Hera

Excerpt from my upcoming short story collection, THE REIGN OF HER.

GODDESS OF MARRIAGE, WOMEN, FAMILY, CHILDBIRTH.

SISTER-CONSORT OF ZEUS, KING OF THE GODS.

QUEEN OF THE GODS.

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He’s out with that girl again.

I can feel it, aching through my bones, feasting like a sickness.

I wish it didn’t. I wish I was better than this. I wish I could brush it aside like all the other wives do, but I cannot help it.

I am angry.

There is no cure for such anger. I’ve been on this dusty earth long enough to know there never will be, not from the soil nor from time itself, but I had thought it would get easier to live with. I thought I could grow my skin thick enough that no matter how many women walked through the door, I could handle it. I could handle it with grace and dignity. I could smile at them in greeting and offer them a drink. I could battle through it.

I could get by.

Foolish.

Why must it hurt so much? To hate. To be jealous.

I’m sure she is pretty. Pretty and thin, not very smart, never too loud with her opinions, compliment to touching under the dinner table, brought up with her mouth shut tight. That’s what he liked. That was his type.

No wonder he fell so easily out of love with me.

It’s gone past eleven. There’s no knock at the door yet, a knock of question, a knock for forgiveness, but never apologetic. He’d always forget to bring his keys; Poseidon liked to rush him out of the door, to avoid my cold gaze, no doubt. He’d appear on the steps, leaning on the doorframe, dazed, and reeking of whiskey. As he would stumble through the house, collapsing into the bed, he’d mutter on and on about the bad company he keeps, how he’ll be better next time, about the girls at the club that looked at him a second too long and would regret it.

It would often feel like a lifetime before he fell into his slumber of sleep. There’d be a lingering scent of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke, but silence, at least.

It had become routine, night after night. He’d reach out like a child crying for their mother in the dark. He’d kiss every inch of my flesh, mumbling sweet nothings, tears of acid rain rolling across my skin like beads of thunder. He’d fall asleep with his head on my chest, trapping me, keeping me close like some sort of rare jewel.

I used to think it normal. People these days had all sorts of unusual portrayals of affection, but as soon as he’d closed his eyes, a message would ping from his phone, wrapping the bedroom ceiling with blue light.

My chest would twist, each time feasting away at another inch of my heart, until I had no heart left at all. He had taken my heart. First, with his reserved smiles of lightning teeth, worth more weight than gold, and his courage. Perhaps even with love. Then, with hate, with his harsh hands and bottomless hunger.

Deep hate. Anger. Red, hot, scorching anger.

Another girl. Unknown number.

I had fun tonight XX

She sounds desperate. He’ll like that; cutting to the chase, getting to the fun.

Perhaps one day it will be something more, a power so strong even he cannot ignore it, so strong that her beauty and elegance plagues his thoughts day and night. Maybe he’ll make this one his own, in name and glory, the new queen, the one who stole his heart.

I think I would like that very much.

I’d go off to some unknown land, with no name and no title, at peace with my own mind.

Yes. I would like that very much.

I doubt it would ever come true, but if there is a small chance, a sliver in the clouds, then I will sit here and I will wait.