There was a point in my life when I’d been convinced it was real, before a legion of specialists and a truckload of medication tethered me back to the real world. Diana had tried to take it away from me once, and my reaction had been the only moment of violence I’d ever exhibited in my life. I’d tried to claw her face and screamed like a banshee until she gave it back.
I’d been six at the time.
In the story, Hades stole young girls away because he had grown lonely as the only living thing in a land of the dead. It was published in like the 1800s, so the writing was spare, but the sexual innuendo of it always grabbed me.
The girls had to go willingly, or he couldn’t take them in the first place. And he seduced them slowly once they were trapped inside his castle, wooing them with wine and treasures until they succumbed.
And submitted.
My play maintained a faithful adaptation of Hades from this story, but I took plenty of liberties to make things more interesting. In my version, the girl went through a hero’s journey to gain the strength to resist Hades, even as she fell deeper in love with him.
In the end, she had to decide between wasting away into death as his prize or escaping back to the real world and watching the realm she had come to love descend into darkness and cease to exist.
As I turned the page, Diana’s voice nagged at me.
“These are books for children, not a grown woman. When are you going to grow up and focus on what’s real?”
Diana wasn’t a fan of my decision to pursue a program in the arts. She was okay with the college thing because it served as a distraction from something worse, but I was sure she hoped I’d focus on an M.R.S. and drop out eventually to have babies.
She seemed to think that all it would take to make me normal again was good dick.
Before I could sink further into the realm of imagination, loud banging rattled the door. Without waiting for an acknowledgment, Cleo burst into the room.
“It looks like the guy from Memento went on an acid trip in here,” she declared, eyeing with disdain a poster-size painting on the wall of a raven with dozens of eyes. “Diana just called and asked me what your plans are for tonight.”
I sat the well-worn book down on the nightstand, careful not to tear any of the fragile pages. “What did you tell her?”
Cleo smirked. “That you’re wallowing in your room and doing your best impression of a total social reject, like always.”
That nearly made me choke on my own spit. Diana would ride in here like a Valkyrie. “Seriously?”
“Of course not. What do you take me for?” She tossed a fall of golden-blonde hair over her shoulder. “I told her you were coming out for drinks at the Taphouse.”
My eyes rolled so hard they nearly fell out of my head. “You couldn’t tell her that I’m studying?”
“We’re theater majors, what is there to study?” she asked with a laugh. Holding out her hand, she inspected her set of perfectly manicured coffin nails painted an electrifying pink. “And now you have to come because you know Diana is going to track the location of your phone.”
“Or you could take my phone with you to the bar because it’s not like anybody calls me anyway.”
Cleo’s hands slid down the skintight bodycon dress she must have poured herself into while I was reading. “I totally would, but unfortunately, this dress doesn’t have any pockets.”
“Of course it doesn’t. And who carries a purse these days?”
Obviously treating the question as rhetorical, she raised her own phone and waggled it at me. “Oh, I almost forgot. I texted Adonis to see if he’s free. He’s already in a cab headed downtown, so if you don’t come, then I guess I’ll have him all to myself.”
My legs were already swinging over the side of the bed. “I hate you.”
She clapped her hands together before spinning back to the main room, heels clacking on the hardwood. “Be ready in ten, babes.”
It was impossible to tell if Cleo was actually interested in Adonis, or just using whatever means to manipulate me that were at her disposal. Access to a luxury apartment and the money Diana pays her on top of it were all predicated on her ability to keep me from becoming a total hermit, per Diana’s exacting instructions.
This situation was orchestrated with the skill of a mastermind. If I went out with her for drinks, then it kept Diana happy without Cleo needing to work too hard. And if I said no, she got to monopolize Adonis’s attention for the entire night. Either way, she won.
I told myself that Adonis wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole, but that was just to make myself feel better. Not only was Cleo gorgeous, but she had absolutely no shame in capitalizing on it. She could have almost any guy at this school eating out of the palm of her hand if she wanted.
Briefly, I considered putting on the track pants that I wore to bed the night before, just to get under Cleo’s skin. But the last thing I needed was for someone to snap a photo that could get back to Diana. If she saw me out in public looking like a hobo, I’d end up committed again.
I kicked off my clothes and chose a simple shift dress from the closet. I was pretty sure Diana had picked it out because the dress had that virginal look she liked while still hugging every curve.
My hand rubbed up my calf to check for stubble, but my legs felt smooth enough even though it had been over a week since I last shaved. My body hair grew so slowly that most people didn’t notice how little effort I put into personal grooming.
When I turned toward the door, I caught a reflection of my face in the mirror. My dark hair was wild and full of untamed curls that cascaded over my shoulders. It always managed to look like I just stepped out of a wind tunnel.
As dark as my hair was, it made a stark contrast with the paleness of my skin and nearly colorless gray of my eyes. I looked a little bit like Snow White if that apple had killed her instead of just putting her to sleep.
Sometimes, I imagined that I didn’t look like anything at all. Like I was a wraith drifting through the world without anything as physical as a body tethering me to the earth.
Diana would say that I need blush and some decent mascara.
For a moment, a different reflection flashed across the mirror. Another girl who wore my face but I knew couldn’t be me. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in perfect curls as the lace dress floated around her body. Our gazes met, and a stab of premonition shot through me.
When I blinked, the vision was gone.
I grabbed the bottle off the nightstand and swallowed my evening dose dry with the ease of long practice. The voices I used to hear had been gone for years, but every so often, I would see something that could only be called a hallucination. Medication kept the worst of it at bay, but not entirely.
Cleo cast a long-suffering look over me as I marched into the living room, but kept her mouth shut. At least I was wearing a dress, even if it was more Sunday school than clubwear. She’d learned her lesson about commenting on my wardrobe.
At the first snarky comment, I would go back into my room and change into something even worse, like pull dirty clothes out of the hamper or throw on a paint-splattered art smock. She had to be seen with me, so if she played with fire, we were both getting burned.
I couldn’t care less what I looked like most of the time, so making Cleo suffer was the icing on the shit cake of being forced to go out in the first place.