking you anywhere when you're like this."
"Good – 'cause I ain't going anywhere."
"Fine, then I'll go myself."
He closed his eyes, threw his head back and filled his lungs with a hit of the newly lit cigarette. The images flashed in front of his eyes; of her, her at that damn tomb, her eyes—
"No. Take me with you." Blindly, he put out the freshly lit cigarette somewhere on the table to his right; it wasn't a great idea to smoke now.
"Not until you promise to act civil."
"Civil… she made me so fucking civil that I'm losing my godhood," he sneered. "What the hell you staring at?" he asked when she sat by his side, eyeing his neck with a frown.
"You really are an idiot, Ar – if you were going to go to her with another woman's perfume and lipstick all over you."
He said nothing; this couldn't be debated; this time, his dumb little sis might have been right. He was an idiot.
And he was going to be sick.
"This is not funny, Ar…"
He coughed, wiping his mouth, and fell back on the recliner. "Guess what – it doesn't feel good, either."
It got quite blurry from then on. His lids got so heavy, and there was warmth coating him, until finally, he didn't hear that annoying voice anymore.
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