"Fuck fuck fuck oh my God fuck fuck fuck."
"This isn't your first time. I don't understand why you're so squeamish about this. This is only round one."
"Good fucking God, don't do that!"
I blink back the tears in my eyes as Jenna finally gives me a reprieve and says, "You should see some of the white boys. They can't even handle a little pain."
I look at the cushioned bench that she's put me on and wonder how many others have suffered like me on this very bench. The smell of incense is the only thing that relaxes me slightly and I resist the urge to just run out of this chiropractor's appointment.
"I'm not white or a boy and I can't handle getting a rock pressed into my back," I say in response to the somewhat racist comment.
She snorts. "You should see Matthew Johnson. I've never heard a boy scream so loud. Get ready. We're starting again"
"Like the NBA player?" I ask as I grit my teeth from the feeling that she's picking apart the muscles in my back. She started with her knuckles, but deeming the knots on my back too stiff for that, she brought out the rock. Jenna's skill is unparalleled - her treatments have made sprained ankles go away - but she doesn't stop for anything.
I honestly don't know what brought me back here after so long. Maybe it's because, deep down, I feel like I deserve the pain.
I deserve it for being too weak to bite the bullet and tell Phoebus to leave even when it's obvious that I should.
"Yes, that one. He's almost as bad as you." She shows no mercy after I cry out in pain. I don't know how Jenna always knows where to push it in so that it hurts the most. It's some kind of gift. Maybe she's secretly the goddess of pain.
"Have you - Jesus - every thought of nice - Christ - relaxing massages?"
"Good heavens, no. I went into this field because I wanted to make people suffer. By the way, your stepmother dropped by. She wanted to know where you are."
What could she possibly want? To remind me that I'm an ungrateful waste of space and that I don't thank her enough for the fact that she's given me food and a bed?
"I hope you - ah - didn't tell her," I say, gasping in pain midway through my remark. At least I can blame the tears leaking from my eyes on the rock pressing into my back.
She laughs and I don't know whether it's from my words or the groans of pain I'm making. "Of course. I told her to," and here, she says something in Indonesian whose meaning can probably be inferred. "I didn't want to lose your business."
My body twists in pain after a particularly hard push and I'm unable to gasp out a snarky reply.
"I think we should stop for the day. Any more, and I think you might pass out. But don't forget to come back next week. We need to realign your spine. And you need to correct your posture."
I nod, knowing that my sitting posture is probably never going to change. It's far too ingrained in me.
I used to have great posture. But then Greysia started to scream at me to straighten up and that's when I started to slump. It was a small act of defiance, but it enraged her enough to bring me a little satisfaction.
"And Adeline?" she says to me just as I turn to leave. "Try to smile more. You look much less tortured when you smile."
Ironic, considering what she's been doing to be for the past hour.
"You need to be happy to smile," I point out.
"Then find ways to be happy."
Jenna's office is fairly close to my apartment, but as I wonder through the suffocating Los Angeles heat, I wonder if it might have been a better idea to just take the bus instead of navigating the busy streets.
The university town is bustling with life, from the graffiti on the walls of the back alleys to the people gathered in crowds to watch a street performer dance for pocket change. I wonder why I can't be apart of this teeming activity until it occurs to me that I am.
For once, I just walk whatever way I want to, and if that means away from the apartment and away from Phoebus, then so be it.
When did I get this independent? I wonder as I think back to all the nights it felt like I couldn't breathe because I missed him so much.
So I just put one foot in front of the other and walk. I notice things I've never noticed before. The streetlamps are curved rather than straight, there's a chocolate shop on fifth avenue that looks like it has Nutella ice cream, people smile at you if you look at them.
A black Lamborghini pulls up next to me and the window rolls down to reveal a familiar Wall Street investor.
"It's time to catch up, wouldn't you say so, sweetheart?" he asks, a smirk playing across his lips. I shrug, too weak to say no, and hop into the passenger seat.
I immediately regret it.
I try not to scream as I clamber into his car and he shoots off, making sharp turn after sharp turn. Phoebus drives cautiously because he knows, Levi drove relatively safely because I think he at least suspected, but the driver clearly doesn't share their need for safety.
He takes me to an upscale Italian restaurant, just like last time we met.
"You better be paying," I say as I get out of the car, making sure to slam the door as hard as possible.
Everything about him is sharp angles, from his jawline to his cheekbones to his muscular frame and there's a faint trace of stubble along his jaw.
"Of course."
We're led to cushioned, velvet seats that probably cost more than a month's rent. He orders some steak and I order alfredo like I always do when we have these stupid meet ups.
"What do you want to know this time, Hades?"
"How's Lover Boy doing?" he asks. As far as deities go, Hades is my favorite after Phoebus, mostly because he helped me talk to my father but partially because of his occasionally funny sarcastic streak.
Confusion laces my voice. "Who?"
"Because there are so many gods you interact with on a daily basis, right?"
I flush when I realize that he means Phoebus. "I...we're not...we're not anywhere close to lovers."
"Pity. That boy is thicker than the tars of the deepest pits of Tartarus." The humor of one immortal god calling another boy is not lost on me.
I smile and thank the waitress as she brings me my food. "Are you going to tell me to convince him to join the Olympian Circle? Because I won't, and I don't know why all you gods seem to think that I even could."
Here, he laughs like I've said something absolutely hysterical. "Yes, I am definitely going to convince Apollo to restore the gods back to their former glory so I can be locked in hell again. But really, has Lover Boy ever not done something you asked him to?"
I consider this for a moment. True, he's always done what I asked of him, but I've only really asked him to do mundane tasks like take out the trash or picking up the phone. A complete reset on the world is completely different.
As if he can read my thoughts, Hades says, "Give it up, sweetheart. Lover Boy is smitten."
"You really couldn't be farther from the truth. Besides, why the fuck would he care about me when he could have Aphrodite or Calypso? I think you're just being a petty little shit because you're still mad at him for telling Demeter that you stole Persephone."
"It's true. I don't like him, which is why I enjoy watching him screw himself over so much. You know, the only reason I allowed you to talk to your father was so that I could watch the expression on his face as you sliced your forearm open for blood sacrifice."
I would be upset if my toy sliced itself open too.
"Nice to know you have my best interests at heart," I remark dryly. "But he really doesn't care for me in that way. He told me so himself."
I start to wonder if Hades knows any expression besides smirking. "And what if he knew of our meeting? Would he be jealous?"
I take a moment to consider this, taking a sip of water as Hades enjoys his expensive wine. "Well, I suppose, but that's because he'd be worried that I've been gone for too long and you're a total shitbag, not because... why are you so interested in my nonexistent love life? Don't you have better things to do, like fuck over people's credit scores?"
"But fucking over your lives is much more interesting, wouldn't you say?"
I glare at his glittering black eyes. "Phoebus has already done that."
"Sweetheart, have you ever tried telling him that you're irrevocably in love with him?"
The pasta in my mouth turn bitter and I swallow painfully. "So he can laugh at how stupid I am for falling in love with a god and then leave for good? Fat fucking chance."
"Yes, because Apollo has really stomped on your feelings every chance he's got, hasn't he? We both know that he cares enough about you to let you off in the gentlest way possible, if he even lets you down."
I glance up at the ceiling so I don't have to meet his gaze. The sunlight refracts off the crystal chandelier to reflect little dancing stars over the walls, reminding me that I'll never really be able to get away from Phoebus's light.
"He's let me down a lot of times," I say, even though I can't recall a time when he did.
"Sure, sweetheart. And the sky is pink."
I trudge up the stairs to my apartment. To my regret, I have to start being Adeline, with all of her worlds of guilt.
I hear voices talking in my apartment, one of them distinctively feminine and the other one Phoebus.
He let somebody in my apartment?
I swallow my bitter annoyance. He's allowed to hook up with whoever he wants, but I just wish that he wouldn't do it in my apartment.
You're being a doormat.
Realizing that my inner train of thought is right, I exercise my right to enter my own apartment and stick the key viciously into the keyhole and turn it.
But the sight that greets me shocks me.