"Hi, I'm Ayla."
"Hi, Ayla." Six voices spoke in unison.
I was sitting in a circle, in the basement of the civic hall, on a Thursday.
Yes, I was at the Thursday group. The one I swore I would never set foot in. The one for people who were attracted to monsters, which I was not. I was here for different reasons. Legitimate reasons. Psychic damage-related reasons that had nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with the fact that a demon queen had somehow pulled my deepest sexual fantasies out of my brain.
That was why I came. Nothing else.
The room was small and stuffy, the folding chairs arranged in a circle. In the back, a table held tea and biscuits that someone had brought from home. Motivational posters decorated the walls: "LOVE DOESN'T COUNT LEGS," with an illustration of a human holding hands with something that had too many of them; "YOUR HEART ISN'T SPECIES-LOCKED" in yellow lettering; and "IT'S OKAY" in large font, covering a lot of ground without committing to anything.
Niall, the facilitator, sat opposite me. He carried a clipboard that he didn't seem to want to use.
"Welcome, Ayla," he greeted. "We're glad you're here. Feel free to share what brought you in today. No pressure."
"I'm good."
"Totally fine. We'll come back to you. Cairde, you want to start us off?"
Cairde beamed. He was round and rosy-cheeked, sitting on the edge of his chair. Under it, there was a painting. I could see the edge.
"So Rowan and I had the most wonderful week," he said. "The new roots are coming in beautifully. The soil pH was a little off in March but we adjusted it with some limestone and she's been so much happier since. Little Fern is starting to bud. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my entire life." His eyes glistened. “Do you guys want to see?”
He pulled out a watercolor of a tree with sunlight shining through its leaves. He held it up for the group to admire.
"That's her," he said, his voice breaking. "That's my girl."
"Beautiful, Cairde," said Niall. "Thank you for sharing. Neasa, how are you doing this week?"
Neasa was small and pale. Her eyes were ringed with dark circles. She was holding a tissue that was already damp.
"I saw her," Neasa said, her voice shaking. "At the market. She was there. They were shopping for produce. Just like a couple. Buying strawberries. She used to buy strawberries with me.”
Her lower lip quivered.
“I was standing behind a cart of cabbages trying not to cry, but I could feel it coming, all the stuff I've been repressing from being away from her for so long. I had to shove an entire cabbage in my mouth and walk away because I was about to shatter every window in the market."
"That sounds really hard, Neasa," Niall said.
"The strawberries were the same kind we used to buy.” She started loudly sobbing into the tissue.
I felt bad for her. I did. But I also felt the urgent need to establish, even if only internally, that I was not in the same category as a woman who was crying about strawberries.
"Séimh?"
Séimh was sitting two chairs to my left. Late forties. He had a flask in his hand that he wasn't hiding and hadn’t put away since he sat down. Niall didn't even glance at it.
"Twelve years," Séimh said as he took a sip. "Twelve years I gave that woman. Best years of my life. Worst years of my life. She drained me in every way you can drain a person. Emotionally, financially, spiritually, and —." He glanced at the room. "—You know. The other way. That's what women like her do. I knew what I was getting into and now I'm sitting here talking about it, so."
He took another sip.
"I miss her every day."
“Thank you for sharing, Séimh," Niall said. "Bess?"
Bess leaned forward. She was big, loud and fifty-ish, with cropped gray hair.
"So I ran into my ex last week. Sweetest man I ever dated. Could crack a walnut with his pinky. We ran into each other at the butcher's and he gave me this look—you know the look, right, the one where they—"
"Bess."
"I'm just saying, if he'd asked me to get back together right there in front of the pork chops, I would have said yes. No hesitation. The centaur was fun. The djinn was an experience. But the orc—." She placed her hand on her chest. "—He really understood me."
Greg sat in the corner of the circle, mostly hidden behind a chair that was slightly too big for him. At least, that's what he claimed his name to be. Greg. Last name also Greg. He wore sunglasses inside, and his mustache was obviously stuck on with one end peeling up slightly. He kept pressing it back down. His head was bowed low, and his arms crossed.
"Greg, anything you want to share this week?" Niall asked.
"I'm here for research."
"Of course."
"Academic purposes. I'm studying interspecies social dynamics. I'm writing a paper."
"You've been writing that paper for a year, Greg," Bess said.
"It's a long paper." He pressed down on his mustache. It immediately popped back up. "I don't have a thing for manticores."
"Nobody said you did," Niall said gently.
Greg's sunglasses had fogged slightly due to the heat of his own face. He pressed the mustache down again and said nothing further.
"Ayla."
I looked up, and Niall was watching me.
"You sure you don't want to share? Anything at all. This is a safe space."
"I appreciate that, but I don't really belong here." I folded my arms. "No offense to anyone. Your stories are... valid. But my situation is different."
"How so?"
"I'm not attracted to a monster. I'm fighting one. The reason I'm here is because she has psychic abilities that have been messing with my head, and my doctor recommended I talk to people who've prolonged monster exposure. So. It's medical. Not romantic."
"Okay," Niall agreed, nodding thoughtfully.
"It's really not."
"Nobody said it was, Ayla.”
“Yeah, so, I don't have anything to share because there's nothing to share. I fight a monster. It's professional. My doctor said to come here so I'm here. That's it."
There was a long beat of silence. Cairde was looking at me with huge, sympathetic eyes. Neasa had stopped crying and was watching me with red-rimmed eyes before speaking.
"I was just like you," Neasa said. "When I first came here. I sat in that chair and I said the same thing. 'I'm not like these people. I don't have a problem. My situation is different.'" She dabbed at her stuffy nose with the damp tissue. "And it took me three months to admit that I was in love with a banshee who screamed so loud during arguments that my ears bled. Literally bled. Yet, I kept going back."
"It's not exactly the same as —"
"Everyone here knows who you are." Neasa's voice had stopped trembling. "You're the mage. The one from the Gazette. Everyone in this city knows who you are. And everyone in this city thinks you're insane."
"I'm not —"
"You climb a hundred floors every morning. You die every night. And then you do it all over again. Yet, you're sitting in that chair telling us your situation is different?"
"Neasa," Niall said softly. "Let's keep it —"
"She walks in here and looks at us like we're crazy? Like WE'RE the ones with a problem? I cried about strawberries and she dies on a daily basis for a fucking demon! Which one of us is crazy?"
“Now hold on,” Cairde said, lifting a hand. "Let's not use the word crazy, everyone processes differently, and Ayla is clearly going through something even if she isn't ready to —"
"Don't start with me, Cairde. You married a tree."
"Okay," Niall said, both hands up. "Let's take a breath. Everyone. Let's take a breath."
Neasa was shaking.
"You're not different from us," she said. "You can pretend all you want. But you're here, and somewhere inside that thick skull of yours you already know why."
"Thank you, Neasa," Niall said. "That was very honest." He looked at me. "Ayla, I’m sorry for —"
"I don't have a thing for the demon queen."
"Okay."
"I DON'T. I'm here for medical reasons."
"Of course."
Séimh took a long sip from his flask. "That's what I said too. Twelve years and a succubus later, here I am."
The poster that read “IT'S OKAY” looked at me from the wall.
I didn't think it was okay, but I wasn't going to say that out loud. Not here. Not to these people. Not to a woman who cried about strawberries, or a man who married a tree, or Greg Also-Greg, who definitely had a thing for manticores.
I was nothing like them.
After the meeting, the group milled around the table chatting. The tension from the meeting dissolved.
I found myself standing nearby, apart from the group, sipping on a mug of whatever tea was brewing in the pot.
"Don't drink that."
Séimh appeared next to me, still holding his flask. He nodded towards my cup. "Neasa makes it."
"So?"
"She spits in it."
I looked at Neasa across the room, who was blowing her nose into a fresh tissue. I put the cup down.
"Thanks."
"Mhm."
We stood there in awkward silence for a few seconds.
"She didn't mean it personally," Séimh said. "The stuff she said."
"It felt pretty personal."
"Neasa's been coming here longer than anyone except me. She's earned the right to call people on their shit." He shrugged. "That's kind of the point of this place. You say the ugly thing and nobody leaves."
More silence. Across the room, Cairde showed Bess another painting of Rowan. Bess nodded politely while clearly waiting for her turn to talk about the orc. Greg stood by the door wearing sunglasses. One end of his mustache was fully detached and dangled off his lip. He seemed not to have noticed.
"We're going to get drinks after this," Séimh said. "There's a tavern around the corner. You should come."
"Is that allowed?"
He laughed. "This isn't AA, sweetheart. We can go wherever we want."
"Right. Yeah." I rubbed my arm. "Listen, you're all really nice. And I appreciate the offer, but I'm not going to be coming back. I don't belong here. I just —"
"Sure." He was smiling. "You'll figure it out. Don’t worry.” He gave me a nod and walked towards the door, where the others were gathering. Cairde was holding it open for everyone. Bess was already outside, her voice carrying through the walls as she started a story about the orc.
They made their way out.
I stood in the empty room, folding chairs in a circle, with a poster that said "IT'S OKAY."
They were halfway down the street by the time I stepped out of the door.
"Hey!" I called out.
Séimh turned around.
"You guys got room for one more?"
He smiled. "Always do."
I joined them. Neasa didn't even glance at me, while Cairde stared at me, beaming. Bess immediately started telling me about the orc. Greg walked a little behind everyone.
"I know I sound insane." I was staring at the table. "I know what it sounds like when I say this out loud. I'm not stupid. I know about her powers. I know she's got the psychic stuff and the aura and whatever else so it's probably that. It's probably something wrong with my head.”
Cairde was listening with his whole body, leaning forward, hands clasped. Neasa was sipping her drink and staring at me with her bloodshot eyes. Greg's mustache had finally fallen into his drink, and he was oblivious to it.
"But I feel like I know her."
I spoke, then instinctively wanted to stuff the words back into my mouth.
"I know, I know. The crazy mage thinks she has a connection with the demon queen. I get it. But when I'm in that room with her I just... I know things. She pretends she doesn't like the things I bring her but she keeps all of them. She gets quiet when she's sad because she wants someone to notice. And I don't know how I know any of that. I just do."
"You bring her things?" Bess asked.
"Gifts. Food she likes. Stuff I find." I waved my hand. "It's a trust thing. Strategic."
"Mhm," Séimh said behind his drink.
“The point is... I feel like I know her. That's the part that makes me sound crazy. I don't know how. I just walk in there and she looks at me and all the logic goes out the window. Gone. Because she looks at me like —"
I stopped.
"Like what?" Bess asked.
"Like she knows me too."
The table was silent. Cairde was visibly restraining himself from reaching across the table and hugging me. Bess was bobbing her head in agreement. Greg had pulled his mustache from his drink and was attempting to reattach it.
"And I know I'm probably falling for it." I made an effort to laugh. "That's probably why I'm gonna end up dead for real someday. End up as fertilizer for your wife, Cairde."
"Rowan would be honored," Cairde said, smiling softly at me. "But let's not get there."
"I'm a dumbass. I know it. But knowing I'm a dumbass doesn't stop me. I see her and everything I know gets overruled by everything I feel. And what I feel is —"
I rubbed my face.
"Sometimes I'm not even thinking about why I started going there."
"Oh honey," Bess said.
“God, what’s wrong with me?"
"Nothing's wrong with you," Cairde started.
"Everything is wrong with her," Neasa interjected. “Listen, I don't know your life. I don't know what's going on in that tower or what she does to you up there. But from where I'm sitting, what I'm hearing is a woman who goes back to someone who hurts her every single day and calls it love."
"It's not like —"
"I did the same thing. Every night I walked into that house knowing she'd scream at me and I told myself it was worth it because the quiet moments were beautiful. They weren't worth it. My ears still ring. Every day. I'm not saying what you feel isn't real," Neasa said. "Maybe it is. Maybe you do know her somehow. But real feelings and good decisions aren't the same thing. And right now you're describing a woman who kills you, and you... like it?”
Séimh set down his drink and leaned forward. "Everything you just described... knowing things you shouldn't know, logic going out the window, forgetting why you started—I said that exact stuff about my ex-wife. Word for word. Every person at this table has said some version of it. And the thing nobody tells you is it doesn't matter if the feeling is real or if it's psychic damage or if it's something else entirely. What matters is what you do about it."
"What did you do about it?"
"I stayed for twelve years." He reached for the drink again. "Don't be me."
Bess put a hand on my shoulder. "You're not a dumbass, baby. You're just in over your head. We all were. I once let a kobold move into my house. He reorganized my entire kitchen, everything on the top shelf. I couldn't reach my own plates for six months and I let it happen because he had these little hands and when he held mine I just —." She shook her head. "Point is, we've all been where you are. The part where you stop making sense to yourself."
Greg cleared his throat, and everyone looked at him. His face was flushed.
"I think manticores are beautiful," he said.
"We know, Greg," everyone said.
These were the people I didn't know who seemed less strange than they had three hours ago. A man with a flask and an ex-wife he still kept a portrait of. A woman who ranked her exes and loved every one. A girl whose ears still rang. A man who watered his wife and cried about her new roots. A man who'd finally admitted to the manticore thing.
"Same time next Thursday?" I asked.
Séimh raised his cup. "Same time next Thursday."
I walked home alone. The tower was visible against the dark sky, a black line cutting through the stars. She was up there, a hundred floors above the world, probably not thinking about me.
I thought about the way she'd looked right before she waved me away.
I'd figure it out eventually. Or it would kill me.
Same difference, probably.