It's all in motion, no stoppin' it now
I got nothing to lose and only one way up
I'm burnin' bridges, I destroy the mirage
All visions of collisions, fuckin' bon voyage
Queens of the Stone Age
The morning after came earlier than Themis hoped for. As if an alarm clock had gone off in her head, she opened her eyes at five-thirty sharp to find herself alone in the bed. Her clothes were hastily discarded throughout the room, and she felt sticky and crusty all over. Her crotch in particular was sore as she rolled on her back, it had been a while since she had had that kind of… work out. The hangover was surprisingly mellow; the headache only mildly debilitating, her stomach just moderately sick, and the memories of the night before slightly blacked out. The party was a blur, the good times melded together. But the bad ones were there, clear as day. She was not ready to face Raven.
She got up, fixing her underwear and slowly picking up her clothes from the floor and putting them on. She felt complete as she finished tucking the bottom of her shirt in her jeans. If the black leather of her kutte didn’t stick out against the white room like a sore thumb, she could have even forgotten about it. It felt heavy as she picked it up, her throat being tied in a knot. Tears welled up behind her eyes, but she blinked them away. She put it on, feeling its warmth, its strength. She didn’t deserve it. But she’d earn it, no matter what.
Themis yawned as she prepared herself to leave the room. It should still be dark outside that early in the morning, which would fair nicely for her headache, at least until she got home. She needed a shower, and a change of clothes. But first coffee. And breakfast, and a Tylenol, maybe. But mostly coffee.
She opened the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone to be around that early, but the light at the office was on and a woman was seated at the desk, going over a stack of papers. She was an older brunette in her early forties, but she looked good. She was tall, her figure full with a generous bust that strained against her tank top. Themis had only met her on occasion during her time as a prospect, and she only knew her as Odin’s wife.
“Mrs Hole, good morning,” Themis said as she passed by the office, grabbing her attention.
“My god, Themis!” the woman looked up and smiled. “Look at you. You look amazing!”
“Haha, thank you,” Themis laughed awkwardly. “I guess prison was good for me.”
“There is always a silver lining, huh? Frida told me you’d be crashing here, what are you doing up so early?”
“Oh, I’m just a morning person, I guess,” Themis scratched her head. “Wait, Frida?”
“My wife, of course,” Mrs Hole chuckled. “Who’s currently passed out on our bed. She kept me up so late I thought I’d swing by to take a look at the finances.”
“She did?” Themis said, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, silly me, what am I saying,” Mrs Hole said, smacking her forehead. “Don’t listen to me, I’m just missing sleep. I’d offer you some coffee but I had to quit recently. Acid reflux, you see.”
“I understand, I’ll just make some for myself back home,” Themis said, stifling a yawn.
“You sure you are good? You can crash here more if you’d like.”
“Thank you but no need, I can’t go back to sleep once I’m on my feet. It was nice seeing you, Mrs Hole.”
She started walking, when the older woman called her back with a whistle. “You can just call me Sam, you know. You are not a little girl anymore. And you’ve grown up so nicely,” she said, rolling her vowels and stretching the consonants. There was a hint of suggestion in her voice.
Themis cocked an eyebrow. Was she coming onto her? A married woman that barely knew her? She couldn’t have. Besides, Odin would skin Themis alive if she looked at her wife like that. Or worse. And yet neither the subtle doublespeak in her words nor the suggestive looks could not be mistaken. Trouble in paradise, perhaps. Either way, it was none of her business.
“I understand, Mrs Ho- Sam,” Themis shook her head in the end.
“Good. Well, it was nice seeing you too, Themis,” Sam said, flashing her a smile before returning to her previous engagement.
Themis left the bar stifling more yawns, a bitter taste left in her mouth. She had a long way to go, walking all the way back home, but she had time with everyone else sleeping off hangovers. Plus, she didn’t mind the exercise. Nothing like a couple-mile hike in the morning to tone the buttocks and build the thighs.
The town was the same, give or take, and god, she had missed it. The same old orange street lights, the same run-down, worn-out streets, sans a few cracks she didn’t remember being there, the same quiet around the twilight hours. The town changed those precious few minutes before dawn, when the first rays of sunlight peeked from far east to the horizon. When the black sky lightened up ever so slightly to a smooth navy blue, the town was split between two worlds. That of the night, the deep dark that ate people up and swallowed them whole; that of the light, shielding the world from evil, revealing secrets and shedding light to dark deeds.
At some point she passed by a park, little more than a couple of trees and some square meters of green in the middle of the city. Yet the opening allowed a clear view of the horizon, as the sun slowly rose. Themis remembered that park. Once upon a time, when Artie was still a baby, her father used to take them to play. She had grown up scraping her knees and picking fights in that park. She had kissed her first, and only, boy in that park, with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. As if she had come out with one of those terrible PSAs that were posted everywhere at school, the quintessential bad example that mothers dread their kids will turn into. It wasn’t half bad.
She found a nice, wide staircase leading up to some old apartment building from the eighteen hundreds and took a seat on the bottom step, leaning back and spreading her legs over the empty curb. She looked to the sky, taking in the marvel of the colors and smells of the dawn. It was a new day.
If she had her phone she’d play a song. Her father’s favourite, the one he used to sing to her when she had nightmares and was too scared to go back to sleep. When Artie was breaking down, asking for their mother to come back. She was inconsolable, crying until her throat got scratched, and still silently weeping when she could no longer make noise. The song was the only thing that could calm them down both.
At the sight of the sunrise, Themis felt strangely numb. She was in her twenties, having clawed a life for herself and her sister out of darkness and despair. Yet now, by herself, she felt like a scared little girl more than ever. She didn’t notice when she started humming, memories flooding of the good old times, when things used to be simple. She sang, the lyrics came to her on their own, even though she didn’t speak a lick of Greek outside of her and her sister’s name.
What would the country look like now, she wondered. Her grandparents were communists, ousted from their home by the junta. Trading one hell for another. They died never seeing their home again, never hearing about it and what became of it. Themis was never compelled to check on it herself, in the thick of the internet age. Yet as she sang, as the words took her away, she felt connected. To her mother that she barely remembered. To her grandparents that she never met. A home, a life that was never hers.
“What is it that they call love?” she sang. The lyrics spoke of love, the wonder of it, the beauty. “Laughter, tears, sunshine, rain, our lives’ start and end.” Romantic at heart, yet so sad. The melody was lamentful, closer to an epitaph than a balad. It ripped her heart apart, emotions boiling inside her and threatening to spill. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” she sang the final lyrics, tears rolling down her cheeks as she thought of the loves in her life, of Artie. The strength she gave her, the warmth in her heart.
And the monster Themis had had to become to keep her sister safe.