“Why not?”
“Because…” Because why? Because I’m terrified of how I’ll feel? Because I’ll get too attached? Because I might enjoy myself too much and I’ve been feeling like a martyr this whole time? Saint Elsie the self-sacrificing? And if I take pleasure in this world and my partner, I’m no longer the martyr and that scares me?
What the fuck does that say aboutme? That it’s easier to be a martyr than to be happy?
I get to my feet, thoughts racing. “I need to think.”
“Of course you do. You like to overthink everything, Elsie.” He rolls back on the bed and puts his hands behind his head. “I’ll be here. In bed. Waiting.”
I know I’m retreating, but I race back out of the monastery and into the fresh air, sucking in deep breaths. I feel the desperate need to move about, to do something to distract myself, so I climb the fence, heading into the open pasture with the goats. Dingle is there and races to my side, butting myleg and trying to chew on my skirts. Finding a grassy spot, I sit with him and scratch his sides and his neck while he chews on my braid.
And I think. And think.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Do I not know how to be happy? To do something for myself? Because as much as I want to grab Kalos and jump him and into that bed with him, an equally large part of me feels wrong about it. My head is fucked, and I know it’s because I’ve self-sacrificed for so long that I’ve made it my entire personality. When David got sick, I immediately jumped into action, abandoning my college classes and taking as many jobs as I could handle so I could pay the bills for both of us. I cleaned up after him, handled the bills, drove him to his appointments, and forgot all about myself, because David needed me more.
Now that I’m here in this world, am I not doing the exact same thing? Putting aside my own needs and wants to be the perfect assistant that Kalos needs? A romantic entanglement would be a mess. It would change things between us. It could end in heartbreak, because he’s a god and he doesn’t think the same as I do.
Or it could be utterly glorious. It could be mind-blowing and fill whatever time I have here with incredible joy and pleasure each day.
And that might be even scarier. It’s like I’m afraid to be happy now. It won’t last.
I play with Dingle’s ears, stroking the soft fur until he gets bored and races off to play with the other goats. The wind rustles the tall grasses, rippling my skirts and pulling at my hair, and I gaze up at the sky. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the weather is just the right temperature, and no one is sick. There are no bills to pay. No monotonous day jobs to grind away at for eight hours before changing clothes andheading to the next shift. There’s a handsome man waiting in bed to “nibble on all my pretty parts.”
Maybe that’s the bit that terrifies me. That if I’m not caretaking, I might not be enough to keep him interested.
Groaning, I bury my face in my hands. “Elsie, you reallydooverthink everything.”
I stay out in the field for a while longer, toying with blades of grass and letting my emotions roll over me like a storm. I’m scared and worried and ashamed of how I’ve acted. I want to take what Kalos is offering, and I’m terrified of the changes it’ll mean for us.
I’m afraid of happiness because it might be entirely too fleeting.
When the sun gets high, guilt arrives. I should be helping Omos with the chores or working to convince Kalos to help the villagers. I could be cleaning. Doing laundry. Cooking. There are a million things that need to be done every day, and sitting in a field of goats and moping doesn’t help the situation. Plus, I now smell like goats, and the stink is getting to me. I get to my feet and brush my skirts off, then pick a purple flower close by that the goats haven’t yet eaten. It smells nice, and I tuck it behind my ear, heading back toward the monastery.
Omos is in the shade of a nearby tree, churning away at making butter. I veer toward him, duty calling, but he waves me away. “I’ve got this handled.”
“I don’t mind helping.” I approach, eyeing the covered buckets of milk he still needs to churn.
“Nonsense. Go entertain that god of yours. I enjoy the butter churning. It lets me think.” Omos gives me a cheery smile and churns even harder, liquid splashing up against the lid of the churn.
Either I’m terrible at butter making and Omos is too polite to point it out, or he just wants to avoid being inside and alonewith an oversexualized Kalos. “Right. I’ll just head inside, then.”
I fill a bucket of water at the well, determined to wash and get rid of my goat-y smell, and carry it inside. Kalos hasn’t left the bed and rolls over as I open the door, smiling at me. “Well, well. Look what the Fates dragged in.”
“Oh hush.” I fill a pitcher with the fresh water and leave the bucket by the cooking area. I remove my shoes and leave them by the door. “I smell like goat and I’m going to clean up a bit. Do you want to wash up, too?”
“Are you volunteering? If so, the answer is yes, I would love for you to wash me.”
I snort, but I can’t resist a smile at the hope in his voice. “Nice try.”
Moving to the washbasin, I pour a bit of the water into the bowl and soap a hand-towel. It’s not a full-blown bath, but I’ve learned that those things are a bit rarer to come by in this world, especially when one must lug buckets of water and heat them, and must figure out what to do with the dirty water after the fact. A quick wash-up will do for now. Rolling up my sleeves, I wash my arms with quick strokes and do my face and neck, and my cleavage. I bend over and hitch my skirts up to do my legs and bare feet, and when I straighten, Kalos is watching me with an intense look on his face that makes me blush.
He’s making it very, very clear how he feels. I wonder how long this will go on. Omos has mentioned in hushed conversations between us that sometimes the gods are affected only for a short while, and sometimes they’re changed forever. I try to recall if there was ever a time Kalos wasmoreof a jerk than usual and conclude that perhaps arrogance has stuck around the entire time. Does that mean I’m going to have horny, arrogant and apathetic Kalos for the rest of the time here?
If so, good lord.
I put my shoes back on and pour the dirty water outside. When I return, Kalos is still in bed, his tousled silver hair falling across his forehead. I gesture at the large ceramic washbasin. “You want me to pour you some water so you can wash up, too?”
