"Where are you going?" Phoebus asks, eyeing my black halter top and scandalously short red skirt with a look that I haven't seen in years. His gaze sends warm waves through my body, and I'm glad that reading feelings is not one of his abilities.
I swear he has to be doing other things, but every time I see him, he's splayed out on the couch with a hand on his abs and his wings unfurled.
"A party. Levi's picking me up soon. Your dinner is on the countertop, by the way."
"Why are you going to a party?"
Because I really need a distraction from the fact that you're so tantalizingly close and even if by some freak miracle, if you did feel a fraction of the feelings I feel for you, we could never bridge the distance between us.
"I am a college student. I am going to go to parties. Plus, I could really use a break from studying. There's a knot forming in my back."
His eyes betray concern, but he nods anyway. "I can look at your back later if you want."
I try not to flush at the idea of his fingers making contact with my bare skin, and I know that I'll never take him up on his offer. My phone screen lights up and my expression lights up with it. He's here and I can finally escaped the blue eyed angel that's been taking over my home and my thoughts.
"Stay safe," he calls after me and I resist the urge to scoff. How could I not be safe?
I think college parties are portrayed rather unrealistically with their level of booze and drugs.
In fact, the amount of drugs and drinks at a real college party are many times greater than how they are portrayed.
By the way drugs are so easily available, you would think they were cheap. And maybe to some of these trust fund babies, they are.
I've never wanted to feel numb before. I've always embraced feelings, even abandonment, resentment, and heartbreak, because, as Phoebus puts it, it's apart of the magic of being mortal.
But tonight, I'm tired of feeling mortal. I'm tired of feeling unwanted, alone, and every other emotion that surges through me whenever I look into the mirror. I'm tired of always falling and never flying.
The air, sticky from all the body heat and charged with the energy of college students with everything to lose, presses in on me like it could crush me if I'm not careful. It's not a comforting warmth like Phoebus's - it's intoxicating and suffocating at the same time.
Sweaty bodies brush past me, but Levi keeps a guiding hand on my back. He's back back in his home element, laughing and generally enjoying himself as he refuses drinks because he needs to drive us back to his place later and I sure as hell can't do it.
But despite how it sends waves of pleasure through my body, I can't help but think about how it feels wrong. Like trying to fit together two puzzle pieces that almost fit but don't truly.
I never drink alcohol and I never will, but I can't help but wonder if it's less harmful and less addictive than some of the things being offered to me.
A boy with a leering face offers something long to me, and I reach out my hand to take it when Levi grips my wrist in his fingers, stopping me.
"That's heroin," he says darkly. "You take one dose of that stuff and you are never getting off."
Why do you even care? I want to ask. I oblige when he pulls me to dance, and I savor the way his muscles feel pressed against my supple body.
The last thing I remember is Levi being pulled off by some of his friends and me wandering off into the sea of sweaty bodies.
I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing and the sensation of sheets pressing against my bare body. It's a familiar sensation but it always reminds me of that fateful morning. I roll over and my screens tells me it's Sunday.
Wasn't the party on Friday night? I think groggily, not bothering to even read the name of the caller as my head thuds back into the pillow.
The sheets smell of a musky cologne, which means I'm in Levi's bed. That's good. It means I didn't fuck up and sleep with him again.
Memories of last night slowly drift back to me - Levi's fingers slipping inside me, the rough pad of Levi's thumb brushing my most sensitive regions, the way I called his name as my body convulsed in pleasure. But I don't remember what happened the night before.
Every time I wake up naked, I'm transported back to that morning almost four years ago.
I don't remember how Phoebus and I ended up in bed together. What I do remember is the sinking feeling of waking up the next morning and looking at his sleeping form and realize that, despite the improbability, I loved him.
And I knew how stupid it was. How he could never love me back, because immortals don't love mortals. They use mortals to destroy other mortals, and they lust after mortals, but they never love mortals. Because how could they?
How could you love something that would never be as perfect as you or your peers?
So I left without telling him. Without even a note. Hopped on a bus and started a new life in LA, enrolled in a college that would adequately prepare me for medical school.
"What that fuck happened to me?" I say as Levi enters the room with a half concerned, half amused expression on his face.
"Well," he says, tossing me one of his university sweaters and a pair of yoga pants from the last time I stayed over. "You ran off at the party and decided to take some LSD. I then locked you into my room because I've seen what that shit does to people and then you were fine by the afternoon. But neither of us wanted to waste the opportunity so I think that you can piece the rest together."
He sounds so cavalier about it all, and to be fair, it's probably a familiar situation for him. I almost laugh at his lighthearted tone.
I locate my panties but am far too exhausted to bother hooking on a bra, so I just pull his sweater over my bare chest. It smells like him and it dwarfs me. I don't take several breaths just to take his scent in like I did in Phoebus's car.
The memories come rushing back in a dizzying headache. "Why would anybody ever take acid? That was one of the worst experiences of my life," I groan, refusing his outstretched hand and getting up myself. "Can you drive me back to my apartment?"
"Of course."
I know he wants to ask what the LSD did, but I don't want to relieve the experience. I suppose people enjoy some of the flashbacks, but all it did was make me relive some of my worst memories.
Greysia(I refused to call that bitch my stepmother) telling me my father was dead, leaving Phoebus, Greysia screaming at me to get out of the house because everything was my fault.
I'm exhausted, but I can't catch a wink of sleep in the ride back to my apartment. Instead, I clutch the armrest so hard that I think I might have left permanent marks in the leather.
"Do you need me to walk you up?"
"I'm fine," I reassure him. "Thanks for taking care of me."
I walk up stairs and slowly turn the key into the knob, unsure if I want to see what's inside.
Oh, who am I kidding, of course I want to see Phoebus.
He's pacing around with a taut expression on his face and lets out a huge sigh of relief when he sees me. He takes several steps toward me but stops before he's too close.
"Where have you been, El? Have you been drinking?" he says. His eyes are oddly frantic as they rove over my attire and the exhausted expression on my face. His eyebrows knit with worry and I have to resist the urge to reach out and smooth it away with my fingers.
Brushing past him, I collapse facedown on the couch so I don't have to see his light or the concerned expression on his face, the closest thing to love that he will ever have for me. I hear at least two cracks as I lie down, reminders that I really need to go to the chiropractor's soon.
"I don't drink alcohol, remember? I've been recovering from an acid trip," I mumble, hoping speaking into the couch will muffle my voice.
"What the fuck El? Why the fuck were you taking acid?"
Because I want to know what it feels like to be weightless. Because I want to know what it feels like to have control over my own life. But mostly, to forget you.
I almost laugh. I'm far too lethargic to use any of my usual colorful language, and here he is, swearing like I do when I have the energy.
"I can't overdose on acid and I can't get addicted to it, so why do you even care?"
"Because that shit is dangerous, El. You could've done something stupid like jumped out of a window or you could've been fucking taken advantage of. And what the fuck was your boyfriend doing in all this?"
"Watching to make sure none of those things you said happened, for one."
I hear a sigh of resignation. "Oh, El," he murmurs, and my heart skips a few beats at the way my name sounds on his lips and his proximity as he sits on the carpet so he's next to me.
My body aches with a fierce want for him to gather me into his arms and whisper in my ear that everything will be okay. And maybe he is doing the mindfuck thing because that's exactly what he does, pulling me off the couch and into his waiting arms.
I dissolve against his touch, losing a mind of my own when he wraps his strong arms around my waist like he actually cares and I'm not just some toy to be kept happy. I'm painfully aware that I'm not wearing anything under my sweater as I feel his warmth spread through my body.
Later, I will surely hate myself in my guilt and ask myself why I'm such a shitty and weak person, but for now, I just lean into his touch and savor the sound of us breathing in sync.
But the moment is ruined when there's a knock at the door and he disappears into the sunlight, leaving me to wonder who it could possibly be this time.
a/n: as always, thank you for reading. i know drugs are a sensitive issue, but I tried to portray acid and heroin as a terrible choice through the actions and dialogue of Levi, Phoebus, and Adeline. and what levi said is somewhat true - heroin is one of the most addictive drugs out there as well as extremely destructive, which makes those recovering from its addiction all the more commendable.