Page 18 of Siren Song

I snort. Damian works as a bartender at a swanky hotel in downtown Soledad. “It’s not my fault you can’t resist the call of the ViperVenom.”

“Fuck you,” he retorts. On the screen, our minotaurs work together, Damian taking the close combat while I use a bazooka to try to take out the spider. “So how is the Clash?”

“Fine.”

“You’re full of shit, little bro. Tell me the truth.”

I stick out my tongue, forgetting for a moment he can’t see me. I’m so used to winding down like this at the end of the day, sitting with Damian on the other end of the couch and bickering about the AC temperature or who ate the last popsicle from the freezer.

“I don’t know,” I finally admit. “I’m swimming like shit.”

“Why”

“I’m in my head.” I pause as I reload my weapon. The spider’s health bar sits at twenty-percent…shit, we’ve almost got it. “And Javier stands there being all supportive and soft and it makes me feel weird and twitchy.”

Damian’s laugh is loud in my ears. “Oh, my dear little brother, you are so fucked in the head.”

“What are you—”

“‘He’s nice and supportive and gentle.’ Sounds like a nightmare.”

“You’re an asshole,” I mutter, even as I grin. “I just need to get my shit together and then I’ll be fine.”

There’s an explosion on screen, and when the dust clears, the spider is unmoving on the ground. “I’ve always wanted to try that.” Damian’s minotaur waves his hands in the air in an awkward victory dance. “But seriously, Aleks. You’re under a lot of pressure. Relax a little, and trust you deserve to be there.” I hear a loud yawn. “And think about listening to the really hot nice man who is trying to help you.”

“Go to bed,” I say, rather than acknowledging the perfectly reasonable advice.

“Love you, brat,” he says as the game pauses.

“Love you too, asshole.”

There’s no point in playing without him, so I toss the controller and headset aside. Beside me on the couch, the three boiled chicken breasts and pasta I picked up from the dining hall for dinner have long gone cold.

Grabbing a cigarette and fishing the lighter from my back pocket, I go out on the back porch. I light up, pull out my phone, and open my notifications.

Oh, wonderful. My mother is giving interviews about me now.

I shouldn’t look. I know what I’m going to find. It doesn’t matter that I have had no expectations of my mother since she kicked me out of the only place I’d ever known. Even then, in spite of it all, her words hurt the most.

“It is unfortunate my colleagues in the IASA came to this decision regarding the Clash of Creatures participation of the siren called Aleks Parthenope. It is a stain upon the long history of siren kind and our role in the creation of this sport to have someone like this competing. It is one thing to have other species tolerate such things, but I refuse to accept this from one of my own kind.”

Five minutes later, bitter, angry tears are falling down my face. My teeth ache from how hard I’m clenching my jaw, but I need to get out, to get out of my head. I throw my barely eaten food away, and change my clothes quickly. Methodically.

Staring at my face in the mirror, I wipe at my wet cheeks. She doesn’t know you, I silently remind my reflection. Her fucking loss.

I spray cologne on my wrists, and adjust my packer so it’s sitting where I want it to.

Time to go find someone to fuck the pain away. But that’s not going to be enough. Not tonight, not with how twisted up my insides feel, like tangled Christmas lights. Tonight, I need to hand myself over to someone who will treat me like I matter. Who I can trust, even for a night, to take care of me.

It’s not hard to find a party.

The dormitory where the flower fae athletes are staying is up on high stilts at the edge of a garden, and each room opens to a wood-planked patio extending the length of the building. One of the many curving streams that allow water-beings to move through the village borders the patio, and I can see the silhouettes of merpeople and undines lingering at the edge of the party. The flower fae have set up lights, house music plays from a speaker, and the dance floor is already crowded.

It’s exactly what I was hoping for.

I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here. I should be focused on the qualifying round in six days, and why I’m swimming like shit. I should be watching film of my practice, picking each motion apart with the purpose of fixing everything that is going wrong.

None of that matters right now. Tonight, I’m not thinking about the Clash or my mother or why, ever since Javier showed up at my front door I’ve felt off, like a space in my chest that used to be full is now vacant and hollow.