Darkly Delicate

seven | reunion

Aphrodite 

I haven't killed in days. 

It feels like years. 

My hands tremble and I feel shaky. I can almost feel them closing around a neck, or my wrist flicking as I throw a knife into a heart. 

I look around at the people in this ballroom, and I wonder how many of them I can get away with killing without causing a Mafia War or some other diplomatic issue. 

Athena bumps my hip, grins. "No killing today. It's against the rules." 

I cock on eyebrow. "What rules? Is there some handbook?"

She shrugs. "Just a hunch. Besides, Dad will give you an earful if you even think about dismembering anyone." 

I roll my eyes. "Achilles is a buzzkill. Atlas is just like him." 

And speak of the Devil, someone slings their arm over my shoulder and leans down to whisper in my ear, "Gossiping about me, huh, Rory?" Atlas asks.

Rolling my eyes, I shove him away. "Go smoke cigarettes outside like the other disappointments, punk," I mock him, eyeing the door Alastor and Apollo fled out of. 

Atlas raises his eyebrow at me. "Do you really think so lowly of me, Aphrodite?" He smiles, a teasing tone in his voice.

Vodka on his breath. A slight slur in his words.

I frown up at him. "You promised me you wouldn't, Atlas," I hiss quietly, my eyes narrowed slightly at his carefree and completely out of the ordinary expression. 

"Relax, Rory. I'm fine. You're fine. It's just once, to ease off the stress of this. It's very stressful, being around other mafias. You know this." He pats my head. 

I swat his hand away, my hands clenched by my sides. "No, not just this once. You're six months clean, Atlas. I can't believe you!" 

Atlas lays on the floor of the cell, bloody and unmoving. I run towards him, eyes wide. I fall on my knees beside him.

"Atlas! Atlas!" I cry and scream, shaking his dead weight body. I stand and kick him, punch his chest, doing anything to get him to wake up. 

I cry, my tears mixing with blood. The gross, slimy, sticky mixture coats my arms and hands, and Atlas' motionless body. 

"Please, God..." I beg.

I look up at Atlas and shake my head, walking off. He doesn't try to stop me, so I manage to slip my way into the thick crowd of people, talking and drinking. 

People slightly move away whenever I come near them, and I find a happy little smile creeping onto my face at their unease around me.

To them, I'm unknown. And the unknown is a dangerous, dangerous thing for anyone who is used to being confident and self assured. 

I walk around the room, my gaze flickering to every person I see. All of my senses are alert, trained to perfection to track everything around me. 

People wearily discuss the Frenchs' new daughter— Lila— a girl I never met at the Center but heard rumors about— mainly that she was insane. 

I spin on my heel, ready to go back and find my brothers and the Greeks, when a man runs into me. I glance back, my eyes slightly narrowed in annoyance. 

The man looks at me like I'm an angel sent from Heaven. 

"I'm your father, darling," The man gasps. He looks like he's seen a ghost. I touch my face.