Be My Erasthai

Get Your Lazy Hide Up. We Have A Flight To Catch

Adalia

Day one after I announced my vacation. I decided to do a bit of research on what an Erasthai was. A loose description of it was that it means "intense sexual desire; to love." And apparently, it wasn't Italian, it was Greek. How interesting that people have been using that term lately. Is it like a slang or something? Some more clicking and scrolling ended up taking me to something even more intriguing—a page about Lycans.

According to this random fan page, Lycans are the parent species of werewolves. They were beasts creatures, at heart and body. It all started when a regular human entangled himself with Zeus's daughter, the goddess Artemis. All was fine and okay as they were both in love. That was until the human fell in love with another woman and ran away with her, not so much as a word to Artemis.

Angered by the broken state of his daughter, Zeus placed a curse on the human. He and his descendants were forever cursed to be lycans, a beast in the body of man. Then he cursed the woman to be his mate, his Erasthai. They are forever bound together, through hatred, love, and frustration. They are forever bound together unable to move forward or away from each other.

It's a pretty intriguing story, but it came nowhere close to explaining why people have been using the word "Erasthai" to refer to me lately.

A couple more minutes of browsing led to dead ends and added frustration, so I decided to give up. Slamming my laptop shut, I headed to the gym. Maybe a boxing session would help calm my restlessness and anger.

However, it didn't do much. I just ended up punching the sandbag so hard that even the instructor looked genuinely concerned.

Day two. I decided to take a yoga class. I thought it would help me feel rejuvenated and at peace. But I was wrong. Everything felt so slow, too slow for the movement that was going on within me—the vivid instinct to prance around. And so I gave up on that too. I packed up my yoga mat and left before the session was over.

Day three. All the boisterous energy in me was gone. I suddenly felt listless and exhausted. I couldn't even muster up the motivation to take a shower, so I just laid on my couch all day, eating junk food and watching TV.

On the fourth and current day, I still feel tired—even worse. I've been lying inside my potato sleeping bag on the floor of my living room since morning, it was already the afternoon. I've been doing nothing but eating and watching TV. Occasionally I'd find it difficult to stay awake, and so I'd slowly drift into sleep, but wake up about an hour later.

I picked up another piece of potato chips and was about to put it in my mouth when an incessant knock sounded on my door. I jolted and sent the chip flying in shock.

"Adalia! I know you're in there open up!" A voice called in a sing-song tone. "Your savior Addy is here!"

I grumbled at the mention of her name. I knew it was only a matter of time before she came knocking on my door. It just took two days longer than I expected.

Flipping myself on my back, I chose to ignore the incessant knocking. If I kept quiet long enough, she'd probably come to the conclusion that I'm not home and leave.

I nodded in agreement with my plan and continued eating my chips, that was until it suddenly became quiet. I couldn't hear her voice or anything that showed someone was still on my porch.

That's when I heard it, a barely audible sound that sounded like metal scrapping and tapping against each other before a crisp, click sound resounded.

I scrambled to sit up when I saw my front door swinging wide open. Addy stepped into my door, holding a couple of pick sets and hair pins in between her fingers, while her other hand rested on her hips. She locked eyes with me, a devious smile crossing her face. "Hello, dear friend."