#worldwarme

            the clicking of heels is inaudible over the sound of the music, vibrating her very core with each throb of the speakers; an exciting notion. no night had ever been the same, perhaps some better than others though if she left with money in her hand, what could she complain about? hazel hues are vicious in their search, she’s not picky per-say though she prefers someone easy on the eyes & upon landing on the male, ( ALONE ) there’s no attempt to fight the smirk growing on ruby lips. movements are swift, eager to claim before anyone else.. there’s a lingering sense of surprise he hadn’t been swamped when first arriving. no wait for approval before she’s taking a seat on the males knees, the smirk in place as head cants slightly; even better up close.

                 ❝ i don’t think i’ve ever seen a man look so grumpy in a strip club, no one doing it for you? ❞

she wants to ease into it;   come up with a joke,  however awkward the attempt might be,  or preface the question with some profound musing.  anything to keep it from sounding loaded,  like she’s trying to get ahead of something,  like she wants to change her oil before the light comes on and cheat fate,  break this silent rule they have that grants them solidarity and plausibility deniability.  but she only knows one speed,  has always crashed instead of crept.    ❛   so you’ve never ... like,  thought about it ?  even when scott ... you never wanted to be like ... that ?   ❜

           “And why would you? Picture it this way?”  

           Hera startles at Harlem’s question, caught off guard by its suddenness and the uncertainty of her own thoughts.  Why did she picture it this way?  And why did she say that in the first place?  She doesn’t have an answer ready, at least not one that she finds suitable for speech.  

          What could Hera possibly say?  That this had been her fantasy?  Her baby laying down on his daddy’s chest, a moment of sweet tenderness drenched in the Sunday afternoon’s fading light.  That Harlem wasn’t Arias’ child was beside the point; Zeus hadn’t taken to fatherhood with half the enthusiasm that his older brother seemed to enjoy, and her husband resisted domesticity at every turn.  

          Where Zeus faltered, his brother took over:  the Rossi family dynamic at its very finest.  Why not have Harlem pick up the slack in his marriage?  His family?  Why would Zeus ever bother doing anything so pedestrian as taking an active interest in his wife and son if he had a brother more than willing to do it for him?  

          Bitterness, hot and heavy on her tongue, chokes her until she catches sight of her brother-in-law running his fingers through her baby’s hair.  Arias stirs softly on his uncle’s chest, then quiets.  

          The smile that dawns across Harlem’s face---it transforms him.  Hera’s breath catches and she can’t help the matching smile that his inspires, something as soft and sweet as the new baby scent that still clings to Arias.  

          “You should be.  That lucky, I mean.  You make an excellent father.”  Hera meets his gaze steadily, unflinching even as something passes between them unsaid.  She is the first to break eye contact, looking at her son with the fierce tenderness of a mother.  Was there anything she would not do for her son?  “Yes, he’s beautiful.”  

          She bites down on her bottom lip at Harlem’s offer.  It isn’t that she doesn’t trust him with Arias---she trusts him more than she does Zeus with their son, though even thinking that truth feels like a betrayal---but she...  She doesn’t want to leave.  

          lithe digits thread through dark tendrils, body perched on the sofa, at peace.. which is a vast contrast to the destruction being caused in her home. plates are smashed, a fist shaped hole in the wall; ( perhaps only a matter of time until she becomes the target ) though such anger from her boyfriend was inevitable. the smallest disagreements become out of hand in mere seconds, it’s hard to deal with such a small minded person yet.. she feels as if she can’t leave. love is still a remaining factor in the so called relationship. with the incessant yelling, mind wanders to the other; the one who makes her feel good, cares for her.. the one she wished to be with day & night ------- but that is to never happen. whilst the male is distracted, movements are swift, grabbing her coat & keys before dashing out the house, tyres skidding along concrete as she makes her way over to HIS place; the need to see him overwhelming. leaving the car a few doors down, she’s on the porch, a couple of delicate knocks to his door before stepping back, a shaky exhale passing ruby lips as she waits. she only wishes that she never has to leave. 

           Zeus drove her crazy.  The thought idles in the back of her skull, buried somewhere under the rage burning in her chest, hidden behind the slick feeling of unreality crawling in her gut, and---yes---the paranoid suspicion that haunts her.  Does he just---  Does he think he can get away with this?  Talk his way out of this?  

           He won’t.  She won’t let him.  

           Hera leans towards him as he settles back, teeth bared like there’s nothing more she wants on this black earth than to tear out his throat.  He wets his lips---don’t think she doesn’t notice even in the midst of her anger, but she does she does she does---and it makes her think of ichor in her mouth, coating her tongue.  She wants nothing less than to devour him.  Rend him limb from bloody limb.  

            Let everyone say that Hera is her father’s daughter when she’s through with him.  

            Her nostrils flare at his words.  No logic, he says.  You think too much.  And she thinks to herself:  What, are you saying you married me for my cunt?  Except maybe he has.  The thought churns her stomach with bile, flushes her with hot embarrassment.